PART TWO Who: Remy LeBeau & Logan When: June 29 Where: The library, then the garage What: Resume what was previously interrupted by Kurt
(And here's part two! This one gets a bit more... explicit. Heh.)
Remy tore his lip from Logan's teeth, licking at the blood that welled up as it split. For a second, he was scared of Logan's reaction; what if he pulled away, disgusted? From what Remy knew - and had intuited - about Logan, that likelihood was slim but he still worried. The way Logan touched him, the way he pushed him down and dragged his hands across Remy's skin, the way he bit and bruised and let him breathless - it was impossibly intoxicating, the kind of lust that came along once in a blue moon.
His fingers danced down Logan's spine, under the hem of his shirt. They tangled in thick, curling hair as they slipped back up his chest, and Remy hissed in guttural pidgen French, digging his nails into thick muscle that bunched and flexed beneath his hands. His fingers drifted down, found Logan's nipples. He didn't waste time exploring whether Logan liked it gentle or rough; judging by the way he handled Remy, there was only one answer to that question. Remy pinched hard, rolling his nipples along the sides of his index fingers. There was a sharp pain along his collarbone and he moaned, hips jerking up. Another bruise to add to the collection.
For a moment, Logan pulled back. Not far, no, just far enough to lookdown at him and that bloodied lip - he could smell the sharp tang of blood in the air, metallic, and maybe he should've stopped, maybe anyone else would've at the sight of blood, but Logan was Logan and nothing could harm him. He leaned back in, kissed him again, not particularly careful of that split in his lip. He had a feeling the kid wouldn't want him to be, either, judging by the way he'd reacted already, how he hadn't cared about the bruises or the rasp of nails against his skin, the roughness Logan usually checked at the door but somehow the kid brought out in him.
And, God, it looked like Remy knew exactly what Logan wanted in return. True, it wouldn't've taken a psychic, but the way he pinched at his nipples, hard, as Logan nipped at his collarbone, was fucking exquisite - he growled against the kid's skin, then pulled back, yanked off his own shirt and tossed it to the floor and turned his attention to tugging off Remy's. It was difficult, the fabric trapped between the kid's back and the hood of the car, so... frustrated, he might've considered his next move for a second before he held his hand aside, popped out a claw with a satisfying snikt and cut a quick, ragged line from collar down to hem, smirking as he split open Remy's shirt. And he watched for his reaction.
For a moment, all Remy could do was quiver desperately, wide eyes fixed on Logan's long, shining claw. "D-didn't know you had them, cher," he whispered. He reached up slowly, touched the silver metal with two fingers. It should probably have frightened him. Certainly, he should have been upset about his torn shirt. His wardrobe was already severely limited as it was, and the shirt that Logan had torn so casually had been one of his best. But all he could do was stare up at that claw and wonder dazedly if there were more like it.
Slowly, knowing that he was being foolish and unable to care, he stretched forward. His tongue flicked out, curled around the impossibly sharp tip of the claw. A delicious shudder crawled down his spine; this was a whole new level of danger for him and though he knew he shouldn't he wanted to push Logan, wanted to see what he was capable of. "More," he purred, nicking the tip of his tongue and falling back down onto the hood of the Camaro.
Well, that was an interesting reaction. He'd seen wide-eyed terror, he'd seen shock, he'd seen surprise - no one'd ever actuallylicked his damn claws before. He chuckled, low, and shook his head slightly. Just the idea of it was enough to turn him on, let alone seeing him do it.
And apparently, he couldn't quite bring himself to say no. He pulled in that one claw and held up both arms, pausing a second before letting out all six. "They're sharp," he warned, faintly amused since he was pretty sure the kid'd already found that out for himself.
Remy whimpered. He actually fucking whimpered, like this was the first time he'd ever had sex. He supposed he shouldn't be ashamed by it; even in his wide experience, he'd never fucked a guy with giant claws. Fascinated, he reached up. His fingers drew carefully down the curve of each claw, stroking the bright silver. "What're they made of?" he murmured. For the moment at least, he had completely forgotten about sex.
Logan took a breath, not sure if he was amused by the reaction anymore or just intrigued, especially since this really wasn't getting him laid. And it wasn't like this was something he spent a whole hell of a lot of time talking about. In the end he just shrugged, at least trying to act like the subject didn't bother him. "It's adamantium," he told him. "Stuff's all over my bones."
"I'm impressed," Remy said, grinning slyly up at Logan. "That why you're so heavy?" He didn't really expect an answer. There was an impatient gleam in Logan's eyes for which Remy couldn't entirely fault him. Laughing to himself, he tightened his legs around Logan's waist, squeezed gently. The motion hurt his prick, swollen and aching and pressed as it was against his thigh. His fingers danced down the claws to rub at Logan's knuckles where they emerged from his skin. He wondered if it hurt, but didn't want to ask.
"You tryin' to say somethin' about my weight?" he asked, with a smirk. "You're enough to make a guy paranoid, kid." Except he probably didn't exactly sound too concerned about it, considering the way he shifted his hips against him. He dropped one hand, claws retracting as he did so, and leaned down against the hood, feeling quite clearly just how hard the kid was and that was good news, considering he was matching. "Now, you wanna play with my claws or is there somethin' else you want right now?"
"Think you know what I want," Remy laughed, trying to squirm up off the car. Now that the claws were gone, his mind was back on what was really important. One arm looped around Logan's neck and he dragged himself up, pressing a slightly bloody kiss against his mouth. His free hand crawled down his own abdomen and his fingers fumbled with his belt, pushing it aside. He made quick work of his jeans, afraid that Logan might decide he wasn't fast enough. He couldn't afford to lose a pair of pants in addition to his shirt.
Logan pulled back slightly, far enough to watch him as he shoved at his jeans. He already knew the kid was pretty muscular but it was pleasant enough to see it, too - he ran his hand over the kid's abdomen, kinda lightly, slipped them to his hips and rubbed his thumbs over the bones there just under the skin. He was one of the more attractive prospects Logan had had in months, he had to admit.
Then he shifted back, looked him over for a moment before he brought his mouth down to one of Remy's nipples, sucking, teasing it with tongue and teeth before moving on, down, mouth trailing down the centre of the kid's chest and stomach, fingers and nails trailing after. The taste of his skin was fucking intoxicating. This was going to be good.
Remy arched his back and threaded his fingers through Logan's coarse hair, pushing his head down, urging him to go faster. He didn't expect Logan to comply, didn't want him to comply. He just enjoyed the helplessness of it all, and the knowledge that he couldn't control Logan no matter how hard he tried. Maybe it was sick, but he could feel the tension in Logan's shoulders and he knew that he had reached the point of no return. If he changed his mind now and started to say 'no', he wasn't entirely certain that Logan would listen, and that thought alone brought him nearly to the brink.
He whispered non-stop, sometimes in English but most often in gutter French. It was a mark of how much he was enjoying himself that he couldn't keep his languages straight; Cajun French had been his first tongue as a child, and it had become a point of pride and loyalty not to speak it ever since he'd left New Orleans. But god, Logan's hands were so big, so rough, so fucking dangerous. There was no way to express how exquisite it all was in English.
He might not've been an expert but Logan, far from academic as he was, understood enough French to get the gist of pretty much everything the kid said in that fucking incredible tone of his. It almost made him chuckle except for the fact he was otherwise engaged, mouth trailing down then taking a sharp detour across to his hip, down the ridge of muscle where leg met body to the inside of one thigh. It was simpler now the kid'd lost the jeans, so much more skin on display and yeah, Logan liked that. He pressed the kid's hips to the hood as he worried a stretch of smooth skin with his teeth, not quite hard enough to hurt. Then he pulled back.
The buckle of his own belt was a fucking frustration - somehow for all his dexterity it wouldn't unbuckle for the first few seconds and he grumbled, some colorful cursing going on under his breath until he got it open, tugged down the zipper, quirked a brow at Remy as he shoved down his jeans over his hips to mid-thigh. He knew how he looked -that never made him anxious, not that much did. Fortunately nakedness didn't bother him so much, couldn't have because he'd obviously started to forget what underwear was.
Remy lifted his head slightly as he heard Logan's jeans whisper down his legs. His eyes, slitted with pleasure, took in the thick hair that curled across Logan's chest, down his belly. He reached out, gripping a handful, and dragged Logan close again. As strangely attractive as the guy was with his compact, unnervingly animal sexuality, Remy was not interested in looking. He made soft, desperately encouraging noises as Logan's body draped across his own, hips fitting neatly between Remy's legs.
A quick shudder seized his body as Logan's erection pressed up against him, and although he knew he should have expected it, he was shocked by how thick it was, and by how fucking ready for him Logan seemed to be. He twisted his hips up, grinding against Logan, eager for more. His thoughts raced as he did, colliding inside his head in a mess of lust and fear and some unidentifiable feeling that made his stomach clench and his heart race.
Oh yeah, this was good. And garage be damned, it was hot - the kid pulled him back down and that was pretty good too, pressing against him in all the right places, cock hard and pressed up against the kid's stomach as it was, how easy it was to find one of his wrists and pin it there above his head as he shifted against him. He was an expanse of warm skin and that fucking French, real fucking French, not the gaudy shit you got out in Europe that was all sweet goddamn nothings even when he'd been locked in some dirty damn hotel room deep as he could go in the hottest body he'd laid eyes on all week. At some point it'd stopped mattering if it was a girl or guy.
He kissed him again. Hard, deep, the tang of blood still on his mouth but that was fine, the kid didn't seem to care and he couldn't say it put him off. He leaned down on that arm that was still pinning down Remy's hand, got the other one down to his thigh and hitched it up by his hip as he shifted against him, rubbing languidly, no urgency to it at all right then except he felt it, pretty damn acutely. So that didn't last long. He pulled back, looked down at him. "Pretty sure we're gonna fuck now," he said, voice improbably low, an almost-growl, with an amused twist to his mouth. And to punctuate his point he slipped that free hand down between the two of them, gave him a squeeze, teased him with his fingers.
"Pretty sure that's why I came here," Remy answered breathlessly, arching into Logan's hand with a desperate abandon that he'd never felt before. Sex for him had always been a game, a little tease here and there, the chase - brief though it might be - and then the prize, a body moving under him or over him, it had never really mattered. He just craved the sensation, needed to feel the desperation and the approval and the pleasure. Logan provided all that, yes, but he gave back something more. Every touch, every kiss, every bite that left vivid marks on Remy's pale golden skin, it all fed a primal sort of hunger into him. Logan wanted him the way no one else ever had and he responded with everything in him.
His nails clawed deep furrows down Logan's back, marks that bled a drop or two and then knitted back together as though they'd never been there. He only half noticed it and lacked the self-possession to file it away for later consideration. All he cared about was Logan, on top of him and inside him. He wanted to be held tight, fucked rough, marked and battered and beautifully abused by the man who held him pinned to the car. He wanted to be owned, and he wanted Logan to do it.
No two ways about it: everything the kid did was fucking hot. The way he moved, the way he sounded... even the nails on Logan's back that he could feel break the skin before it healed right up in their wake, well. Remy didn't know they were going to heal, did he, and that was fucking hot. He could feel the skin shifting back into place with a low kind of sting but that was kinda good, too. If nothing else, it was feeling. He might've tried to deny it,might have, but in some ways he was pretty much just an animal. Sex wasn't some pretty-happy-delicate thing for him, not that much about him was. Really, he just liked to feel.
It wasn't going to be pretty, that much he knew. He spat into his hand, unselfconscious about it just the way he was in just about everything else, slicked himself quickly and that wasn't going to be much help but it was a cursory kind of nod to consideration at least. The kid wasn't going to heal like Logan did, after all. Then he pressed back down, all tight muscle and darkened eyes and that visceral feeling of being about to feel. He took a breath, glanced down between them, shifted to push himself up against him, blunt and hot and already enough to make his stomach clench hard with that raw kind of need he'd missed for a while now. Then he shifted his hips, not tentative, completely sure. He pushed inside him, growling in his throat at the feel of it, one hand still pinning Remy's wrist to the metal. It was better for the waiting.
Remy screamed.
There was no helping it, no feigning pleasure and hiding his pain with a low curse as he had done so many times before. Logan pushed in and Remy's entire world contracted, narrowing until he was made up of searing pain, the kind that sucked the air out of his lungs, that froze his muscles. It lasted forever, dragging on and on, and the agony that flowed through his belly in fiery waves set his limbs into an involuntary dance, twitching and contracting and trying to draw Logan in deeper. It only hurt at first, he knew that like he knew his own name, and as Logan slipped further and further into his body, the pain transmuted into pleasure that racked his body as surely as Logan's initial entry had done.
He forced himself to breath, forced himself to move. He struggled mindlessly against the hand pinning him to the car, some strange instinct driving him to cling tight to Logan's neck, to pull him down further. Remy wanted to be as close as possible, wanted to feel every fucking inch of Logan's powerful body against his own. "Tha's it," he slurred, head rolling back against the hood of the car. "Perfect. More, mon ange..."
He didn't stop. It wasn't that he'd got some kind of rampant sadistic streak in him - sure, he probably had, but that wasn't it, he was just focused, intent on fitting himself inside him in one long, slow, completely fucking torturous stroke. He'd adjust to it then, it'd feel good, pain fading into pleasure, maybe one kinda blurred around the edges with the other for a while just the way he liked it himself. It'd be worth it, he thought, 'cause if nothing else the kid was damn well going to feel this, ever inch, every second.
He didn't let go of his wrist. He thought about it, as he shifted his hips for the first time, a shallow flex that shifted him deeper and made him growl as he pressed his mouth to the crook of Remy's neck. He could press down against him without that hand clutching at him, even if he had a feeling it'd feel good. But he did give a bit when Remy spoke - he shifted his hips again, sharper, deeper, making his own breath catch before he chuckled it out against the kid's neck. Oh God, that was good. He couldn't form a word for it and he didn't try, he just moved, nothing like a rhythm to it, not at first, not until he found the right angle that made his jaw clench and his muscles tense. That was just fucking perfect; he pulled back, entered him all over again at that perfect fucking angle, nothing like quiet about it, so barely human in the way he sounded but he couldn't care about that. The kid just did something to him.
Remy shuddered as Logan's hips flexed forward, rolling his own up to meet those tentative first thrusts. His breath rasped gently in his throat as he rode the waves of lazy pleasure that coursed through his body, twisting and shifting, trying to help Logan find that perfect angle. He leaned up, started to whisper in Logan's ear. He'd noticed how Logan responded to the sound of his voice, how he seemed to react so eagerly to the cadences of Cajun French. It amused and delighted him, and he would have whispered any number of filthy things into the cup of Logan's ear, but a stab of pleasure so intense that it was very nearly agony pierced his belly and he gave a wordless, helpless cry instead.
The angle seemed to suit Logan as well, and Remy whined harshly as he began to thrust faster. He locked his legs in the small of Logan's back, pulling him in deeper, his entire body bucking against the hood of the car with a desperation he hadn't known he possessed. Each time Logan pressed into his body, it felt like he was being torn apart in the most glorious way possible. Every part of him screamed for more; he wanted Logan to get rough with him, to hurt him again, and he got the distinct feeling that that was exactly what was going to happen very, very soon.
As far gone as he was - and he was gone pretty damn far, further than usually he let himself go, further than he thought he could control with anything like precision - Logan knew this didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of lasting. He had insane fucking stamina, probably because his body just plowed right on to healing instead of that human thing called recovery, but there were times when all the stamina in the world wasn't going to help 'cause the pleasure of it, a kind of shiver through his muscles and a catch in his breath he was pretty sure he would've usually hated, just took over. As much as it would've been pretty fucking glorious to make it last, there was no sustaining this. Hell, he wasn't sure he could've coped with it anyway.
He picked up the rhythm, setting it hard and deep and fast that would've strained a lesser guy, he guessed. Fortunately he wasnot a lesser guy, he had the strength of twenty lesser guys, probably the muscle mass of four of them, and he always used that to his advantage. He pressed him down with the deceptive weight of his body, not that the kid was trying to get anywhere considering the legs around his waist, let go of his wrist with a quick glance up to see the red ring around it where he'd gripped maybe too hard.
Maybe the kid hadn't given him permission but it was as near as made no damn difference and fuck, the way he was marked, all the fucking bruises from this time and last, the way he'd just let him do it, there was something about it that just drove Logan absolutely fucking insane. One hand clamped down on Remy's bicep, tight enough it'd likely bruise there too, the other going to his thigh and tugging it up higher as he pushed into him, over and over, the feel of it fucking exquisite. Then his mouth found the kid's collarbone, biting down as his hand slipped between the two of them, finding his cock to rub fucking torturously at the head with the pad of one thumb.
Had he thought he was screaming before? That was nothing compared to the noise he made as Logan's rough finger swept across the tip of his cock. A howl burst from between his lips, and calling it animalistic would have been understating it considerably; it stripped his throat, left him gasping and twisting against the hood of the car, now slick and treacherous with their mingled sweat. He sobbed, helpless and battered and rapidly becoming addicted to the way that Logan fucked him, the rough way he handled him. Remy could feel the deep bruising around his wrist - which he kept pressed to the exact spot where Logan had till recently held it - and could only imagine what the rest of him looked like.
Logan's teeth clamped down on his collarbone and Remy wailed, locking his legs tighter around Logan's waist, trying to hold on but Christ it was hard. Every stroke felt like it was going deeper, splitting him wider, and he was sure he was never going to be the same after this. Oh, his body would recover, it always recovered, but his mind was wholly, irrevocably Logan's. No one had ever fucked him like this, had owned him so thoroughly, and he was certain that no one ever would again. He twisted up, digging the nails of one hand viciously into the nape of Logan's neck as pleasure rippled through his body in ever increasing waves. Not much longer...
Enough. Enough. He reacted to that sound this time, pulling back abruptly, a rough suck to the kid's already bruised collarbone, hand slipping on the hood as he tried to steady himself over him, still moving - deeper, deep as he could go and not just crawl the fuck inside him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way, his muscles on fucking fire with it, practically a fucking symphony the way they sang, making him unsteady at least as much as the slippery paintwork. His eyes came down to him, verging on impossibly dark, wild, fixing right on those weird-ass colors of the kid's as he kept moving like he couldn't've stopped for the goddamn apocalypse.
Coherent thought was miles away, discarded. Who needed to think straight when he had this? It'd been surprisingly easy to let go in ways he barely ever had before and Remy just took it - that thought as much as anything, disjointed as it was, more instinct than consciousness that told him he should just go right ahead, fuck him, mark him, fucking claim him, twisted at something inside him, tweaked his muscles tight, sent heat pooling down low in his belly like oh yeah, this was it. He was close to done.
The pad of his thumb rubbed insistently at the head of Remy's cock, just enough space down there between them then for him to take him in his hand, jerk him base to tip with one big, rough hand just the way he'd want it himself, even if his nails scratched at his own belly when he moved, hard enough it maybe should've hurt. Nothing about the way he'd moved had been smooth since the beginning but now everything about it was shorter, sharper, tenser, the rhythm off as he got closer. Even a hair's breadth from fucking feral he mean for the kid to come first.
Remy's breath hitched and burned in his throat, every nerve in his body on fire, every muscle tingling. He could feel it in his bones, a deep down, rattling, filthy satisfaction, because Logan fucked him the way he wanted to be fucked, Logan treated him right, rough and hard and so close to feral that bright threads of fear wove through the mindless ecstasy that washed his limbs. What if Logan tore him open when he came? Remy could see his teeth, dull white in a snarling mouth, and he was sure that he had never seen someone who looked so much like an animal, not even him, not even all those times he'd had to turn away or be sick. He at least had been amused by what he did. Logan simply did.
He tried to scream again as Logan's hard hand rasped down the length of his cock. Pleasure so intense that it seared blasted through his hips and he twisted, squirming to get away from it. His hands pushed away now instead of pulling down, but when he spoke all he could say was yes. He begged for more as he shoved Logan away, feet kicking out, heels hammering against the side of the car; he called Logan a thousand names, hurled insults at him, shrieked in incoherent pleasure and, as he finally arched his back, his muscles twitching as his climax crashed over him, he slammed his nails into Logan's bare skin and tore eight paths down his thick chest.
Maybe he should've been concerned about the noise, considering how many decibels they had to be racking up between them, what with the noises the kid made, like he couldn't pick a tack 'cause first it'd be all yes yes yes! then the next thing Logan was getting cussed out but good in that ever more familiar brand of mixed English and Louisiana French like he was some dirty goddamn SOB he hadn't propositioned the first time they'd met. The problem was Logan pretty much wasn't home right then and all the insults, the way the kid pushed at him like thirty damn seconds earlier he hadn't wanted him to fuck him clear through the hood of the gorgeous blue Camaro... well, it might as well've been some goddamn litany of sweet nothings for all the notice Logan paid it. He wanted him and he had him, he was ten times stronger than him anyhow and fuck it. He'd've barely known his own name if asked right then. The kid's, yeah, that was a possibility, 'cause he was a hair's breadth from growling it. Though anyone'd come in they'd've got a faceful of mostly-naked, half-feral Wolverine. It wouldn't've been pretty.
He felt it as the kid came, through the haze of heat and sweat and his own low growl that maybe should've hurt just a little the way it sounded in his throat. Maybe it was the way the kid's muscles tensed under his hands, that arch of his back against the hood - he'd homed in on Remy's reactions the whole time even if he'd kinds tuned them out but then he was back, focused on him when he came in bursts over Logan's hand and his muscles damn near shook with it. Then nails at his chest; he felt them break the skin then felt each trail start to knit back together as he growled again, deep, shivering at it. That was it; between the sweet fucking pleasure and the sharp sting of pain it was more than enough to finish him. His hips bucked again, once, twice, his not inconsiderable frame shuddering as he buried himself down deep inside him and finally, finally came.
His muscles twitched, erratic like his breath and his pulse and the hair slicked down haphazardly over his forehead with that sheen of sweat. He pressed his face to the crook of Remy's neck, keeping close, eating up the heat of him as if he didn't have enough of his own already but it seemed it was instinct anyhow. He didn't care that he should move, not for a start, didn't care reputation dictated he flee the scene ASAP - he just nuzzled faintly at the bitemark there bright and angry over Remy's collarbone, satisfied and spent.
Now all he had to do was gather himself. His healing factor would do the rest.
Slowly, things began to piece back together around him. The garage, the car, the weight that pinned him down and the wetness between his legs. He wrapped his arms around Logan and let him nuzzle at his neck. Remy was still lost in dazed, pleased confusion, his entire head a delicious muddle, thick like it had been stuffed with cotton. The car, once an object of affection almost on par with Logan himself, had become hard and uncomfortable, and after a moment, he started to squirm.
"Lemme up, cher," he whispered, biting gently at Logan's earlobe. He had never objected to a little cuddling, a post-sex cigarette or two, but he didn't want to do it on top of slick metal that seemed bound and determined to twist his spine in ways previously unheard of. "Car ain't exactly a mattress, an' I want my cigarettes..."
It took an impossibly long moment for anything that Remy said to filter through into his head and resolve into anything like coherence, but once it had he snorted in amusement against his collarbone. He cleared his throat, shifted slightly just to get his weight right on the hood, looked down at him still flushed and totally disheveled, then hauled himself up; he stretched hugely, joints cracking with a satisfying kind of sound, and then set about the business of getting himself back into his clothes .
The motions felt stiff as he buttoned his jeans, as he settled back into himself and not whatever the hell that had been about. Didn't look like the kid objected, though, so hell if he was going to let himself get all fucking guilty about it. He half-smiled to himself, guessed it looked pathetically self-satisfied but didn''t care a bit. He looked back down at the car and the kid still sprawled on it; Jesus Christ, that was hot, worth whatever cruel and unusual punishment Emma'd dream up once she found out what they'd done. He didn't doubt for a second she would.
He held out a hand. Considering the way he'd marked the kid like that, the least he could do was help him up.
Remy took the offered hand and stretched, stumbling slightly against Logan's chest as he struggled to keep his legs under him. They wobbled dangerously and he laughed, pinkness tinging his cheeks. How long had it been since he hadn't been able to stand after sex? Hell, it was usually the other guy - or girl, as the case may be - that had problems walking. He smiled sheepishly at Logan and looked around, still dazed. His jeans lay pooled on the floor of the garage, and he winced as he bent to get them, hissing slowly through his teeth.
"So," he said, soft and non-confrontational as he pulled his pants back on. He would have liked to pull on a shirt, too, but that wasn't going to happen. He gathered the tatters of his shirt from under the car, avoiding Logan's eyes. This wouldn't be the first time a guy fucked him and then got pissed off about it, like it was all his fucking fault. "We okay?"
Logan snorted and stepped in closer again, bringing up a hand to tap a couple of fingers over that bite mark over the kid's collarbone though he actually just meant to steady him a bit. 'Course they were okay, how was this not? He hadn't felt this goddamn sated in longer than he could remember, now it came to it. "Yeah, we're okay," he said, and glanced down at the remnants of his shirt. "But yeah, I'm not sorry 'bout that, kid. What can I say."
Remy shrugged and balled the rags up, tossing them neatly into a garbage can that stood against the wall. "I'll get a new one," he answered casually. It wasn't like shirts were hard to get hold of, honestly or dishonestly. He grinned suddenly, bright and faintly wicked. "Just hope I don't cause I riot walkin' back up to the house like this."
Logan patted the kid on the shoulder, shaking his head for a second, then shucked off his own shirt and held it out. "It ain't gonna fit but it'll stop the general public from rippin' ya to shreds," he said, with a raise of his brow. After all, Logan wandering about the place in a tank top and jeans wasn't exactly a new thing, he was pretty sure he could afford the blow to his reputation. "An' I'll come get it back sometime, huh?"
"I'll look forward to that," Remy answered, tugging the shirt on. It was, in fact, much too big for him, and he was sure that he looked somewhat comical, but he didn't much care. The shirt smelled deliciously like Logan, and he wrapped his arms around himself, holding the scent close to his skin. Hesitantly, he shifted a little closer, leaned down, and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Logan's mouth. "Thanks, cher."
"Don't mention it." He gave him a lopsided smile and settled his hands into his pockets. The shirt looked... interesting on him, he had to say. Way too big despite the difference in their height and he couldn't help thinking it was only slightly better than wandering round shirtless - the thing was pretty obviously his, even if it just about saved his modesty. He leaned back against the wheel well of the car - man, Emma was gonna be pissed - and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Seeya around, kid." He had every intention of making that soon.