A Reasonable Compromise
Chapter 1
by
FyrDrakken
WARNING: I cannot stress this enough -- this story is Rogue/Gambit; Logan/Gambit; Logan/Rogue. That means m/m slash is a major part of this story.
If this squicks you, read no further! If you're curious, read on...
Archive: WR fanfic archive and X-Men Movie Fanfic archive, anyone else ask -- answer will no doubt be yes, but I do like knowing where my stuff goes! :-)
Disclaimer: Marvel owns much, Bryan Singer kicks ass, Hugh Jackman is eminently lickable, the story is bloody well my own.
Feedback: Questions, comments and snide remarks will receive guaranteed responses. As an Elitist Fic Bitch in good standing, I welcome constructive criticism -- if there's a problem in something I've written I *really* want to know about it so I can fix it!
Author's Note: I've read enough of the comics to know that Remy LeBeau is a New Orleans native who readily admits he can barely speak French, and I have enough dealings with my Cajun cousins not to be able to give him the Parisian accent the comic writers have mistakenly foisted on him. That's why I've written his dialogue the way I have...
Inspiration/Blame: Jenn was not only the one who sent me on to Jane St. Clair's All the Animals (a fabulous read and if you're interested go check it out --- it has L/S and managed to convert me to the slashable view of Logan without ruining my take on his essential character), but she was the one who brought me into the Musical Beds revolving-door X-Smut anthology, and she was the one who kept demanding more and more of this via AIM. She also volunteered for human shield duty... ;-D
Dedication: To the women I overheard during my lunchbreak at work the day I began writing this, complaining about a lesbian subplot being introduced on ER and expressing their beliefs as to the damnatory consequences of such
activities...
Note:
[ ] = Thoughts
* * = Emphasis
/ / = Rogue reliving a bit of borrowed memory
"Won't you come a bit closer,
close enough so I can smell you.
I need you to feel this,
I can't stand to burn too long.
Released in this sodomy.
For one sweet moment I am whole."
-- "Prison Sex," by Tool
* * *
It all came to a head on the day Logan was passing by Remy's room just as he was coming out. The kid reeked of sweat, of Marie and of fulfilled desires. Logan halted, the mingled scents hitting him in the deepest instinctive reptile centers of his brain with all the subtlety of a battleaxe.
Remy turned to look at him over one shoulder. "Got a problem, Wolvie?"
Wolverine growled, the pain and frustration boiling over and emerging as a guttural feral warning. His fists clenched, as Logan kept just enough control to keep from attacking the punk. [Let it go, kid. Turn and walk away, *right now*...]
Unfortunately, telepathy seemed to be one power that Remy definitely did *not* have. Leaning against the wall with one shoulder, he stuck his hands in his pockets. "I don' know what your deal is, man. Can't even say hello without growlin' at me, and I *know* it ain't just that you don't got a nice word for anyone cause I see you with other people gettin' on okay."
Wolverine tensed. This rat bastard son-of-a-bitch prettyboy as good as had a sign on him saying, "I just fucked the girl who *should* have been yours -- and she liked it, too," and here he was trying to start a fucking *conversation*? Could he really be *that* clueless as to who he was fucking around with here? Right now the only thing keeping this punk in one piece was the lingering knowledge that Marie would *not* be pleased if he gutted her boyfriend -- and that little fact was getting awfully hard to keep in the forefront of his mind...
Throwing in a pouty look, Remy added, "I'm beginnin' to think that maybe you don' *like* me that much. Be nice if you at least told me *why*..."
It was the pout that did it. The sulky little James Dean-wannabe pose didn't hurt, nor did the fact that he was entirely too damned pretty -- but it was that eminently biteable little lip thrusting forward at him that really tipped him over the edge.
Logan had always had a thing for redheads.
He was entirely too close to be able to read the look on Remy's face when he slammed him against the door -- but he felt the kid's hands pressing against his shoulders. In startlement only, not seriously trying to push him away, as in another moment his hands were coming up, his arms around Logan, his lips parting under his. Logan only vaguely noticed the signs of cooperation -- he was more interested in the taste of Marie lingering on the kid's mouth -- and jaw -- and throat...
Tangling one hand in the unruly auburn tumble, he pulled Remy's head back, exposing his throat. He followed the intoxicating scent across and down, trying to find every last bit of Marie left on the aggravatingly attractive punk currently pressed against him. Remy fumbled behind him, finding the doorknob and turning it, and then Logan stumbled forward as the door they had been leaning against opened inward.
The kid managed to get the door closed behind them, and then he was pressed against it again, from the inside this time. Still following the lingering traces of Marie, Logan started opening Remy's shirt impatiently. Right now the thought uppermost in his mind was removing every last bit of Marie from his rival's skin. He started scrubbing at Remy's throat with his tongue, and the younger man murmured happily and tangled his hands in Logan's hair. Buttons gave as the shirt was yanked farther open and the scent trail was followed down an almost hairless chest.
Rather than protesting at the treatment of his wardrobe, Remy pushed away from the door and began urging his companion towards the bed. The Wolverine was happy enough to comply, since rendering the opponent horizontal made him that much more helpless. Enthusiastically pushing the kid back onto the bed, he followed him down and knelt astride him, continuing to follow that scent ever southward. Remy put his hands on the older man's head again, and Logan had enough coherent thought left to him at that point to muse that he wasn't at all surprised -- Gumbo was *way* too pretty to be entirely straight.
It wasn't until he was undoing Remy's jeans that the thought occurred to him that Marie might not approve of what he was doing. Logan paused for the briefest of instants -- The Wolverine almost quivering with impatience to finish subduing his opponent by whatever means necessary -- before concluding that Marie would *probably* rather he fuck her boyfriend than kill him, since he couldn't refrain from doing both. Besides, the kid hadn't protested even once -- he wasn't exactly proving himself a model of fidelity to his beloved, so if he would no doubt be cheating on her *anyway*...
All doubts were forgotten when Logan got Remy's zipper undone and tugged his jeans and briefs down. Not only did he positively reek of Marie, but it was those bits of Marie that were the most interestingly obsessed over. Wolverine started enthusiastically running his tongue over the regions that had been the most intimately in contact with the object of his affections, saving the best for last.
Remy moaned when Logan started scrubbing his tongue along the shaft of his penis, and when the older man actually took him in his mouth he began trying to move his hips. Wolverine growled and put his forearms across the kid's upper thighs, using his weight to pin him to the bed. Accepting the unspoken command to hold still, Remy gasped and moaned enthusiastically, tensing the muscles in his legs and quivering slightly.
When he came, Logan pulled away. Taking advantage of the kid's sudden total relaxation, he grabbed him by the hips and flipped him over, positioning him on the edge of the bed. Remy didn't protest the treatment, nor the sound of a zipper going down behind him. He bucked a little when the Wolverine took him, a bit harder and faster than he liked and with no lubrication involved, but the hard-muscled forearms pressing his shoulders to the bed brooked little argument. Knotting his hands in the comforter, Remy submitted with only minor gasps and shivers of protest.
Finishing with a final shudder and pulling free, Logan paused for another of those brief moments of clarity. Staring at the bent shoulders before him, noting the hands tensely gripping the bedclothes, he wondered, [What the hell did I just do?] Rising from his knees to his feet in a single fluid motion, he pressed one hand briefly to Remy's head, silently telling him to stay where he was.
Ducking into the bathroom, he got himself cleaned off while feeling his heart rate slow to something approaching normalcy. Zipping up, he came back out to find the kid half-sitting, half-kneeling by the bed, still leaning against the mattress. Turning half-dazed eyes up to him, Remy started to murmur something about how amazing that had been, how unexpected.
Logan's lips tightened. Walking past the kid without sparing him another look, he headed for the door and let himself out.
Closing the door behind him, he belatedly thought to check the hall for potential witnesses. None -- he had been lucky. And with such a notedly temperamental lover as Rogue, Remy would be the absolute last to talk about what had just happened. So this afternoon could remain their little secret. Which was a blessing, to say the absolute least.
Leaving the scene of the crime with rapid strides, Logan slowed to a more thoughtful pace as he neared the kitchen. What he really wanted right now was a beer or three -- not just to get the taste of Remy out of his mouth (and more importantly, off his breath), but so that he could have a nice quiet hour or three to stare into his bottle and ponder the ramifications of what -- and who -- he had just done.
* * *
Logan's eventual conclusions on the matter were that it had been another of his periodic lapses of sanity, notable only in the uncharacteristic lack of bloodshed or fatalities, and that he had better not do it again. His resolve was only strengthened by Remy's reaction. Aside from a private attempt to initiate a repeat session a few days later (which Logan refused with a snarl), the little pest had begun acting differently around him in public.
Remy had always refused to show what the Wolverine considered to be only the proper respect due to an individual who could carve a person limb from limb between one breath and the next. But in the past the kid had at least displayed the minimal degree of caution one shows around those of uncertain temper. Following the Incident, however, Remy seemed to have reclassified Logan into the category of "not so bad once you get to know them," and began reacting to his characteristic displays of hostility with not-so-hidden amusement.
Worse yet, Gambit now seemed to be under the impression that the two of them were, God forbid, *lovers* or something. There was one alarming episode in which Remy became almost overtly flirtatious -- in front of the ever-observant Storm and the mindreading Betsy, no less -- but Logan managed to glare the little punk into circumspection after the incautious smirk and wink. At least he was quick enough on the uptake to obviously conclude that Logan wasn't keen on having any hint of their "relationship" to become public knowledge -- but it made Logan wince on Marie's behalf to see how unworried Remy seemed to be about her hearing of him flirting with someone else.
It was a tricky position to be in, no mistake. On the one hand, he loathed the little prick and wanted him *gone* -- from Marie's bed, from the X-Mansion, from the planet even -- but on the other hand he wanted Marie to be happy...
And right now what made her happy was that Cajun dickhead. So Gumbo got to make her squeal while Logan had only his nightmares for company.
Which was where matters stood about a week and a half later, when Logan once again passed Remy in the hall with that irresistible aroma of sex and Marie wafting about him.
It wasn't just the smell, Logan mused in a distant still-thinking segment of his mind while the Wolverine grabbed the punk by the "Louisiana State University" sweatshirt and shoved him back against the wall. [It's that damned cocky *look* on his face, like he knows that he's got the best-looking girl in the whole damned place, and she's *still* not enough to keep him satisfied...]
And satisfied with Rogue he clearly wasn't, as he happily responded to the mouth hungrily covering his. Logan regained control enough to pull away and check the hall -- nope, no witnesses, and Remy's room was *that* way...
Gambit happily followed the grip on his upper arm, letting the two of them into his room. Logan began stripping the kid as soon as the door was closed behind them, and Remy not only cooperated but began working on removing Logan's clothes as well. Wolverine tolerated the removal of his shirts before hustling Gumbo to the bed. Remy insisted on pulling the covers back before allowing himself to be pushed down onto the sheets, which -- dear lord! -- also smelled of Marie. Pressing his rival to the mattress and once again running his tongue over the Marie-scented skin, Logan absently allowed the kid to fumble with his belt and open his jeans.
When Remy began stroking him through his boxers, and then reached inside to rub his already-sizeable erection, it was enough to make the Wolverine change gears. Halting his path across the kid's chest at one tautened nipple, he peeled off his own jeans and undies and then rolled Remy onto his side.
"Wait," Remy panted, "In the nightstand, there's some -- "
"Shut up," Logan told him brusquely, grabbing him by the narrow hips and penetrating him without further preamble. The kid whimpered low in his throat but didn't fight, putting his hands atop the older man's and gripping tightly.
Logan wasn't gentle with him, but he wasn't deliberately rough, either. When he finished, he remained clinging to Remy's hips for a panting moment before rolling him back over. Resuming the work of erasing Marie's scent from that smooth young skin, he scrubbed deliberately but almost gently with his tongue. Remy relaxed under the attentions, and Logan took his time, once again leaving his penis for last. As he started at the base and gradually worked his way up to the tip, now working on one side and now another, Remy worked his fingers into Logan's hair, breathing rapidly.
Once he finally took the kid into his mouth, he lasted about a minute. Logan took his mouth away when he felt Remy going limp and leaned his face against his lower belly for a moment, noting how the ever-maddening feminine scent had been eradicated by his and Remy's own.
Pulling away with a sigh, he collected his own clothes from the tangle on the floor and headed for the bathroom, leaving the younger man where he lay. Getting himself cleaned and dressed -- and remembering to rinse his mouth out this time while he was at it -- he considered matters. [Shit. This is getting complicated...]
When he came back into the main room, Remy hadn't bothered to find his own clothing, or even to pull a sheet over himself. Lying draped across the bed in a decent imitation of statuary of the Classical Greek variety, he raked a hand through his ruddy hair while blinking lazily. "Leavin' so soon?" he murmured in a seductively disappointed tone.
"Yes," Logan said shortly, heading for the door. This time he had enough foresight to pause and listen for nearby footsteps, breathing, heartbeats, before letting himself out into the hall.
* * *
"Who's winning?" Kurt asked while helping himself to a beer.
Logan allowed it -- Nightcrawler being one of the few he liked well enough to share his alcohol with. "Penguins, of course. How the hell Arizona got a team in the first place is beyond me -- no one plays hockey in the damn desert..."
Kurt settled himself into a crouch on the back of the couch -- normal seats weren't designed to accommodate tails comfortably. "Obviously someone must, or Phoenix couldn't have home games."
A wordless grumble at the essential truth of the statement was interrupted. "What's the score?" Rogue asked, walking around the couch to snag another of the rapidly-disappearing beers. "Scootch," she told Kurt, who politely edged over a couple of feet to allow her to sit next to Wolverine. Aside from other side effects of Logan-absorption, Marie had been left with tastes for beer and certain televised sports.
"Coyotes are getting their asses kicked four to nothing." Wolverine sniffed suddenly and gave Rogue a look out of the corner of his eye. Smelled like she'd just had a little liaison with Gumbo. Logan took another swig of beer to hide his sigh. Right now what he wanted most in the world was to push Marie back down on the couch and start erasing that little asswipe's scent from her body, replacing it with his own. Kurt's presence be damned -- hell, he could watch if he wanted to. Probably be educational for him.
"Somethin' wrong?" Marie asked, glancing from the screen to Logan.
"Nothing."
"You sure, friend Logan?" Kurt asked from the other side of Rogue.
"Nothin' I want to talk about," he said brusquely. [Nothing, just that I've been fucking your boyfriend, Marie, and I may be doing it again later this afternoon if he's around me before he has a shower. Nothing that needs to concern you and oh, God, but I want to go over every inch of your body with my tongue...]
"All right." Marie seemed a bit miffed, but she returned her attention to the game. Kurt, not a particular hockey fan, spent another minute or so eyeing Logan thoughtfully, who caught him staring in his peripheral vision but chose to ignore him.
"And we're watchin' hockey today, are we?"
[Oh, hell, not *him*, not *now*...] Unfortunately, it was indeed Remy -- and Logan could smell Marie on him even from across the room. [Go away, don't decide you need to come bond right now, go find something else to do...]
After impishly eyeing the small amount of space between Logan and Rogue -- Logan could just *see* him considering the idea of squeezing himself in between them -- Remy sat on the couch on the other side of Rogue from Wolverine. Kurt moved over, resuming his gargoyle pose in the space between Logan and Marie, neatly sparing Logan an unobstructed view of Marie leaning into her lover's arm.
Logan managed to stand it for about ten minutes -- until Gambit, a non-hockey-fan, became bored with the game and began whispering love talk into Rogue's ear. Wolverine was unfortunately able to hear every word, as Remy began suggesting that they leave the other two to their viewing and head back upstairs for another round.
"Well, *I've* seen enough," he announced, getting up and grabbing his remaining couple of beers.
Marie looked confused. "But there's still a full quarter left to the game."
"Hey, don't I get a beer?" Remy asked, spotting them for the first time when Logan picked them up.
"No," Logan replied shortly while walking out.
Rogue and Gambit exchanged confused glances. "Why don't I go follow him, see what's wrong," Nightcrawler volunteered, hopping down off the couch.
He caught up with Wolverine in the kitchen, working on another beer while inspecting the contents of the fridge. "You're quite sure it's ėnothing you want to talk about'?"
Logan debated the possible responses. "Nothing."
"You quit watching the game for ėnothing'?"
"I just don't want to have to hang out with Gumbo while I watch." Deciding he really wasn't hungry after all -- at least, not for food -- he closed the door.
"Ah."
"I really don't like that guy."
"Ah." A blink of unsettlingly yellow eyes.
"I really don't know what she sees in him."
"Perhaps he makes her happy."
A sigh. "She can do better than him, though. She can do a *lot* better..."
Kurt had no reply, and when Logan headed back up to his room he went back into the rec room.
Remy, disappointed both in his campaign to lure Rogue back upstairs and in his attempt to get her to change the channel, offered to go chase down Wolverine, but the other two weren't impressed with the idea.
"It's worth a shot. Besides, hockey ain't my game." So saying, Gambit rose from the couch after giving Marie a parting kiss, and headed out.
"Are you sure we should let him?" Kurt asked apprehensively.
"Aah, Logan'll gripe at him and chase him off. At least it gets him out of here so we can watch the game in peace."
Upstairs, Remy knocked at the door of Logan's room.
No response.
He knocked again, then opened the door -- unlocked as usual, since Logan had no worries of people wandering in during his absence and could scent them out if anyone did -- and discovered the room was empty.
Shrugging disappointedly, he wandered back down the hall and up the stairs to his own room.
He found Wolverine waiting for him there as soon as he opened the door.
* * *
It had been something like the meeting from hell. Logan had a larger chip on his shoulder than usual, Remy for whatever unknown suicidal reason was teasing the Wolverine and making him even more snappish, and Rogue seemed too preoccupied with thoughts of her own to notice that her best friend and boyfriend were apparently on the verge of calling each other out. To make matters worse, even Storm the eternal peacemaker was in a less than temperate mood.
Jean let most of the X-Men leave without comment when the discussion -- such as it was -- finally, thankfully, ended, but she collared Remy and asked for a private word with him in her office afterwards. Gambit, being the eternal flirt that he was, agreed happily.
"Remy, just what do you think you're doing with Logan?"
"What?" He actually looked slightly alarmed at the question. Evidently not a topic he had been expecting.
"He's got the worst temper of any of us, he's even more unpredictable than *Rogue*, and he's been noted in the past for killing large numbers of people who irritated him for various reasons. If you're deliberately trying to start a fight with him to see which of you could take the other, I would advise you to stop it right now. He is *not* a man to play games with."
Remy looked unaccountably amused. "I'm not playin' any games with him." A reflective pause, and a murmured, "At least, none that he ain't playin' back."
"Remy, Logan doesn't *play* games with people. Not that kind of games, anyway. And I really don't think he *likes* you."
If anything, Gambit's little smirk widened. "I used to think that, too."
Jean gave him an exasperated look. "What made you think otherwise?"
Remy gave her a naughty look. "I don' know if I should say..." At her firm unwavering stare, he coyly added, "Might get me in trouble with Roguey..."
"*Remy*...," she warned. "This is serious."
"Promise you won't tell?"
"Won't tell *who*?"
"Anybody."
"That depends on what it is."
"All right, then don't tell Rogue or anybody who might tell her."
"I... *might* be able to do that." He crossed his arms and set his jaw obstinately. "All *right*, I won't tell Rogue or anybody who might tell her. Now what *is* it?"
Remy relaxed and the smirk reappeared. "I know what Wolvie-boy's *real* problem is." A significant pause that she refused to interrupt with a demand for further information. "His whole problem is that he can't handle that he's swingin' from the other side of the fence, so he's gotta do this whole macho thing to keep anyone from guessin'."
Jean blinked. He couldn't *possibly* be saying what it sounded like he was saying... "Guessing?"
Remy chuckled wickedly. "Logan's gay."
"No he isn't!" The protest boiled up from a sense of outraged pride. After the continual passes he had made at her -- which admittedly had dried up of late...
"Oh yes he is! Believe me, I *know*! And he likes me, all right -- he *likes* me, and that's what's really buggin' him."
"And how would you ėknow'?" she demanded, crossing her arms defensively. He *couldn't* be right -- it had to be a symptom of Remy's own out-of-control ego. Maybe *he* was gay, or rather bi, and letting his own fantasies run away with him...
Remy coughed into one fist, playfully reticent. "I'd rather not say -- but believe me, I *know*! First hand..."
Jean let him leave and watched the tall Cajun saunter out, shaking her head slightly. She *couldn't* believe his claims -- but there was someone else to ask. And right now she was annoyed enough to go straight to the source -- and let Remy take the resulting fallout if -- *when* -- he was proven to be mistaken, or worse yet lying...
* * *
"Logan, got a minute?"
"For you, Red, anytime," he answered in the Wolverine version of cheerful -- meaning, not actively snarling. Pulling the door further open, he stepped back and let her into his room.
She signaled to him to close the door behind him, and he complied. Leaning back against the wood, he gave her a wicked grin and said, "Alone in my room with me. Don't tell me you finally came to your senses about Cyke?"
Watching and listening with new suspicions, Jean was dismayed to note the absence of genuine lechery in the smile, the habitual nature of the comment. Pausing to look around his room, she spotted something alarming. Walking to the dresser with sharp, nervous strides, she lifted the bit of lavender fabric contrasting oddly with the more masculine odds and ends. "What...?" she asked, not daring to phrase the question more precisely.
"Rogue's. Left it here the other day." He followed the forgotten scarf with his eyes, silently begging to Jean to put it down and leave it, rather than walking off with it or insisting on returning it on her way out. Marie's scent hadn't quite been rubbed out of it yet, despite his having slept with it on his pillow for the past several nights...
With an effort, Jean forced herself to put it down. "I, ah... I just heard something... interesting... from Remy."
Logan went from merely unmoving to utterly still. Jean had the horrible suspicion that he realized what she was about to say.
"He, ah, well, he claimed that... that you... ah, were having a problem with him because you, ah... found him... attractive."
Logan closed his eyes and sighed. Jean felt a dismayed sinking in her midsection, and feared she knew what his next words would be.
She was wrong.
"Have you ever found yourself so mad at someone that you had to either fuck them or kill them?"
Blink. "What?" Blink.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. She read sadness, frustration, and more than a little shame in his eyes. "Sometimes it can go both ways -- and I knew Rogue wouldn't want me to kill her boyfriend."
Beginning to get an inkling of the nature of Remy's mistake, she asked, "What happened?"
He sighed. "I couldn't stand him. I stayed away for so long, waiting for Marie to grow up -- and when I came back for her, she hadn't waited for me -- and her guy was such an utter *prick*. An obnoxious son-of-a-whore who isn't satisfied with having the most incredible woman imaginable -- he's still gotta be chasing around after anything that moves. Male *or* female. And yet she stays with him. Says he makes her happy." Another sigh. "I wanted to carve him up so badly, but I knew she'd hate that, so I couldn't. But I couldn't just let him walk by and do *nothing* -- and he'd just gotten out of bed with her, I could still smell her all over him -- and he's really *way* too pretty..."
Jean found herself sitting on the bed. Somewhere during Logan's mind-numbing recitation her legs had given out. The two most relevant facts to her way of thinking were chasing themselves around in her head. "So you're really in love with -- Marie."
"Rogue. Her name is Marie." An odd smile, sweet around the mouth and silent agony around the eyes. "I don't think she's ever even told *him* her real name..."
"And what you told me...? About... your heart belonging to someone else...?"
Logan looked startled, as though he hadn't even considered that she might be slightly jealous to learn that she didn't hold first claim on his affections. "At her age, I couldn't exactly go around saying I wanted her bad and had to skip the country quick before I tried doing something illegal. You were there, you were handy, and it really pissed off Cyke." A pause, while he belatedly realized why this might be upsetting to her. "And you're beautiful, and wonderful, and Scooter's really unbelievably lucky to have you." Pause. "But he *does* have you -- and Gumbo has Rogue..."
"And evidently he has *you*, too."
Logan growled dismissively. "He seems to think that, doesn't he? Really, I just grab him two or three times a week when it all gets too much for me and bang the shit out of him... I really *do* hate him."
"He, ah, seemed to think that you were upset because you found him attractive."
Logan shrugged. "Oh, that. I *mostly* like women -- I'm just willing to be flexible every now and then. Doesn't bother me any."
"You never said anything about it *before*."
"Nobody asked."
Jean found herself starting to relax slightly. The numbness was by no means wearing off, but somehow she was beginning to accept this as a new facet of Logan's character, fitting with the parts she already knew without making them in any way false. Her brain finally escaped its vapor-lock enough to move on to another question. "And what about Rogue? Doesn't the fact that you're, well, cheating on her bother you?"
Logan sighed again. The pained look returned to his face, before being replaced by the bittersweet smile. "Say you were in her shoes -- say I'd really been so into you that I couldn't deal with having Cyke walk past me smelling like you and sex all at once." Pause. "What would *you* rather I did -- fuck him every so often or kill him, just once?"
An image leaped unbidden to Jean's mind, of Logan grabbing Scott by the shoulders, dragging him into a savage kiss, ripping his shirt away, pressing him down onto their shared bed... Hastily banishing the treacherous thoughts, she caught Logan giving her a knowing smile and wondered whether the direction of her thoughts had been betrayed by her face or her scent. [No, I will *not* be telling Scott about this. *Any* of this!] she decided instantly.
"Just -- how long were you expecting this to go on? Sooner or later, either this has to end or Rogue's going to find out."
A wince. "That's *not* a talk I'm looking forward to having with her. If I could think of another way not to kill him, I would. I keep hoping that she'll break up with him and that'll be the end of it."
"And if that doesn't happen?"
"I don't know, but sooner or later something's got to give..."
* * *
The next day, Jean watched three of her fellow X-Men with an unhappy new awareness of the emotional undercurrents swirling about them. As Rogue watched a CNN report detailing a few unfortunately well-witnessed conflicts between mutants (including the X-Men themselves in a couple of incidents), Remy came in, settled on the couch next to her, and started trying to wheedle her into changing the channel to ESPN. Wandering in from a training session in the Danger Room with a few of the younger team members, Logan took up a stance behind the couch.
For such an apolitical sportsfan to defend the choice of bad mutant PR over college football, there had to be other factors involved. As Remy teased Logan that he was becoming as bad as Scott and Xavier for worrying over the news, Jean was alarmed to see Wolverine respond by tapping warningly on Remy's shoulder.
With his knuckles.
Logan never made a fist as a friendly gesture -- and never, *never* touched anyone with his knuckles except as a direct act of violence or an explicit threat. It was roughly the equivalent of tapping someone with the barrel of a loaded gun.
And the really frightening thing was that Remy didn't seem to realize that he was the tensing of a few extensor muscles away from having nine inches of adamantium buried in his chest cavity.
"Remy! Could I see you in my office for a moment?"
The three of them glanced up. Remy lost the playful, "You know you love me," grin and got up off the couch. Before turning to leave the room, Jean saw Logan jump clear over the back of the couch to take the vacated place next to Rogue.
Closing her office door behind them, Jean turned to face the younger man. "Remy, I had a talk with Logan yesterday."
He had the sense to look alarmed. "You *what*?!"
"After what you told me, I had to. And he... well... he cleared a few things up." Pause, while Remy digested this. "Logan doesn't *have* issues with his sexuality."
The kid looked injured. "You didn't believe me, so you went to him for the ėtruth'."
"No -- or rather, I thought you must be mistaken. Until he told me about your, ah... relationship. Which he admitted to as soon as I asked him about it." Taking in Remy's stunned look, she repeated herself. "Logan doesn't *have* issues with his sexuality. He has issues with you seeing Rogue."
"What?!"
"I didn't know this either until yesterday, but when he left her here right after they both came here, it was to wait for her to grow up. He's... apparently he's in love with her, but she was too young to be legal when they met. And when he came back for her, you and she were..."
Remy frowned, clearly turning things over in his mind, reassessing them in this new light. Then he gave her a disbelieving look. "He wants my girl, and so he jumps on *me* and rips *my* clothes off? I don't buy it, chere."
"He said it was the only way he could keep from killing you. I don't understand it either, but Logan's mind works in unusual ways. He said... he said it was because you smelled like her, and like sex."
Remy looked a bit pale. Jean was relieved to see the disbelief leave his face. "Explains why he's never interested when Rogue's been out of town, or not in the mood..." His mouth quirked as some of the humor of the situation occurred to him. "Pretty inconvenient -- I'm either getting it twice, or not at all."
"Remy, please -- be careful. Don't -- don't push Logan too far."
"ėDon't push *Logan* too far.' That's great, just great. And here I was worryin' about *Rogue* catching me runnin' around behind her back..."
* * *
"My heart is broken
But when I look at you you're forgiven
You're forgiven
I know my ex-boyfriend lies
Oh he does it every time
It's just his permanent disguise
Yeah yeah but he's drop dead gorgeous..."
-- "Drop Dead Gorgeous," by Republica
* * *
Rogue dreamingly ran her hands down her lover's back, still quivering with the aftershocks from her orgasm. When Remy gently disentangled himself from her and settled himself on his side next to her, she contentedly snuggled into him, pillowing her head on his shoulder. [Don't go to sleep, now,] she reminded herself as he drowsily toyed with a strand of her hair.
After a polite interval, she pulled away from him and sat up. "Leavin' already?" he murmured?
"Mmm, I'm too comfortable. If I stay here too long, I'm gonna fall asleep."
Having long since exhausted the debate on whether Rogue should risk her lover's life on her control of her power while sleeping, Remy didn't bother trying to talk her into staying this time. Instead, he rolled over and turned on the lamp, giving her the light to dress by.
Looking back at him, Marie caught his arm and shoulder illuminated by the light before he pulled away from the lamp. Had she not turned just then, she probably wouldn't have seen the mark on his shoulder -- they had undressed in the dark for once, and in another day or two it would have healed towards unrecognizability.
Right now, though, the bruising pattern still clearly delineated a bite mark -- one that she *knew* she hadn't given him.
Turning quickly away so that he wouldn't see the look on her face, Rogue collected her scattered clothing and began dressing while she fought to control her expression. [How the hell did he get a bite back *there*?] she wondered, before the question triggered another one of those alien flashes of recall, a resurgence of borrowed memory.
/A tangle of limbs in one of her (his) usually scuzzy motel beds, after a typical rough night in a bar in North Dakota of all places, when the prettiest eyes in the place hadn't belonged to a female, but that was fine with her (him)... Wrapping brawny arms around a slender form, pulling it back against her (his) body, nuzzling into the corner of neck and shoulder and gripping with strong teeth, leaving a mark as a token of her (his) temporary possession.../
Absorbed in the intensely detailed sensory information characteristic of Logan's memories, Marie was able to temporarily push the matter of Remy's infidelity to a mental back burner. He was a real player, and she had privately considered it only a matter of time before he ran into a problem keeping his zipper up around some other pretty face. It hurt, but it wasn't like she hadn't been waiting for it to happen. The fact that she had been expecting her eventual, inevitable competition to be female was only an incidental detail.
Much more interesting -- and far less painful -- was the unexpected revelation from Logan's past. Marie loved it when lingering traces of Wolverine surfaced, especially when they concerned the type of bedroom safaris only too apt to occur to someone with such an overactive sex drive and so few inhibitions as Logan. She turned the newly unearthed memory over and over in her mind as she finished adjusting her clothing. She was even able to keep a pleasant expression on her face as she gave Remy a goodnight kiss and turned to leave.
The smile lasted only until the door closed behind her.
* * *
"Somethin' wrong?" Coming down to the kitchen for a late-night beer or three, Logan had discovered Marie, sitting at the table staring meditatively into a cooling mug of appleish something-or-other.
"Nothin' I want to talk about."
Logan half-smiled, acknowledging his own dismissal flung back at him, before folding his arms across his bare chest and leaning back against a counter. "You don't *look* like it's nothing."
Marie thoughtfully stirred her drink.
Softening his voice to a slightly more confidential tone, "You sure you don't want to talk about it?" He took a few steps towards her and stopped, the disturbingly familiar paired odors of Remy and sex making further approach uncomfortable.
She sipped absently at her cooling drink, considered confiding in him.
He let her think about the matter, taking a swig of his beer and waiting.
"Remy's cheating on me."
He counted himself incredibly lucky that his shocked look was *also* appropriate for a friend learning unpleasant and unexpected news. "What makes you say that?"
She stirred her drink again. "Spotted a bitemark on the back of his shoulder tonight. I didn't put it there, someone else did."
Managing to shift his expression to concern -- rather than the guilty lines his face was trying to settle into -- he asked, "You're sure he didn't just -- get into a fight, or something like that?"
"It was on the back of his shoulder." Noting his blank look -- carefully crafted, that -- and raised eyebrow, she smirked. "Don't play dumb -- I figured out what *that* meant from one of *your* memories."
He lucked out again -- she misinterpreted his poleaxed and half-embarrassed expression as a reaction to cute lil' innocent Marie having accessed *that* type of memory. She giggled absently at the look on his face, sipped from her mug, frowned at the taste of the cooled drink and then sighed.
"Funny, I was almost expecting him to run around on me -- but I pretty much thought I would only have to worry about other women."
Logan relaxed slightly. Improbable as it seemed, at the moment he seemed to be off the hook. Greatly daring, he asked, "What are you planning to do about it?"
Stirring. "Nothing."
[*What*?!] "Nothing?!"
"What do you *expect* me to do?" She left the drink alone for the moment and gave him an inquiring look.
[Oh, shit. She's handing you the rope -- for fuck's sake don't wind up hanging yourself with it. Anything along the lines of "Find out who he's been with" is a Bad Idea, and if she confronts him it could lead to him naming names...] "I think you should break up with the son-of-a-bitch."
"Mmm. It's that black-and-white to you, huh?" Toying with her spoon.
"Why would you *want* to stay with him, if he's cheating on you?"
A diffident shrug. "He makes me happy. When he's with me, at least he manages to make me feel like I'm the only person on his mind, the only one he wants." Staring thoughtfully into her mug, "And he's the first man not to be afraid of winding up in a coma for loving me."
[Oh, baby, not the first. Never the first. Don't ever say that, don't even *think* that...] "You can do so much better than him..."
"Who?" The bitterness had an edge to it, a blade, cutting another small piece off the ragged edges of his own tattered and non-healing soul.
He couldn't even offer himself as the answer to her question -- because he was absolutely no better than Remy. He was actually worse -- because at least the Cajun was honest about what he was. A smooth talker with an eye for the ladies who hadn't stopped looking just because he had the most beautiful woman in the whole frickin' state on his arm. As opposed to the utterly worthless creature standing in the kitchen advising the woman he loved to give up the man who made her feel special for having complied with the infidelity he had initiated...
He downed the last of his beer in a desperate attempt to wash the taste of hypocrisy from his mouth.
"He's such a smooth talker I don't care what the truth is, because I'd rather believe what he's telling me. I'm not gonna let myself be bothered by what he's doing when I'm not around." She set her jaw, clearly preparing herself to stand by her decision.
Making a move as if to touch her, he suddenly noted her bare arms and recalled his own shirtless state. The absolute *last* thing he could afford right now was to have her inadvertently absorb the slightest hint of his true thoughts. Awkwardly dropping his arm back to his side, he caught the flicker of hurt in her eyes at the apparent rejection, and damned himself.
Muttering something even he couldn't make out, he dropped the empty bottle in the trash on the way out of the kitchen. There was only one place he could go after a conversation like that.
* * *
Logan let himself into Remy's room without knocking, the even breathing from within letting him know that the occupant was asleep. Leaving his jeans and underwear on the floor midway between the door and the bed, he climbed between the heavily Marie-scented sheets and slid up behind Remy. The suppressed panic and burning frustration caused by the talk in the kitchen overwhelmed him for a moment, and he wrapped his arms suddenly around the younger man and pulled him close.
"Hmmrph?" came the sleepy mumble as Remy awakened with a little twitch. Eyes supernally keen in the dark, Logan was able to study the telltale bruise at close range, and silently wonder what the hell had been behind the impulse that led him to mark the other man like that. Had he been deliberately *trying* to give the game away to Marie?
He sighed and ran his tongue over the bite. Remy murmured a little, then turned his head a bit back towards Logan. "Maybe not a good idea for you to go leaving me marked up like that? Been a lot of fun, tryin' to keep Rogue from seeing it."
Logan sighed again. [Don't worry about hiding it, kid -- she's already seen it and she don't care.] "Won't do it again," was the closest he would ever come to an apology.
Remy wriggled a little in his arms, turned to face him, kissed him. Warm, cuddly, and tasting of Marie. Not half bad. Logan pulled the kid closer, started licking along his jawline, and was interrupted when Remy shifted position and started licking *him*.
Startled but not really displeased, Logan put his hands in the younger man's hair and let him work his way down a stubbled throat to his chest, and even further downward. When Remy took him into his mouth, it did a lot to make his frustrations recede. In the few seconds of coherent thought he was able to manage, he noted what a wondrous thing it was to get a little head from someone who knew what it felt like himself and so knew how to do it *right*.
Swallowing and pulling away, Remy crawled back up to the pillow and curled up next to Logan, waiting patiently for him to get his breath back. It hadn't taken a genius to recognize the desperate unhappiness that had driven the other man into his bed at this time of night, and he had rightly concluded that his evening would go a lot better if he took steps to soothe Wolverine before he decided to do something rough and uncomfortable.
Logan sighed deeply, reaching for the younger man and pulling him close. Wrapping his arms around the kid, he gave him a deep kiss, finding the mingled tastes of himself and Marie comforting in a perversely inappropriate way. Rolling Remy onto his back, he began giving him the expected once-over with his tongue -- cheek, jawline, throat, earlobe, shoulder, collarbone, chest, nipple, belly...
Remy laced his fingers together though Logan's hair, passively allowing him to do pretty much whatever he wanted. (His more-or-less standard policy since Jean's little FYI.) Eyes closed, breathing beginning to roughen, he absently wondered if he were imagining things or if the Wolverine was being uncharacteristically -- well, almost gentle with him. [Probably just the blow job calmed him down a little,] he thought vaguely, before thought became impossible.
The taste of Marie having been replaced by the taste of Remy in his mouth, and her scent having been thoroughly overlain with his own, Logan absently debated whether or not the kid really needed fucking at this point. Crawling off of the now-limp Remy, he propped himself up on one elbow and opened the drawer of the nightstand. [Let's see if there's anything interesting in here... Hmm, rubbers -- no surprise -- women's undies? In *satin*? I really *hope* these are Marie's, and not *his*... A can of -- Reddi-Whip?] Rattling it curiously... [Empty. Damn.]
Remy roused enough to ask, "What are you -- oh. Try the lower drawer."
As directed, Logan closed the upper drawer and tried the second. The first thing he found was, [A book? Anything kinky?] Lifting it out of the drawer to catch the faint moonlight coming from the window, Logan's night vision was good enough to read the title. [Harry Potter? Remy, you wuss.] Dropping it back and digging some more, he mused, [At least it wasn't that Mars/Venus crap, or The Bridges of Madison County -- I'm sure Cyke's got parts of *that* one by heart... Massage oil -- "Sensuous Strawberry"? Whatever happened to chocolate? Or plain old unscented baby oil? Could work, though... What the -- ?]
Logan lifted a pair of handcuffs out of the drawer, giving them an eloquently raised eyebrow. [More than one set, too...] He craned his neck around, curiously checking the nearest bedpost for signs of having been used to anchor restraints. Not finding any obvious scratches in the wood finish, he whuffed a single gruff chuckle and dropped the cuffs back, then resumed digging. [What? No whips to go with the chains?] Finding a tube of KY hiding in a back corner of the drawer, he considered for a moment before grabbing the massage oil instead. [What the hell, let's see if it *really* smells like strawberries...]
Bottle in hand, he turned back to Remy. The other yawned and stretched, a luxuriant full-body extension that managed to neatly display the effects of the physical fitness program that was mandatory for the full teammembers. Not as well-sculpted as Logan by any means, but defined in a more slender gymnast's build.
Reaching for Logan's selection, Remy was surprised to discover a bottle rather than a tube. "What -- oh, good choice," as he recognized it by touch. "Here, let me," he added, smoothly taking the bottle from the other man and pouring a fair amount into his right hand. The Wolverine growled softly, low in his chest, as the kid starting putting the oil where he felt it would do the most good. Given that the erection in Remy's hand had gone from partial to full, he (correctly) chose to interpret the sound as indicative of arousal rather than anger, and kept rubbing until Logan caught his wrist and stopped him.
Logan briefly debated finding out if Remy was flexible enough to try a little something face-to-face, before annoyedly dismissing the idea as being touchy-feely sensitive crap. Using his grip on the younger man's wrist, he pulled up and then around in a slow-motion horizontal version of a judo-style flip, rolling Remy to his back and then to his other side, facing away. Still holding the kid's wrist, Logan used the arm that he now had around his midsection to pull him closer.
Remy leaned himself back against Logan cooperatively. Releasing his wrist, Logan found a thigh beneath the covers that wasn't his own and thoughtfully traced it back up to Remy's hip. Nudging a knee between Remy's, he found an angle that he liked and penetrated the younger man.
Exhaling in a sigh, Remy put his own hands atop the pair gripping his own hips, forgetting the fragrant oil still on the fingers of his right hand. Logan ignored the slickness of the touch, concentrating on the warmth and the gripping, gliding friction. With a noise somewhere between another growl and a grunt thrumming low in his throat, he finished and slipped free.
Sliding his hands back up around Remy, he pulled the younger man back into an embrace. Letting his eyes drift shut, Logan leaned one bewhiskered cheek against the back of the kid's neck. Drowsily he nuzzled at Remy's shoulder, then gave the warm skin a gentle swipe with his tongue. [Tastes good...]
About to give Remy another lick or two, Logan suddenly tensed, eyes wide with shock. [What the *fuck* is going on here?! I'm about to fall asleep draped across this guy -- I don't even *like* him! He's fucking Marie -- I *hate* him! What the hell am I *doing*?]
Pulling back and away from the man in his arms, Logan eyed the tousled auburn hair and wide but fine-boned shoulders warily.
It didn't *feel* like hatred. Not anymore.
Slipping from between the sheets, Logan noticed the slickness on his fingers just in time to use his left hand to grab his jeans and briefs from the floor. Escaping into the bathroom and closing the door firmly behind him, he turned on the light and glared at himself in the mirror. He took his time about getting cleaned up and redressed, silently berating himself.
Slipping back out into the still-darkened bedroom, he moved for the door as quickly as total silence would allow. "Sure you won't stay the night?" Remy asked diffidently from the bed as Logan paused at the door to listen for potential witnesses.
Logan allowed himself a subdued bark of laughter. "Hadn't you heard? I get some pretty good nightmares. People wind up shish-kebabed if I wake up wrong..." [Just ask Marie...]
Remy sighed a little, but didn't argue. Angry with himself at the urge to peel his jeans back off and go curl up next to the kid, Logan let himself out into the hall and barely kept himself from slamming the door behind him. (Which would no doubt have woken half the hall and earned him far more witnesses than he would care to have seeing him leaving Remy's room at this time of night.)
Midway between Remy's bed and his own, the glare had been replaced by a wry look. [It's not a fine line between love and hate -- they're really two sides of the same coin. And coins are made to be flipped...]
Lifting his eyes to the ceiling and the heavens beyond, he ironically directed his next thought to the Creator he couldn't remember ever having really believed in. [My life isn't complicated enough right now. Could you throw in a few more little twists and turns to keep things from getting boring?]
The challenge to an unresponsive Fate raised his spirits enough for a genuine chuckle by the time he reached his own door.
Later, of course, he would recall that Fate works at its own pace.
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