X-men Origins: Wolverine. Logan/Remy. NC-17. 7200 words.
Remy’s got answers to all the wrong hurts.
Silk Over Splinters
Bare feet scuff on aged hardwood. The whispering flutter of playing cards in deft hands interrupts the murmur of late night television shows seeping through the floorboards. Pile on the hush of traffic a few blocks away and the smell of cereus flowers drifting in through the open window and things are a little too peaceful for Logan. Even Wraith had filled the silence with the throbbing stink of his fear.
“Can’t make time speed any faster.” Remy appears at the door again, shoulder propped on the jamb. “Not with that attitude.”
Logan’s skin prickles, all the hairs on his arms standing full on end and rippling like a wheat field in a breeze. The kid’s fearscent is gone like it had never existed when in the alley it’d been pouring off him thick as syrup. Now that he’s gotten it in his head to work with Logan, he goes with the flow, all leftover restlessness poured into the sporadic shuffling of cards. He might be as pretty as the night-blooming flowers, but his presence isn’t any more soothing. All simmered down, Remy’s composure is like a small, sharp-edged rock in Logan’s boot. He’d prefer the fear to the pheromone-laden lust that peels off the slim-hipped grifter as lazy as the bend of his lashes.
Folding his arms more snugly across his chest, Logan sinks deeper into the cushions of the ugliest wicker loveseat in all of Louisiana. “So keep quiet and let me catch a few winks.”
“Man like you won’t be sleeping in the fox’s den.” Remy slants a knowing smirk. His red eyes glow in the shadows like the last coals in a cooling firepit.
“Won’t get any peace, either.” Logan’s been holed up with worse chatterboxes than Remy. Most of them weren’t much different from the outside on in–loudmouth scrappers that bluster and swagger with the best but can’t hold their own when the shit gets real. Logan admits Remy’s got a bit of fight in him–the kid didn’t just tuck tail and run the first chance he got, but Logan wouldn’t put it past him to think he could get Logan’s guard down and pull something sly. Logan’s lip twitches towards a snarl. He ain’t gonna sleep a lick.
Remy pushes off the door, padding into the room, footfalls deliberately heavy enough to make noise. He tosses the set of cards he’s been fooling with onto the coffee table Logan’s claimed as a footrest. “So let’s make the time passing more enjoyable.”
Logan doesn’t miss the fresh wave of lust any more than the single card still tucked into Remy’s palm, the curl of laminate favoured by him as much as some men loved a particular model of gun. “Strip poker?” Logan snorts. “Something tells me you especially cheat at that.”
“Remy LeBeau never cheats at cards.” The ace of spades has disappeared; up his sleeve or squirreled away somewhere else on his scrawny body. Remy shifts his weight and wears a wicked expression like he’s got telepathy in his bag of tricks as he says, “Besides, I didn’t think you needed the foreplay.”
In a heartbeat Logan’s got a lapful of slinky Cajun. “Hey, hold up a second,” he says, his foot slipping off the table. The heel of his boot strikes hard on the floor, spurring Remy’s downstairs neighbour into hurling some nasty words over the drone of her television set.
Remy’s thighs drape over his, the kid’s long legs folded at the knee and taking up every inch of space on the cushions that Logan hasn’t claimed. The wicker creaks beneath their combined weight. “Don’t care to sit around for hours while you scowl and stink up the place with cigars.”
Fumes from spilled bourbon and countless cloves permeates near every surface and Logan knows it’s no real complaint, not with the way the kid leans in and gets a taste of the cigar smoke straight off his breath. “You sure you want to the take the risk I’m not just gonna punch you full of holes?”
“You hunt me down, you’re knowing I like games of chance.”
“You mean statistics.”
“Poker’s more than knowing the odds,” Remy shrugs, his arms settling over Logan’s shoulders. He’s arranged himself into a comfortable sprawl, the heat of his groin poised close enough to Logan’s that there’s no ignoring it. “But odds are in my favour seems, mon ami.”
There’s a choice here and it stings. So much of him is raw and bleeding. Story of his life getting ripped open time and again, and he’ll heal, even if he doesn’t want to. Right now, Logan thinks, Remy’s got answers to all the wrong hurts. The kid fits nice in his hands, trim waist that’s all muscle and a powerful flex to his thighs. Remy seems to want for the sake of wanting, and Logan’s a warm body close enough to his bedroom to make it convenient.
“You don’t know me,” Logan reminds him.
“Know you’re going to give me what I want by killing all them at the island.” Remy’s jaw brushes Logan’s cheek with the soft scratch of his unshaven face. “Know you can give me what I want now.”
Red pupils dilate, Remy’s left hand clamps down on Logan’s bicep, and the missing ace flicks into his right when Logan stands up, brings Remy with him and catches the kid’s weight by cradling him with both hands wide on his perky ass. The card’s energy bleeds into the visible spectrum, burning as intense as a magnesium flare.
“Change your mind, Gumbo?”
Muscles relax as he comes to realise Logan isn’t intent on dropping him to the floor or throwing him out the window and Remy’s head dips down again as he chuckles. The sound is like a purr, but by Logan’s tally the cat doesn’t have the cream yet. Logan senses the weird electric charge long after the glow has faded from the edge of his vision. It lingers, prickling, not a hell of a lot different from the the way the feel of Remy’s bare skin affects Logan. And there’s inches of that skin waiting for him, poised teasingly at his fingertips, where the smooth span of the kid’s lower back peeks out between the waist of his pants and his shirt. A queasiness forms up in Logan’s gut. He has an armful of ready and willing, but Remy’s got a strength that doesn’t sit right. It’s been a long time. He’s been faithful a long time.
“Where you gonna take me, Logan?” Remy’s fingers thread through the hair at the nape of Logan’s neck, getting a little too familiar.
A flash of aimless anger burns out the sick churning, leaves his pulse raging and his blood hot. “Lucky if I don’t put you somewhere that’ll give me a moment’s peace.” Why should he deny he wants what Remy’s offering? He’s more than a little stirred up by the promises of that smarmy mouth and the dragging strokes of the kid’s fingers—bold as brass like he’s got a right to take what he wants. If the thoughts in his pretty skull echo the greedy claim of his hands, Remy’s got it the wrong way around. Logan’s smile is half a snarl. “You got a bed in this dump or you got a thing for splinters I ought to know about?”
“A smart man always takes silk over splinters.” Remy points the way with his chin towards the hall. A curtain of beads hangs in a doorway at the far end. Logan snorts and Remy shrugs off the derision. He must be used to the sentiment.
Logan kicks the coffee table halfway across the room and carries Remy all the way to the flat’s love nest. Remy’s weight shifts with each step, the friction upping the heat between them to the point that Logan’s whole damn body throbs. Remy clings a little harder as he thrusts an arm out to part the beads. Remy ducks down to avoid hitting his head and it feels so damn good having the kid practically wrapped around him that Logan’s tunnel vision almost misses the little black bottle Remy scoops up from the top of a chest of drawers.
“In case you want more than my mouth, hm?” Remy waggles the bottle in front of Logan’s face then tosses it a few feet to land on the bed. Logan’s gaze jumps to follow, the flash of it quick like a deer through the trees. Every second ticking by brings Logan’s blood closer to the boiling point. What he said before rings truer than ever–Remy doesn’t know him, not one bit, or the sudden tightening of Logan’s grip wouldn’t bring an eager hellspark to those devilish eyes.
Logan takes a slow breath, and the heartbeat thudding in his ears eases up. “Not that I got much to worry about, but there anything you wanna tell me?” Letting Remy slip down to settle on his feet helps regain another fraction of control, but even while Logan’s meaning to back off and think, damned if he doesn’t do the opposite.
“Never caught a thing in all the beds I been in, but I can play the blushing virgin if that’s your thing,” Remy says, comfortable staying in the circle of Logan’s arms. The words might as well be white noise for how well Logan holds on to them. He’s too busy holding on to Remy, liking the kid’s slender, wiry frame all the more, knowing that all the strength packed in there is nowhere near enough to hold him off.
Logan leans in, mirror image of when this started, his mouth close to Remy’s ear where the scent of what he wants is strongest. Pounding. Blood-thick beneath thin skin.
“You want to bareback me, Logan? That what you saying?” Remy’s head tilts back, naked throat offered like a sacrifice. The submissive gesture breaks the thin string holding Logan still, and the need to lick the salt from Remy’s skin overtakes him. His arms slide up Remy’s back, caging him in, and he gasps when Logan’s tongue hits skin. The long, dragging lick up his jugular ends with the scrape of teeth, and one sensation or the other gets him grinding his body against Logan’s. “Nothing in the way seems your style.”
Remy’s not playing the tease, not by a long shot, but there’s too much useless clothing between them. Logan growls like the kid is holding out on him, and takes a handful of Remy’s shirt. Buttons pop and skitter over the dark wood of the worn floor. The sharp gust of Remy’s breath, pleased somehow, is slim satisfaction. “Last chance for opinions, kid.” Logan doesn’t care much for those at the best of times, and with the pale skin of Remy’s belly exposed, it’s enough that he pushes Remy down onto the bed instead of throwing him there.
Logan goes to one knee faster than the flick of Remy’s fingers through those cards of his. Prowling up over Remy’s body, his face presses to the soft vulnerability of smooth skin. The way Remy’s belly quivers under a threat of teeth rips a moan out of Logan, and he delivers, biting at Remy’s hip hard enough to catch a mouthful of the wing of bone jutting beneath its fragile web of muscle and skin. The bedsprings scream while Remy only breathes harder.
“Seems like Remy is on his back or on his knees,” Remy says, voice ragged. He wriggles up on his elbows, freeing himself of his shirt and moving to undo his pants. At the sound of the zipper, Logan takes over, hauling Remy’s slacks down and dragging him halfway across the bed to do it. Remy’s breath hitches, his knees falling wide, and Logan’s not surprised the kid goes commando. “No complaints to either, cher. But you best slow down, Logan. Point is to make the time pass, not to be done in minutes.”
Logan surveys Remy’s body laid out before him, and his hands curl into the bedsheets reflexively. It’s the way Remy looks up at him that gets him to slow down–neck exposed, belly exposed, pinned down, trapped, and liking it just fine. “Little early for pet names, don’t ya think?”
Remy’s mouth twists into a sly smile and Logan pictures flipping him over and fucking that smile straight into the pillows. Face-to-face means he’ll have Remy’s arms clinging to him again, needy and delicious in sheer wantonness. But having him spread out flat on his belly and really trapped, held down under three-hundred points of muscle, bone, and metal…. Lust clenches a fist hard and low in Logan’s stomach, ripples up in a quiet snarl that’s barely held in check. He leans up over Remy, weight balancing on one wrist that forces the mattress down beside Remy’s head. Logan runs his free hand up Remy’s body, and his fingers look thick and rough against the soft swell of the kid’s ribcage. “How clever is that mouth of yours?”
“Very. Your lucky day.”
“Think that’ll slow it down enough for you?”
“Slow enough for me, but you?” Remy shrugs bonelessly and slips his arms between their bellies to pluck at Logan’s pants. He tugs the fly aside and down, metal teeth of the zipper grating open. “We’ll see about that.”
Remy walks his fingers up the front of Logan’s underwear and curls under the band to peel them down. Slow is one thing, but he’s headed towards infuriating with the way he savours the moment, breath held like it’s double or nothing.
Logan smirks as Remy’s eyes go wide and he doesn’t muster much more than that. Long fingers wrap around him, flutter from root to tip and finish with a nice firm squeeze.
“Pardon.” Remy’s gaze tears away from the shadows between them to fix on Logan’s eyes. “It’s my lucky day.”
“Ya don’t need to sweet talk me now.” Logan shakes his head, but it’s the kind of reaction every man wants to get, whether he’ll ever admit to it or not. Raising up to sit on his heels, he gathers up the fall of Remy’s hair in his hand. The strands are soft and damp at the nape of Remy’s neck, feather fine everywhere else, and Logan firms his grip, tugging the kid’s head back before guiding him close enough to feel each warm puff of breath. He stares at the taut stretch of throat, the bob of it as Remy swallows, jumps from there to the sharp-edged shadows of collarbone and deep-set eyes. “Still feeling lucky?”
Before Logan knows what he’s doing, his hand is skidding down, curving around Remy’s neck. His thumb presses lightly to the hollow, holds firm but testing more than threatening. The red of Remy’s eyes deepens to a muddy haze. “Oui,” he says, sounding like he’s well-fucked already. The soft pink of his tongue flashes over his lips as Logan guides his mouth where it belongs. Remy’s lips curve beautifully as they slide over the head of Logan’s cock. His fingers drag slowly down the length before he takes a handful of Logan’s balls and pushes them up to roll between his palm and the very root of Logan’s cock. He pulls his mouth away with a blissful smile, his eyes closed to slits. “Very, very lucky.”
Logan is lashed to the pendulum swing of wanting to get right down to it and wanting to find out everything Remy can do with his sweet, eager mouth. His head buzzes. He’s the proverbial fucking fat kid in the candy store, and there ain’t nothing he sees that he doesn’t like. It’s clear that Remy’s focus is drilled down to the taste of Logan’s cock as his tongue laps and licks and he reacts like he gets a jolt from a live wire with each hot surge of thickening flesh when his greedy mouth catches enough to suck.
“Fuck, kid, you love dick that much?” Logan gets a throaty moan and a sharp tug on his sac for an answer, and when his cock slips out of Remy’s mouth with a wet sucking pop, the kid gazes up at him. Remy’s mouth stays open, lips flushed and parted like a porn star, and he rubs his cheek against the faint, instinctive thrusts of Logan’s cock.
“Love fucking almost as much as I love cards,” Remy purrs. It’s gotta be awkward for him, neck bent and body near immobile under Logan’s straddling thighs, but it doesn’t seem to matter. His hands still manage to work their magic, squeezing and caressing down the length of Logan’s dick and the taut pouch of his balls.
“Take s’more, then.” Logan means for it to be a shallow thrust, just like he means for his grip on Remy’s hair to ease up, but neither of those things happen. The quick puff of air from Remy’s nose is cool on skin turned fever hot and wet from Remy’s mouth and Logan shoves in harder yet. A light scrape of teeth not carefully guarded lights a spark in Logan’s spine and his breath comes in a sharp hiss that’s echoed by Remy when Logan cups his chin, pulls his jaw wide. The head of Logan’s cock settles on the flat of Remy’s tongue, near filling his mouth, and Logan thinks for a second about painting those perfect cheekbones white. “You got about five seconds to tell me if you can take it or not, or I’m just gonna see for myself if your throat’s good for anything other than making noise.”
A garbled mess of words fail to make it around the swollen head of Logan’s cock, and Remy twists free of his grip. Logan doesn’t let go easily, and doesn’t retreat while Remy works his jaw from side to side and sucks in a series of increasingly deep breaths. “I can take it,” he says, matter-of-fact rather than like he’s got something to prove. “Only, not forever, Logan. Gotta let me breathe, ‘m no fun passed out.” Remy’s tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, brushing Logan’s fingers through the barrier of flesh. Logan’s touch never really left the kid’s face, and his thumb drags back to Remy’s lips, over and down to tug at the skin just beneath and bare his teeth.
Remy shivers, and his mouth opens wide again, tongue lolling out to welcome the press of Logan’s thumb. His mouth twitches and the muscle of his tongue tenses like he’s got something more to say. Logan shuts him up before he can, going straight from pinning the kid’s tongue with his thumb, to aiming his cock to stuff Remy’s throat.
Remy’s head tips back, has to in order to take Logan like this, and Logan follows with his body. He gives up holding on to anything and drops his hands down to the mattress, crouched over Remy and prepped to fuck all the way in. There’s no gagging, no struggling, just the squirm of Remy propping himself up on his elbows to tilt his head further yet. Logan takes every opportunity Remy gives him, and a few slow thrusts turn into one long steady push that buries him in inches until the stiff curls of his pubes are grinding against Remy’s lips and the flush of pleasure on Remy’s cheeks darkens towards an angry red. It’s tight-wet-bliss and Logan groans pulling out. Remy coughs, the sound hoarse and strained, but he surges up to suck the saliva stringing from Logan’s cock, latches his mouth around the tip to suck even as he breathes in harsh and needy through his nose.
Logan gives Remy a little less time to catch his breath than he probably should, but when Remy’s mouth is stuffed full again, the kid doesn’t do a damn thing to get away. Logan had been keen on fucking Remy’s mouth, getting to know what sort of noises he could coax out of him, and yet this, this is better. Remy’s eyes tear up, glistening shine on midnight black, and his skin flushes all the way down to his chest as he just takes it. “Christ Jesus, boy.” Logan’s lip peels back, his teeth clenched.
It’s every scrap of rational thought he’s got left in him that has him taking another fistful of Remy’s hair and dragging himself back. He yanks Remy’s head down and pins it to the pillow, knuckles tangled in long strands that curl dark as dried blood against the soft cotton. Trapped, Remy can’t follow this time but Logan doesn’t make it far from slack lips and the inviting pink of Remy’s soft, wet tongue. Logan moves against Remy’s cheek, and it’s only the tightness of his grip that keeps the kid from reveling in it, rubbing against him like a fucking cat. Remy’s eyes roll back, fix on a point beyond Logan as Logan’s cock slaps against his chin. All he’s seeing is waterstains and chipped plaster but it looks like he’s seeing God.
“Like the way you taste,” Remy says, eyes drifting shut. A fresh sound of appreciation sinks into Logan’s flesh when his balls drag over Remy’s chin, and Remy’s tongue laps at every inch of flesh, hard or soft, that Logan puts near his mouth. God, it’s like he really can’t get enough. Logan closes his eyes when he dips a few fingers past the kid’s gently sucking lips. As he smears spit over the wetness already on Remy’s face, Remy’s body twists. He squirms fitfully, like he might be tired of working his mouth and wants some attention given to the rest of him. “Lick every inch of you, if you’d let me.” Maybe not.
Remy’s hands skid up the outside of Logan’s legs as Logan settles back. His cock leaves a staggered wet trail down Remy’s chest that Remy finds like a magnet, rubbing it into his skin and then just tracing absent patterns with his fingertips to draw Logan’s gaze. Logan drops a tonguing kiss down the line of Remy’s chest and breathes deep as that too gets rubbed away. The way it changes Remy’s scent gets to him in the lowest, darkest places of his core. He swings up and off of Remy, stripping out of his clothes as fast as if they’re on fire. “What other promises you gonna make?” Logan asks, glancing up to watch the tilt of Remy’s lips.
Remy’s hand trails up his neck, blunt nails rasping lightly over the soft whiskers at his throat before moving to where Logan’s eyes are fixed. He licks his fingers delicately, swipes them over his flushed mouth and grins, cocksure and flirty. “How about I promise to ride you good,” he says, teeth closing over his finger like a god damn schoolgirl. “Dying to feel that thick cock of yours in me.”
“Shove over,” Logan says, halfway on the bed already. Remy shifts, but doesn’t move fast enough and as soon as there’s space, Logan slides into the warm spot on the sheets and rolls Remy on top of him. Quick as you please, he’s got Remy right where he wants, limbs spread loose and wide and his pert ass sitting snug on the tops of Logan’s thighs.
Remy stretches his long arms out, chest brushing against Logan’s. His breath is heavy with the scent of Logan’s sweat and one long, inventive curse rolls right off his tongue when Logan’s fingers touch to him, lube-slick and probing. He squirms against Logan’s fingers as they push up and in. The flex of his hip under Logan’s grip holding him in place says he’s quick to want to make good on his promise. A quiet chuckle rumbles up from Logan’s chest. Who was the impatient one now?
“Care to share the source of your amusement?” Remy asks between nipping kisses to Logan’s jaw.
Remy snorts softly, says, “You’re not a nice man, are you,” and licks into Logan’s mouth. His tongue traces the flat of teeth before pushing past and tangling with Logan’s tongue in a lazy, searching kiss. It’s the first taste of Remy’s mouth he’s had and it’s thick with sex. Logan’s hand pulls away from Remy’s hip and claps to his cheek, holds his jaw to deepen the kiss, make it dirtier as Remy grinds against the press of his fingers. A quiet, surprised sound drops straight from his mouth into Logan’s when the fine points of Logan’s teeth catch on his lip, and the smell of his blood rushing with a dump of adrenaline gets an answering growl out of Logan. He’s dizzy with the smell of all the heat and lust building in the close air of the small room, all the fucking and smoke and booze imprinted in the walls leeching out and saturating Logan’s bones.
“Took you this long to figure that out?” Logan murmurs when Remy jerks away, his spine arching as Logan’s fingers drive deep, curve hard and stroke him on the inside. Logan’s grin is feral when he pulls his fingers right out and Remy’s eyes fly wide. They slide back to slits when Logan flicks open the bottle of lube with his thumb and squeezes a shot of chill gel straight to the base of Remy’s spine.
“Y’got me plenty wet, no?” Remy curls close to Logan again, panting softly, his spine rolling in waves as Logan’s touch skips slick along the warm crease of his ass.
Logan wipes his fingers off on his dick, finishes the job by smearing the last clinging wetness away on the back of Remy’s thigh. Grinning unapologetically, his grip settles above the sharp jut of Remy’s hipbones, fits there perfect as a jigsaw piece. “How about you tell me.”
“About time,” Remy moans. He smears a smile against the corner of Logan’s mouth and sits up, arms stretching overhead, spine bending back, head tipped until his whole damn body is curved like a C. Logan palms the taut planes of Remy’s stomach, heel of his hand flirting near the base of Remy’s cock. Arms falling leisurely, Remy slides his hips forward. His balls drag up over Logan’s belly, the soft brush no comparison to the thrill of his slicked-up hole slipping along the length of Logan’s cock. Every instinct Logan has tells him to firm his grip, pick Remy up and drop him down, impale him in one smooth move. But the kid is wriggling around to do all the work handsfree and Logan contents himself with a hiss.
“So far so good,” Remy says, and all his squirming has done the trick. The head of Logan’s cock is nudged right where it needs to be and Remy’s eyes glitter in anticipation. Logan’s gaze must be just as hungry, even when it narrows down, shadowed and blurred by the sudden pleasure that claims him as tight and hot as Remy’s body. Remy moans at the blunt shove, reaches back to feel where Logan stretches him open, and breathes out a quiet, “And that’s even better.”
He doesn’t mind the sight of Remy like this at all–the shudder and shake, the pleasure shapes taking over his lush mouth–and it gets him wondering if what Remy’s after is a one shot deal or what. Down the line, once all the blood is spilled and the hurts scabbed over properly, a little give and take isn’t necessarily a bad notion.
It’s no good thinking about that now. Better to just enjoy the hot pleasure burning through him. Hell of an improvement over the headache the kid’d been brewing earlier. Logan shoves the thought away a heartbeat before Remy throws a wrench straight into the machinery of his brain and shuts it all down with a gritty moan and a slow grind to take more of him in.
“Easy does it, Logan,” he says, reaching for the bottle leaking onto the sheets. Fingers grasp the base of Logan’s cock, and a sizzle of pleasure goes from his groin to chest as Remy slicks up what’s still exposed. Remy falls forward, weight on his wrists, smile gone reckless, wild, god damn asking for it. “Few more inches and you’ll be in me deep as before.”
Logan gives up a quiet grunt instead of an answer, grip firming on Remy’s thighs, ready to take those few inches sooner than later. He almost misses the way Remy’s gaze goes unfocused, and that would’ve been a shame. The kid’s lusty moan, the way he surrenders himself to the moment because he feels that damn good, slick and clenching, his fingers gone clumsy where they try and curl over Logan’s arms. It’s one big ego stroke with a chaser of voyeurism and Logan skids his hands up Remy’s back.
“You plannin’ on just enjoying the view or making good on your pretty promises?” Every moment that passes makes it seems to Logan like Remy fits better in the circle of his arms, like he could very well belong there. Logan blinks away the strange fog, finds Remy’s arms have moved to bracket his head, fingers threaded into his hair again.
“View is worth enjoying. You a handsome man,” Remy says, and fucks Logan slowly. His hair sways with the rhythmic rocking of his body and he tongues at the blunt point of a canine. “Good thing I’m flying you out of here come morning. Town’s not big enough for two mutants as good looking as we are.”
Logan draws in a deep breath and clarity snaps back as his lungs fill with the mingle of scents drifting between the tangle of their bodies and somewhere, too distant to worry about, the sharp biting smell of fresh blood. “You and that mouth,” Logan snarls not unkindly, and holds Remy closer as he draws his knees up, heels bracing on the rumpled sheets to drive a sweet noise out of him instead of nonsense. It’s too good to leave at that; Remy’s heart is thudding, his breaths quick and shallow, and there’s not a scrap of resistance in the lithe curves of him to stop Logan from fucking into him as he wants.
Sounds pour off Remy’s tongue, and even if half of them get shorted by Logan slamming in to the root, there’s still a mix of choppy sentences in there. Whatever thought flitters through his brain comes tumbling out, coaxing one moment and on the next hard thrust turning to dirty encouragement. Ah, Logan, baby, thought you’d wanted me to ride you, not merely hang on. S-slo— Lent, juste un peu plus lentement. Oh, one look at you and I knew you’d be—Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’ve got the biggest cock I’ve had in me in years.
“Told ya, you don’t have to sweet talk me no more.” Logan wouldn’t mind if circumstances were different, but truth is, right now it just feeds the urge to leave more of a mark on Remy, make sure he’s not going to be forgotten the moment the kid drops him out of the sky. Foolish, because what does it matter if he’s another fuck in a long line of fucks–hell, it’d be better that way–but the rumbling building up low in Logan’s throat says different. Maybe it’s that he can’t see beyond the damage he’s fixing on doing. You know what happens to a man who goes looking for blood?
“Save the lazy Cajun way for later.” Logan’s arms tighten around Remy, maybe too hard when Remy’s just blood and bone, featherlight in comparison to the weight of metal and vengeance lurking inside Logan. All the breath goes out of Remy–the first time he’s been quiet in long minutes–and then he’s got his teeth chewing on his lip and grinds down, taking Logan balls deep and moaning for it.
“Why? You gon’ blush if I keep up the sweet talking, cher?” he asks, sweeping hair out of his face. The point of his tongue swirls at Logan’s cheekbone, breath slipping warm towards his ear. One side of Remy’s neck is bared, exposed as his head tips to the side and Logan’s mouth sets to skin before he knows it, the wet of a kiss slipping into the press of teeth. The need to taste overwhelms the need to pump his hips, and his rhythm turns stuttered in favour of the sweep of his mouth on the sweet and salty of Remy’s skin. “Wanting Remy to whisper to you across the pillow. Now who’s sweet talkin’?”
Remy’s smugness turns into a hiss as Logan abandons rhythm to leave his mouth open and digging hard against the slope of Remy’s neck and just pounds into the kid, brutal and relentless. Slowing down to his breath, alive to every sound and smell, Logan shifts, wraps Remy tight in his arms again and tumbles them over. He palms the backs of Remy’s thighs, soft hairs sticking damp to his skin. Shoving the kid’s legs up, Logan resettles between them with a hand on his cock to guide it straight back in. “Better,” he says at Remy’s breathless moan and the soft, panting quiet that follows.
Propped up to let his gaze travel down the sinuous length of Remy’s body all the way to where he’s stretched open, taking each rolling thrust like he’s built for it, Logan savours the look of him. Pretty in all the ways to invite all the trouble his mouth doesn’t make for him, Remy’s fit to grace a billboard in a pair of clingy briefs. And yet here he is, trapped under the weight of Logan’s body, rocking up into the slam of Logan’s cock like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever felt. A fierce curl of want seizes Logan low in the groin to see the glistening thread of precome strung between the flushed head of Remy’s cock and the pale skin of his belly. Thin as a thread, it shivers to the beat of Remy’s pulse and the lust unfolds, roars through Logan’s body like a flashflood. Hot and cold, it sends his vision searing, gone white with his instincts screaming for him to fuck harder, faster, force every single noise Remy can make come spilling out of him.
With a low, hungry groan, Logan frees Remy’s legs to shove his arms under the kid’s body. His hands slide easily over sweat-slicked skin to curl up over Remy’s shoulders and pull him down into each grinding thrust. Remy’s legs slip, catch, fall again before locking tight, heels digging in close to Logan’s spine.
Remy’s scattered mewling turns into a low keen, and Logan swipes a quick lick over the slack shape of his mouth. “Say something sweet to me now,” he says, mangling the raw sounds Remy makes by biting at soft lips, sucking away the hurt a second later. Logan grins, pulling back to drive it home in long, steady strokes that sends pleasure humming through his bones. Remy can’t seem to do much of anything, not even hold on for the ride. His hands knead at Logan’s shoulders one moment and the next his palms are pressed flat, fingers splaying wide. Eventually, he ends up twisting up handfuls of the trashed sheets, his fitful squirming pulling the corners away from the mattress.
“You an easy man to fuck,” Remy says, grunting out the words stubbornly, “but a hard man to like.”
“Says the pot.” Logan’s stomach goes tense and his grip on Remy’s shoulders tightens in turn. Their bodies seal together at the peak of one hard thrust, nothing between them but a quick prayer that he’ll last a moment longer. A filthy thrill goes zipping along his nerves when Remy tries and fails to buck his hips, a moan wrenching out of his sweet mouth when the attempt gets his cock digging into Logan’s belly. He thinks about asking if the kid’s ready for it, if he wants the shot of Logan’s spunk in him or on him.
He opens his mouth but it’s already too late, the hot surge of it twisting the words forming in his throat into a raw sound that’s all animal. Remy’s voice rises to match his and the headboard cracks against the wall with the same violent kick of Logan’s heart. Logan shoves up on his wrists, fired up with the need to see where his cock is buried in Remy’s body. Freed from Logan’s weight, Remy writhes, chest arching up off the sheets and his hips rolling in tight circles, his body clenching to drag Logan off that sharp edge and send him tumbling down into the hot waves of pleasure that slick up Remy’s insides.
Logan sees red, sees black, sees the fucking faces of the angelic choir as he loses it.
The kid’s hands on his face pulls him back, and his vision snaps from the haze to Remy’s slow smile. “Now’s come time for the lazy Cajun way,” he says. His legs peel away from Logan’s sides, unfold and fall wide. A warm breeze kisses Logan’s heat-sticky skin, the sudden tightness of his skin not from the brush of air so much as the way Remy’s smile turns slanted as his hands run down his body. Remy’s fingers curl around his cock and his knuckles brush the quivering muscles of Logan’s belly.
That momentary daze is gone, Logan’s senses back to razor sharp. He drops kisses to Remy’s skin, mouth wandering and leaving unflinchingly hard bitemarks from the kid’s biceps on up to his neck. Remy holds his breath at each bite, like he’s betting on Logan breaking skin, but when it’s nothing but a bruise sucked to the surface, he moans and his body squeezes tight around Logan’s softening cock.
Between bites and the wet lick of lingering kisses that coat his mouth with Remy’s taste, Logan tosses darting glances down to the hand Remy’s got jacking his cock. Remy’s smooth fingers hold himself firm, not so single-minded in his pursuit that he can’t gauge which sounds he makes sends echoes of want rippling through Logan.
It’s a show and Logan knows it, but if having Logan’s gaze on him still heated and hungry gets Remy off, Logan’s going to enjoy it while he can. Remy is liquid and panting one moment and biting down hard on his lip the next, hand moving in fast, terse strokes. Logan muffles a groan into the crook of Remy’s neck when the first pulse of come hits his skin, then the next, the mess of it dripping right back down onto Remy’s belly to pool there in the hollow of his navel.
Remy’s body goes lax, a quiet, breathy laugh that’s as smug as it is satisfied easing out of him. Logan isn’t ready to let him go just yet, and takes his mouth again, licks against teeth and tongue until Remy returns it. Logan reaches down, pushes Remy’s hand away to replace it with his own. His fingers rub the head of Remy’s cock and he swallows the faint whine of too much, too soon but moves his hand up, trails it through the cooling slickness before pressing his palm down right in the centre of it and kneading lazily.
“After that, I’m expecting some peace.” Logan shifts back enough that his cock finally slips free, almost instantly regretting that all that sloppy heat, fucked warm and open, is relegated to memory. His brains are baking in his skull, the damn southern heat making him careless, too free with a slow caress that starts off sticky and wet at Remy’s thigh. Logan cups his hand between Remy’s legs to feel what he did to him, the gaping stretch that twitches and goes from inviting to tight and back again.
Logan rolls off him, hand not quite drawing away. The dip of the mattress makes it easy for Remy to curl up against him, one leg sliding up to rest over him, encourage Logan’s touch to stay where it is.
Remy cradles his face, thumbs skimming over the soft scratch of a few days worth of avoiding a razor. “You be rid of me soon enough, no reason to start giving you peace now,” he says. The very corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles softly. “Takes a lot to wear me out.”
Almost, Logan thinks it’d be a pity he wouldn’t be warming Remy’s sheets a little longer. Easy on the eyes if not the nerves, they could have one whirlwind week of marathon fucks. But the tracks have already been lain and there’s no way Logan’s not going to see this to its end.
“Too bad,” Remy says, thoughts seemingly echoing Logan’s. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut at the lazy stroke of Logan’s finger turns into a slow push inside. So easy now, so soft. His voice is a rough whisper when he goes on. “May be that you’d find that out if I didn’t need at least six hours of beauty sleep to be fresh enough to fly. May be that you’ll come back and we’ll cross paths again.”
Remy’s eyes open, and Logan can see the vengeance simmering in his skin reflected there. “Can’t rule it out,” Logan says. His fingers still after one last stroke, and Remy curls closer, nuzzles a kiss at the hinge of his jaw.
“You like it easy, I imagine,” he says. “When a man’s fucked loose like you’ve done me.”
“Got no complaints,” Logan replies. He turns to press his mouth to Remy’s and get the last word. The kiss falls apart naturally, a fire banked, and Logan brushes the hair away from Remy’s face. Takes a lot to wear the kid out, maybe, but he’s a boneless sprawl of contentment. Of course, it’s hard to be unsatisfied after a fuck like that; Logan got what he hadn’t known he wanted and seems like Remy got his too. Pride boosted a bit, Logan rolls up onto his feet to stretch out well-used muscles, the taut pull a hell of a lot nicer than the ache of a knock-down drag. Logan ignores the clock on the wall ticking down the time to the next row. “You got a shower in this matchbox?”
Remy stirs, his head lifting from the pillow, his long arms wrapped up around a wadded mess of sheets that serve as a poor substitute for Logan’s body. “Nevermind, I’ll find it,” Logan says, grabbing up his pants to dig a lighter from the pocket. Remy silently lays his head down again, but Logan can feel the weight of his gaze like an arrow in the back.
Steps as quiet and final as death move Logan down the hall. Rescuing the stub of his cigar, he pushes open the window and props his arms on the sill. He’ll get that shower in a minute. For now, he’ll take the mingle of Remy and sex clinging to him over the too-sweet scents the stink of his cigar can’t mask.
“I’m not like you, kid,” he says. Downstairs, the television is off. Sirens wail in distant streets. “Never been good at easy.”