Who: Logan & Remy LeBeau (& Kurt Wagner) Where: The Mansion grounds; Logan’s room When: June 23, 2008 What: Logan and Remy hit it off. Kurt might require therapy.
He sat. It was a strange sort of thing for him to do, unaccustomed as he was to remaining in one spot for any extended length of time. Mostly that wasn't on account of any sort of drive on his part; he just seemed to find himself in deeply unpleasant circumstances which often necessitated a quick get-away.
This, though... this mansion... He laughed around a cigarette, glanced around him as though he expected it all to disappear. Who ever expected to get rewarded for being a freak? Part of him still suspected that it was a sham, but until they pulled the rug out from under him, he intended to thoroughly enjoy himself.
Logan looked up from the bench where he was currently sprawling on his back, cigar in mouth, facing off the lawn. He'd heard someone heading vaguely in his direction but hadn't felt like acknowledging the fact till the interloper'd stopped; he smelled smoke in the air that wasn't his own and a scent underneath it. He looked up.
"You know you're not alone, right?" he muttered, peering over the back of the bench, looking significantly unimpressed.
Remy looked up and grinned into a strange face. Seemed that he'd been doing a lot of that lately, but it hadn't worn thin just yet. "Sure do," he answered. He tipped himself back, holding his weight on his elbows as he stared up. Hairy. Cranky. Interesting.
"Name's Remy." He extended a hand, not expecting it to be taken but feeling obligated regardless. His daddy had taught him manners, among other things. "Remy LeBeau. You are...?"
Hmm. Accent. Interesting look. Another goddamn newbie. Logan breathed out a long, smoky breath and planted the cigar in the corner of his mouth as he eyed the proffered hand, then reached over the took it - he gave a squeeze maybe a shade tighter than necessary and looked the guy over. "Logan," he said, simply. "You're new."
"Yep," Remy agreed. He used Logan's hand to pull himself up, vaulting easily over the back of the bench and settling next to him. "Just got in two nights ago." As he spoke, he let his eyes rake down Logan's compact form, admiring his shoulders in particular. "Food's better here than where I was..."
Well, damn, there went his privacy. He'd only gone out there to keep himself to himself for a couple of minutes, out of the line of sight of the mansion's way too many inhabitants, and he couldn't even get that, goddamnit - the next thing he knew he was sharing his damn bench with a disgustingly young guy who insisted on talking to him. He tried not to remind himself he was the one who'd spoken first.
"I tasted worse," he agreed in the end, with a shrug of broad shoulders. He rested his head back, smoking again and almost but not quite closing his eyes - he wasn't quite that trusting. "Chuck always did have a thing for takin' in strays."
"Seems he's doin' a lot more of it lately," Remy remarked, stretching out long legs. He flicked his cigarette away and waited a second before pulling out another. Casually, with a sort of mindless ease born of long habit, he licked the end of the filter and leaned over.
"You got a light?" Mentally, he placed bets on whether Logan would light the cigarette or not. He was leaning more towards not, but it always paid to find out.
There was a book of matches in his hip pocket, from some dive of a roadhouse back north of the border where the beer was roughly 100% better and the company a hell of a lot less chatty. He quirked a brow and looked up at the new guy, LeBeau, whatever the name was. Southern, Louisiana he'd bet. Different.
He patted his pocket then yanked out the matches - for a second he almost did think about lighting the cigarette but in the end he tossed the book onto the guy's lap and finally did close his eyes. "Knock yourself out, kid. Though they frown on the smokes around here."
Remy clucked his tongue and lifted the matches out of his lap. "Don't seem to bother you none," he said, striking the match and inhaling deeply. The cherry burned bright, for a moment matching his eyes. "Or are you just too mean to follow the rules?"
He tossed the matches back, watching out of the corner of his eye, thoroughly expecting Logan to pluck them straight out of the air.
He caught the matches, reflexes apparently not too dulled by the fact his eyes were still closed, and stuffed them back into the pocket of his battered old jeans. Then he took his cigar and tapped off the ash over the arm of the bench, cracking open an eye to glance in the new guy's direction.
"Me and the rules've got just a passin' acquaintance," he said. "And I figure they're made to be broken." He narrowed his one open eye. "Strike you as mean, do I?"
"Maybe a bit." He winked at Logan, laughing softly under his breath. "Or is it just me you don't like?" It wasn't out of the question; Remy'd found that while most people reacted incredibly well to him, there was the occasional sour apple. Logan could well be one of them.
It seemed to him, though, that it wasn't entirely personal. Maybe Logan didn't like anyone. Hell, maybe he was just in a bad mood. That kind of - in his mind, at least - made it his duty to cheer the old bastard up. His fingers spidered across the back of the bench and twined loosely in Logan's hair, tugging mockingly. "It's just me, ain't it?"
Well, damn. It'd been a hell of a while since anyone'd dared mess with him like this, probably not since the last time he'd spent any time with Kitty and damn if that girl wasn't impervious to his glaring. But she'd never pulled his hair, she'd got that in her favor.
He frowned, pressing his mouth into a hard line as he turned his head, rolling it as it rested on the back of the bench to look at this LeBeau guy, both eyes this time. "Nothin' personal," he said, though his voice lowered to something near a growl. Pity it didn't have any real edge to it, almost like he wasn't as thoroughly pissed as he was making out. "Keep doin' that and it will be."
Remy laughed and held up his hands, palms out. "Settle down there, big guy..." But he heard the lack of bite in Logan's voice, heard it and, in typical fashion, decided to run with it. "We can go slow if you like."
He settled back against the bench, a secret little smile on his face. Nothing was ever going to come of this, but Lord knew he was having fun in the meantime. "Ball's in your court now, mon ami."
Logan shook his head, took a deep breath and proceeded to turn his attention back to his cigar. The kid was almost amusing, maybe 'cause the rest of the place knew to leave well enough alone where he was concerned. "Slow?" he said, closing his eyes again, with an amused smile. "So, what, I'm s'posed to pat you on the ass and ask you out to dinner?"
"If that's what turns your crank," Remy answered, noting the smile with a certain amount of triumph. "But we can skip dinner if you want." He was probably edging dangerously close to getting his ass kicked, but it had been a while since he had a good, harmless flirt with someone. Though, looking at Logan from the corner of his eye, he had to wonder exactly how harmless this really was.
He couldn't resist a quiet chuckle at that, not that he made a huge effort to try. Maybe there was an upside to his peace and quiet being interrupted after all. Maybe any other day and he'd've been getting pretty close to smacking the guy down but he'd been wound so tight since he'd got back and before then if he was aiming for honest that maybe this was just what he needed.
He could see the guy looking at him, that sideways glance he took for a question like what am I getting myself into? Hell, it probably wouldn't go past where they were right then, but he didn't have to know that. "You come on to every guy you meet or's it just me?" he asked, dialling back the smile.
"Just the big ones," Remy answered, lips curling in a lazy smile. There was no backing off now, but he wasn't sure he would have even if given the option. If it had been a while since he'd last exercised the privilege of gratuitously flirting, it was an even longer while since it had come to anything. He doubted this would, either, but the prospect was enough. At least he'd have something to think about. He licked his lower lip and considered tangling his fingers in Logan's hair again. Could be interesting.
He paused for a moment, like he was considering that, and took a second to stretch languidly as he looked at him. The eyes were interesting, at least - he'd seen some kooky stuff in his time but those eyes were pretty unique even by his standards. His gaze flickered down to the kid's bottom lip then back up again as he smirked slightly. "Your type, am I?" he said, raising his brows.
Remy almost purred, almost, but he caught himself in time to avoid looking like a fool. Still, when he spoke, his voice came out throaty and miles more suggestive than he'd intended. "You look like you're not afraid to hold a man down, cher." The tip of his index finger curled in the hair at the base of Logan's neck. Subtlety had never been his strong suit. "Yeah, you're my type."
Looked like the kid wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty after all, Logan thought. It amused the hell out of him, though whether that was 'cause he'd been out on his own for so damn long by that point he had trouble remembering the last time he got good and laid or 'cause practically the whole rest of the place was populated with kids who looked at him like he was a goddamn pitbull, he wasn't sure.
He took a deep breath and set the cigar, currently edging its way down to an unsmokeable stub, down on the arm of the bench. A second later, a ridiculous fast twist, and one hand was at the kid's throat, holding firm if not exactly tight. "You don't know who you're messin' with, kid," he said, his voice bordering on a growl right by his ear. "Still think I'm your type?"
It took a long second to register what exactly was happening, and Remy's instincts reacted far faster than his mind. He wasn't half as fast as Logan, but by the time thick fingers had settled around his throat, there was a card in his hand, glowing bright. His lips curled, first into a sneer, then into a smile.
"Told you I liked a man that could hold me down," he answered. The flirtatious edge was gone from his voice, but a hint of it still flickered in his strange eyes. "But you oughta give me some warning next time, 'less you wanna end up with the jack of diamonds in your throat." He tossed the card over the back of the bench; it exploded as soon as it hit the ground, charring an uneven circle in the grass.
His brows edged up as he watched the card sail over onto the lawn - he hadn't seen that trick before, and he had to admit (if only to himself in the relative privacy of his own mind) that it was fairly impressive. He let one rough thumb trace the line of the kid's jaw, then he pulled back his hand and settled back into place next to him, maybe a shade closer.
"It'd take more than that to put me down," he said. "'Sides, warnin' just takes the fun outta things."
"Not tryin' to put you down," Remy said, rubbing at his throat. Christ, but the guy had a grip! "Just back you off a little." He glanced over at Logan, irritated and bemused and utterly unsure of where this was going now. What he did know was that he liked it, and that it was vastly more entertaining than whatever else he'd had planned for the day.
"Anyway, it's prob'ly frowned upon to fornicate right in front of students, hmm?" The corner of his mouth lifted teasingly.
Logan shrugged expansively, apparently tiring of the smoking and pondering for a second before he dropped the cigar to the floor and ground it out with the heel of his boot. He'd thought about using a hand, the palm where it'd show before it healed up - most of the time he was past showing off but so far he'd got nothing to back up his claims. The kid really didn't know who he was dealing with, but maybe he didn't need to know right now anyway.
"Yeah, guess the professor'd have somethin' to say about that," he said, glancing back over at the mansion. "But he knows everythin' that goes on round here anyhow." He raised his brows, shifting, actually turning to face him rather than just turning his head. "Thinkin' about headin' inside?"
"Are you?" He didn't comment on that somewhat creepy remark about the professor, as he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what Logan was getting at. He did sit up a little straighter at the prospect of going inside. He'd intended to spend most of the evening out on the lawn, avoiding the fact that he'd somehow been saddled with a roommate.
"You lead and I'll follow."
It was a great evening, not too hot, not chilly enough he regretted leaving his jacket back in the room that apparently hadn't been handed to anyone else while he'd been away, and he'd been happy enough lounging there on the bench away from the kids and the whispering and the gathering X-Men who all seemed to want to catch up. He hated that. But he hauled himself up from the bench, the wooden frame apparently quite pleased to be free of his weight - as muscular as he looked, the metal in him made him even heavier. He gave the kid a look, a quirked brow and a bare hint of amused smile, then took off for the house at with brisk stride. Whether he followed or not was up to him. He'd figure out where this was going after that.
Remy stayed on the bench, watching Logan go as he considered his options. There were a thousand different scenarios he could conjure up, but it all boiled down to three things. He could stay here and enjoy the evening. He could go inside and get turned away (something that he didn't entirely put past Logan, though he thought it highly unlikely), or he could go inside and have what promised to be some of the most interesting sex of his already varied and sometimes scandalous love life.
It took him maybe a second to decide, probably less, and as he sprung up from the bench and followed Logan into the mansion, he whistled cheerfully to himself.
It wasn't far back to the mansion. Far enough to block out the noises of the students playing touch football by the basketball court but the walk didn't take long - he didn't look back but he didn't have to, he could hear he was being followed and not just from the oddly cheerful whistling. Seemed the newbie was more willing than he'd put him down for in the start. But he did pause at the door, holding it open, waiting.
"You got a room?" he asked when the kid was close enough that he could speak without any stray passersby overhearing.
"Yep," he answered, shimmying through the door and brushing against Logan in the process. There was no point in displaying any sort of shame anymore; they both knew what he was in it for. "Got a roommate too, so we might wanna consider your place." He arched an eyebrow, tongue flicking out unconsciously to taste his lower lip again.
Logan just shook his head at the roommate information and possibly at the fact the kid was now being about as subtle as a blow to the head - admittedly, he kind of appreciated that, though. He'd always liked to know exactly where he stood, none of that political correctness pussyfooting round the issue crap everyone seemed to do these days. Kinda refreshing, he thought.
He didn't reply, though he had a few choice phrases right on the tip of his tongue and for a second it seemed like the best idea in the whole damn world to just push the kid up against the now-closed door and have his wicked way right then and there, students be damned. Surprisingly, he had more self-control; he just turned again and let on down the corridor, twists and turns and a flight of stairs up to the room that was still his. He nudged open the door and gave a big, mock-chivalrous gesture for the kid to step inside.
"Remy LeBeau, huh?" he said, close to smirking. "Pick that name yourself?"
"You don't wanna know how I got that name, mon ami," he answered, slipping into the room and glancing around, bemused by his new surroundings. Whatever else he was, Logan was certainly not a housekeeper. He kicked a work boot out of his way and prowled through the room, looking for someplace to sit. "It's a long, confusing story. Not the kinda thing you talk about on a first date."
"Remind me to ask when we're..." he smirked, broadly, "...better acquainted."
He nudged the door shut behind them with one heel and cast a look over the room, dismissing the fact it had probably seen better days while he was out of the state. He wasn't trying to impress the guy with his cleanliness, for Christ's sake. Then he took a seat on the bed, leaning back against the headboard as it protested his weight, crossing his legs at the ankle. "An' I don't think bringin' you back to my room counts as a date, mon ami," he said. "Take a seat."
"I take what I can get," Remy answered, tossing himself onto Logan's bed and stretching, cat-like. It was a better first date than some he'd had; at least they were in an actual bedroom. He looked around idly, taking things in, waiting for Logan to make the next move. He felt that he'd made his intentions perfectly clear.
Absently, under his breath, he started to hum. It was a bad habit of his, picked up from his adopted father. Jean-Luc LeBeau had always been singing under his breath, whistling, murmuring the words to old spirituals as he worked. Remy hardly realized he was doing it anymore.
It was an odd kind of situation, he thought. Usually his room was empty 'cept for him, a six pack of beers and the occasional passing X-Man who felt like frowning on his habits or dragging him into some damn teambuilding exercise, so this was kinda new. And it was probably gonna be one of those things everyone else frowned on, if they caught on - he probably wasn't supposed to be corrupting the newbies. Pity, he couldn't say he cared much.
"C'mere," he said in the end, in the middle of deciding if that damn humming was gonna piss him off to high heaven or not. Least the kid could carry a tune. He patted the spot beside him, gesturing for him to move. He could've moved himself but hey - his room, his rules.
Remy grinned faintly, thought about playing coy, and quickly decided that it would go over like a ton of bricks. Logan didn't seem like the kind of guy that liked cat and mouse games, at least not in the bedroom, and Remy was nothing if not accommodating. Twisting, he squirmed up the length of the mattress and curled up next to Logan, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
"Nice place you got," he said, only half teasing. He would give anything to have a room all to himself.
"Had worse places," he agreed, glancing around the room. Wasn't much, sure, but it was a mansion, at least the bed had clean sheets and the furniture wasn't bolted to the floor or the type that came with Magic Fingers. Though he kinda liked that.
He turned slightly once the kid'd moved, eyeing him closely. Maybe this wasn't the best idea he'd had all week but somehow it didn't strike him as all that bad; he reached over, not that it was much of a reach considering how damn close they were, and brushed the back of his fingers against the kid's jaw and back, to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He leant closed. "Roommate gettin' to ya?" he asked, smirking.
"Just a little," Remy murmured, leaning eagerly into the touch. God, the guy had huge hands! And they were rough as hell, like he'd been doing the kind of manual labor that made a man old by the age of thirty-five. His lips parted a little, tongue flickering out as if tasting the air. He was wholly unaware of the gesture. A faint grin touched his lips.
"You stink, cher. Too many cigars..."
Logan chuckled, then leaned in close, taking an exaggerated sniff at the crook of the kid's neck. "You got no idea what I can smell on you, kid," he said, right by his ear. And he didn't. If he concentrated hard enough he could probably tell him everyone he'd talked to all day, where he'd been, what he'd been doing. Fortunately for them both, he was more interested in what he was doing now. "'Sides, there's worse things to smell like."
Then he pulled back, tightened his fingers in he kid's hair to tilt back his head, exposing a long line of his throat. He smiled, running his free hand over it, jaw to clavicle, feeling the pulse beneath the skin before he leaned in again, pressing his mouth to the underside of his jaw. He let his tongue come out against the kid's skin, tasted, sucked maybe a bit roughly before he pulled back but that was just so he could shift, pull himself up and straddle the kid's thighs. "You really wanna complain right now, kid?"
Remy shook his head, breathed a word that might have been no. His hands rose, pale and long, and rested lightly on Logan's thick shoulders. It was tempting to grip and twist and tear at his shirt, to arch his back and demand more, but he was still reeling from the way Logan had handled him. He hadn't met someone so casually dominating in a long time, and part of him sensed that it wouldn't be wise to push Logan's limits.
Instead, he dragged his hands down, clever thief's fingers dancing teasingly across Logan's abdomen. They dipped dangerously low, his thumbs actually hooking beneath the waistband of Logan's jeans before skittering back up to safer territory.
He had to admit, the kid's boldness was something like a turn-on. The way his fingers twisted in his shirt and hooked under the waist of his jeans made him smile, that faint kind of smile that could look alternately amused and disturbing but he was going for amused. It was pretty easy to get a reaction out of the kid, and he liked that. He'd have to try some more.
And so, he did. He bend to nip at his jaw with his teeth, a long line back from his chin to the hinge of it as he tangled his fingers back in his hair. The other hand shifted down, tracing a line down the middle of Remy's chest to the buckle of his belt before tugging at his shirt just enough to get underneath. A light rasp of nails against his abdomen and Logan pulled back, meeting those strange eyes for a moment before he found his mouth, hard.
Remy arched into the kiss, previous shyness utterly forgotten as his tongue delved past Logan's lips and into his mouth. He tasted strange, sharp and almost metallic, like pennies or blood, all of it overlaid by the stale warmth of cigar smoke. Remy moaned low and squirmed up, throwing a leg around Logan's thick waist in an attempt to pull him closer. He knew it wouldn't work if Logan didn't want it to; there was considerable strength in his compact body, more than he was necessarily showing. Remy could sense it in the slide of his muscles and in the strange, almost sweet delicacy of his roughness.
He pulled away from the kiss, ending it with a sharp nip to Logan's lower lip. Hectic spots of color had bloomed in his cheeks; no one had ever accused Remy LeBeau of half-hearted fucking.
The enthusiasm wasn't entirely unexpected - that'd what you tended to get when you'd just met twenty minutes ago, after all - but it was kinda nice all the same; Logan shifted one hand to hitch up that leg the kid threw around his waist a little higher, mostly just an excuse to give his thigh a rough squeeze, enjoying the feel of strong muscle under skin. Then he shifted his hand again, up, over his hip and back to the buckle of his belt. He looked down at him for a second as he unbuckled it one-handed, maybe a bit of practice to it though he suspected the kid wouldn't care about that when it came down to it.
Belt undone, he slipped his hand to the front of the kid's pants, toying at the button at the waistband before popping it open. He shoved up his shirt, far enough that it caught under his arms but he made no move to get it off of him, just ran one big hand down over the warm skin of his stomach to tug at that waistband as he found his mouth again before dipping his fingers just a couple of inches underneath.
Remy moaned into Logan's mouth, twisting up against him. His hands slipped up the back of Logan's shirt, fingernails digging deep. He recognized the desperation growing in the pit of his stomach, that deliciously queasy need that drove him to do stupid things like picking up people he'd just met. It was intoxicating, better than liquor.
His hands dove down, graceful even in their rush, and he flicked open the button of Logan's jeans with the ease of long practice. His eyes flashed as he pulled back, and a crooked little smile settled on his lips as he tugged the zipper down one tooth at a time.
Right, so the kid was a tease. In the best possible way, 'cause Logan was pretty damn sure where this was all headed and it was still headed there pretty fast, but as far as he was concerned it could still get there a little faster. He always had a tough time caring he'd only just met his playmate du jour, 'specially 'cause he had a tough time finding anyone in the mansion who wasn't jailbait or kinda looked down on him. He never liked to guess if that was 'cause he wasn't about to hop in and teach English or 'cause he insisted on smoking on the grounds and keeping beer in the kids' fridge.
A low sound in the back of his throat, something dangerous that suited his arousal and he ducked his mouth down, finding the side of the kid's neck and planting a line of sucking, biting kisses, almost too rough to be considered a kiss, down to his collarbone. And he slapped his hand away from his fly, yanking it down the rest of the way before dealing with the kid's in turn. Much better. He slipped his hand back to the now open waist of the kid's pants, Smiling darkly against his throat as he slipped his hand inside.
And Kurt, God help him, teleported into the room just in time to hear Remy yelp something in gutter French.
For a moment, he wasn't sure what on earth he was seeing. It was all just a mess of limbs and clothes and varying shades of hair, and he blinked several times until it resolved itself into... a pair of men? "God in heaven," he muttered, crossing himself rapidly just as the dark-haired one twisted around, nostrils flaring at the stink of sulphur. Kurt, who had been on his way to the kitchen in the first place and who had clearly misjudged very, very badly, stopped just as he was about to - as the others referred to it - 'bamf' out again.
"Logan!?"
Well, Jesus Christ if the smell of sulphur wasn't the mood-killer to end all mood-killers. Logan's head snapped around at the sound and the stink, already knowing exactly what he was going to find: Kurt, standing dumbfounded in the middle of his room. He narrowed his eyes and pulled back his hand from the kid's pants as he groaned in annoyance. "There a reason you're in my room?" he asked, pulling himself back up on his knees, still sitting there astride Remy's thighs.
"I miscalculated, it seems." It was a miracle to Kurt that he could reply coherently at all. His eyes kept darting to the young man stretched out beneath Logan. He was evidently new to the mansion; Kurt was sure he would have recognized those eyes if they'd met before. "Are you doing what I think you are doing?"
Logan glanced back down at the kid, and his state of partial undress, then back at Kurt, trying to decide if he should be mortified here or not. On the one hand, of all the people to walk (metaphorically speaking, at least) in on them, it’d just had to be Kurt. It was hard to say who he'd feel the need to confess to. On the other... he just wasn't sure he cared.
He shrugged, rubbing idly at the kid's bare stomach with the back of one hand. "Yeah, guess I am," he said. "Oh. Yeah." He smirked, gestured vaguely between the two of them. "Kurt, Remy. Remy, Kurt."
Remy raised his fingers, flicking them in an irritated salute to the... well, what the hell was he, anyhow? He looked like a damned Disney mascot or something, and Remy wished he would get the hell out so that he and Logan could get back to it. The longer he stayed, the more irretrievable the situation became.
Kurt ignored the wave, focusing instead of Logan. He wasn't sure what to think. Certainly, he disapproved. They couldn't have known each other for that long! Logan had just come back to the mansion not two days ago. He thought about speaking, but knew that the only thing that would come out was a lecture that neither would pay attention to. Choosing to salvage what dignity he had left, he drew himself up and teleported out of the room, leaving the pair with a cloud of brimstone.
The room could officially only have smelled worse if something had crawled in there and died, or half the fires of hell had burst forth inside it. As it was it was bad enough to get to Logan; he scowled, took a breath and sneezed.
"Damnit," he cursed, and sighed, glaring at the door because it was a hell of a lot easier than glaring at the space of thin air where Kurt had been standing a couple of seconds earlier. The worst part about this was in spite of his better judgement - he'd've sworn he had pretty good judgement, even if half the X-Men would've doubled up laughing at that - he kinda liked the fuzzy little fella. And he'd looked kinda traumatized.
He sighed again, shaking his head, then looked down at the kid he was apparently still straddling. "Crap. Look, I gotta go after him," he said, not quite believing what he was saying.
You serious?" Remy demanded, propping himself up on his elbows and staring incredulously. It was utterly beyond him how a man who, not even a minute ago, had left bitemarks that were rapidly purpling into bruises could just get up and walk away. And to go after a fuzzy blue elf, for God's sake!
"Just let him go," he murmured, wrapping his arms around Logan's neck and trying to pull him back down. The guy was solid muscle, though, so Remy just sort of ended up dangling absurdly a few inches above the mattress.
He had to think about it for a moment, as Remy's arms went around his neck and he resisted being pulled down - he wrapped am arm around the kid's back instead, planted one big hand between his shoulder blades as he looked at him close-up, all flushed skin and kiss-swollen lips. He wanted to forget the fact that he'd got the smell of sulphur stuck in his goddamn nostrils so damn bad, probably could've if he'd just leaned in and buried his face in the crook of the kid's neck, mouth at his pulse. But that, unfortunately, was not what he did.
"You're not makin' this easy on me, kid," he admitted, shifting his hand back up to tangle roughly in his hair. "But Kurt runs across the wrong person right now and pretty soon you're just gonna be That Guy Wolverine Screwed. You want that?"
Slowly, Remy arched an eyebrow. Not because he was thinking, but because he was surprised. "That's... kind of what I expected anyway, cher," he admitted, his expression resolving itself into a quizzical little smile. It had never occurred to him that it would be any other way; the two of them would fuck, dust themselves off, and go their separate ways. No big deal.
But the way Logan asked it, and the way his fingers splayed across Remy's back made him wonder if maybe that wasn't a little bit sad. So he sighed and dropped his arms, gesturing sharply. "Go on, then. Just promise you'll come find me some other time, eh?"
Logan chuckled, maybe faintly surprised. He guessed he wasn't used to too many of the professor's newbies throwing away their reputation on him, or being the reason why people were talking behind the new guy's back now he thought about it. Might've been worth it, he thought as he eyed him, 'cept he didn't like feeling responsible; guilt didn't sit well with him and Xavier had an uncanny knack for making him feel guiltier than he'd even thought about feeling before. For a quick fuck, or maybe not so much quick as spur-of-the-moment, scratching-an-itch, the kid's ruined rep and Chuck's speech about not corrupting his juniors was kinda too much. Maybe he should've thought of that before Kurt bamfed into the room.
"I'm goin'," he said in the end, the look on his face somewhere between frustration and annoyance. But he didn't move, at least not far - he leaned in, quickly, the kiss rough and deep and not nearly enough for what his body wanted. He wanted to push him right back down, get him outta those clothes... a well-placed claw'd get him outta that shirt and. Christ. It just to be Kurt, of all the people.
He pulled back with what could've been described as a growl, teeth nipping at Remy's bottom lip as he did so. "I'm gonna kill him," he muttered, hauling himself up off the bed and buttoning his jeans before he looked back down at him, eyes dark with all the things he really wanted to do. Best goddamn idea he'd had all month and he was leaving him in bed, un-fucking-satisfied. "Next time, no goddamn interruptions."
"I'll be around when you're ready," Remy purred, winking and stretching. In spite of his own frustration, he was thoroughly enjoying Logan's reaction. It made him feel good, made him feel desired, and there was nothing that Remy LeBeau liked more than knowing that he was wanted.
He stood gracefully and rearranged his clothes with the ease of long practice. He couldn't even count any more how many times he'd had to feign innocence. You got good at it after a while and, after a few judicious tugs, he looked as though nothing whatsoever had happened. "Age before beauty," he said, and gestured to the door.
I'm ready now! was the response a pretty darn significant proportion of Logan wanted to give. And he was - it would've been so easy, too, ruffling him up again in about three seconds flat. Might've been fun, too, 'cept he had a fuzzy little blue guy to track. Not too tough with the smell of brimstone in the air, and it was just plain wrong that he cared more about the kid's reputation than he did, but there it was. Hell, his own was pretty far from salvageable by that point, he had to care about someone's.
He took a breath, still full of that godawful stench from Kurt's misjudged teleportation, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he opened the door. He let himself out, gave him one last look over his shoulder - what he hoped said something like to be continued - and took off in long, fast strides. He followed his nose.
Remy stepped into the hall and casually kicked shut Logan's door. No one had seen them come out. It seemed Logan's fear of him gaining a new, not entirely complimentary nickname were unfounded. Sighing, he thrust his hands into his pockets and turned, ambling down the hallway in the opposite direction. He supposed he'd just go back outside and smoke the rest of his pack and see if anything else interesting happened.
Though, all things considered, there weren't many things that could top being walked in on (so to speak) by a blue German. Remy snorted as he made his way down the stairs. Maybe the evening was a total loss, but he at least got a good story out of it.