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His question died on his lips as soon as he heard the low thunk of the shower head before the spray hissed against the tile behind the closed door.

"Fuck!" Logan spat under his breath. "Is he fuckin' kidding?" He strode across the cluttered bedroom and banged on the door. "HEY!" he bellowed. "What the fuck? This is yer idea of bein' ready?"

He scowled at Remy through the door plank, envisioning him already wet and just beginning to shampoo his hair. If they weren't supposedly in a hurry to get out the door, he would have simply stripped down and joined him. But Logan was already showered and slicked down, and he wasn't in the mood to dawdle. It was Remy's idea to go out, not his. The least he could do was be on time.

"Jus' got in here," he heard Remy snap back, his voice muffled by the sound of the water.

"That's my point! I KNOW ya just got in there! Why aren't ya out by now and getting ready?" Logan yelled indignantly, raising his hand to plow it through his hair, until he remembered that he'd just gelled it. His hand landed against his thigh in a slap as he began to pace. He heard Remy mumble something but didn't care to make him repeat it.

He was too damned pissed. What was worse, was that he was getting so used to it he forgot what it was like to feel calm around his love of four years. As soon as Remy opened his mouth, Logan often wished he'd shut it again.

He knew Remy felt the same, lately. He didn't have a damned clue what to do about it.

So there they were, having a "date night." Logan admitted it would be nice to blow off some steam, take advantage of some happy hours, and if they were really feeling it, make fools of themselves.

He just wondered if that wasn't what they were already doing.

He banged on the door again. "Get the fuck outta there!"

"Gimme a fuckin' break, cher! Go find sumt'in' t'do!" The verbal calisthenics continued as Remy shoved the taps off, stomped out of the tub and yanked the towel from the bar. He whipped open the door and greeted Logan with a dripping scowl, his hair hanging in lank, dark tendrils down his back. "Happy?"

"Are you? We're late, Rem! You were the one who told me ya wanted ta get an early start! Why're ya draggin' yer feet?" Logan's face was florid and his eyes were dilated with frustration.

"Why didn'tcha jus' come home an' get ready?" Remy nagged back, turning his back on him as he rummaged in his drawer for a pair of khaki cotton briefs.

"It was easier ta take my gear ta the gym, that's why. I didn't wanna waste time, and I wanted ta be ready by the time I saw ya."

"Big whoop."

"Big... didja just tell me `Big whoop?' like ya don't give a shit?"

"Remy does give a shit," he shrugged calmly, making Logan want to shake him. His knuckles clenched briefly, but he reined in his urges and leaned back against the dresser. "Don' hover over me like a damned vulture, mec. Siddown."

"I wanna GO!"

"Den go."

"Then, 'go', he says..." Logan felt a muscle in his brow twitch. Great. They were back to this. Remy casually toweled off his hair and hopped into his briefs. He reached into the closet after perusing it a minute, then held out a shirt on its hanger.

"Whaddya t'ink of dis one, cher?"

"It's fine," Logan grated through his teeth. Remy shrugged again, then wriggled his way into it and buttoned up two of the buttons, checking how it hung on him in the vanity mirror. He made a face.

"Nah." He whipped it off and chucked it onto the floor.

"Hang it back up!" Logan complained.

"Ya gonna keep hangin' over me like dat, mec?"

"Get ready!" Remy ignored him and dug back into the closet. He chose a red shirt that set off his hair and dark eyes to dramatic effect. He slipped his arms into it and modeled it for Logan like a jacket. "How `bout dis one?"

"It'sfine" Logan hissed through his teeth. His blood pressure rose a notch. He checked his watch and made a sound of disgust.

"Fine, den." He shucked the shirt and tossed it at Logan. "Do me a favor an' iron dis fo' me."

"WHAT?"

*

Nights out never went off without a hitch. Once Remy's shirt dilemma was solved, he claimed that he needed to find his ID and the pack of gum he'd bought that morning. He continued to drag his feet while they checked that all the appliances were turned off and the back door was locked.

Logan was the culprit for the last delay, to Remy's consternation this time.

"Check my fade," he told him.

"Whaddya mean, check yer fade? You were de one rushin' Remy out de doh'!"

"I fixed the back of it today. I kept tellin' ya ta look at it and fix it if there was anything wrong with it."

"Dere ain't nut'in' wrong wit' it. Let's go!"

"NOW yer gonna tell me let's go?" Remy fumed, feeling hassled and impatient. His building sense of anticipation over wanting to go out was fading, quickly replaced by the indignant urge to say "Fuck it, then, let's not go!" Logan tsked under his breath.

"It was fine when it was you who wanted time. You can gimme a sec and check my hair." He dragged Remy back to the bathroom by the wrist and flicked on the light. "What the hell? Where's my clippers?"

"I put `em away. Got tired of de lil' hairs all over de sink."

"It was charging. I like to keep it charged."

"Ain' like ya gotta give yerself a haircut every damned day, cher. Ya look fine."

He didn't feel like telling him how good he looked. Much Logan would listen to him anyway...

He was still handsome enough to tempt him, physically no less desirable than the day they met. Logan scowled at his own reflection, for the moment ignoring Remy as he craned his neck around, trying to see the back of his head.

"Clean up the back of my neck, Rem."

"It looks fine."

"Nah. I can feel some stubble back there. Just clean me up. It'll only take a sec."

It was a familiar argument. It never took "just a sec."

Logan shoved the clippers into Remy's hand. "I've gotta number one blade on there. Don't mess up my line."

"You gonna be so worried `bout it, you do de line y'self," Remy muttered sourly, but he dutifully laid his palm on Logan's shoulder and urged him to bow his head forward a notch. The clippers hummed to life and he began cleaning up the hint of stubble and long hairs that Logan had missed while he gave himself a hair cut. Logan stuck to what worked when it came to his hair. His hair was still long in the front with his unruly bangs forming slightly shaggy wings, and he still favored keeping his sideburns, even when Remy occasionally kidded him about it. But he kept the back of his hair short and neat and was meticulous about, literally, even having one hair out of place. It baffled Remy. The one side of his head that he couldn't see, he was a stickler about. Go figure.

"I hear some long ones that yer getting back there," Logan accused. Remy took up a washcloth he'd discarded on the side of the sink earlier and whisked it over Logan's neck, cleaning him up so he wouldn't itch.

Logan held Remy captive as he tried again to put away the razor. "Ya got it all?"

"Yeah, already!"

"Sure?" He took Remy's hand and ran it over his nape again. "Like that?"

"I like it fine, already! Let's go, mec!" Logan gave him a kiss that Remy immediately wiped off out of spite.

"That wasn't very nice," Logan accused, pouting.

"I ain't nice," Remy told him matter-of-factly. "Get yer keys."

*

 

The bar was packed when they got there. Remy sighed as he headed toward the back of the line. Logan stopped him, scowling.

"Ya don't wanna go in there," he argued.

"Dis is where we said we'd start."

"Not if we hafta wait all night in line. C'mon, let's go t'Duffy's instead."

"Hate dat place. It's a shithole."

"This isn't a shithole?"

"Non. Better music here. Got de blue Cadillac margarita Remy likes, cher."

"You can get that shit anywhere. C'mon," he urged. He tugged Remy's arm. "C'mooonnnnn," he nagged when Remy dragged his feet and attempted to yank his arm back. "Rem, ya don't wanna stand in this line all night!"

"I don' wanna spend half de night stompin' around town tryin' ta find one bar dat ain't packed, either. Wanna drink. Wanna dance."

"Ain't gonna do much of either standin' out here," Logan insisted.

"Yer gonna keep goin' wit' dis," Remy mused.

"No. I ain't gonna keep goin' with anything, Remy." Remy sighed. Logan gave his best I-don't-give-a-squirt-of-rat-piss expression and shrugged emphatically. "It's up ta you. It's ALL up ta you."

Which was actually inaccurate...

Logan always swayed their decisionmaking by throwing helpful suggestions at Remy when he'd already made up his mind.

"Cher... I hate Duffy's. But ya wanna go dere? G'wan an' tell me, `cuz I ain' gonna listen to ya complain de whole time we're standin' in line."

"I ain't gonna complain."

"Good."

"But if we go ta Duffy's, we can go right in. Go straight to the bar. Won't hafta wait forever ta get a drink." Logan's rusty, deep voice had a hint of wheedling in it.

"Wanna go dance," Remy complained, but Logan was wearing him down. The streets were crowded and noisy, making him restless. His excitement at being out was starting to wane, and they hadn't completely stopped arguing yet, which irked him. He felt restless and the rumbling from the crowd around him was starting to close in on him, even though they were outside.

Logan felt edgy and that weird little buzzing in his ears when he got really annoyed. Something about the night felt... off. He smelled odors too keenly, particularly the aroma of the taco truck down the next block and the perfume on a girl behind them. He hummed to the music drifting outside until Remy nudged him to stop. "What?"

"Quit it."

"Quit what?"

"Y'know what." Logan poked Remy in the side.

"Now who's bein' annoyin'?"

"Who's annoying?" Logan piped up. "I was mindin' my own business." Remy sighed.

Logan wrapped his arm around Remy's waist and tugged him against his warm, hard body. Remy closed his eyes for a moment, savoring how it felt, and this time he decided not to push him away. "That so bad?"

"Hmmph." Logan was exasperated, but he fleetingly kissed Remy's shoulder through his shirt sleeve. They followed the push of the crowd as the line inched forward, patting their pockets for their IDs. A voice from the front entrance of the bar called out to everybody, and Remy leaned around a sea of heads to see a young man cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Get your IDs out before you get to the head of the line! That'll make this easier, folks!" As if to prove his point, a huge, beefy man in a black tee that had the club's name on it lumbered alongside the line of patrons, holding up his tiny flashlight and beckoning for people's cards, checking them preemptively. Remy fished his out of his pocket and held onto Logan's hand with his free one, deciding to make it clear that he and Logan wouldn't want to enter the club separately if there was only room for one of them.

The checker practically met them halfway, reaching them as they made their way to twenty people from the door. He looked them over and sized them up, smirking. "Two of ya look like Mutt `n Jeff."

"Thanks," Logan muttered, mentally adding Fucker. Steely blue eyes flitted over them both as he beckoned to them to hand over their cards. Logan slapped his into his palm.

"Damn," the man muttered, "evil lookin' cuss in this picture, aren'tcha? It don't exactly do ya justice, bub."

"Don't want folks just ta love me for my pretty face, pal," Logan muttered. His dark eyes flatlined when the man began looking Remy up and down with clear, easily recognized hunger. His enormous, barrel-chest inflated with masculine, almost tangible arrogance, and Logan suppressed a snarl when Remy smiled at him.

"'Specially when he's got so many ot'er sterling qualities, neh?" Remy teased. Logan wasn't pacified by the grip of Remy's hand over his hip, but some of the red haze clouding his vision receded a bit when he noticed the bouncer's eyes tracking that contact between them, even though they lingered too long on that zone of Logan's body. A hot flush covered him from head to foot when those blue eyes returned to his face, and a smirk twisted his firm lips. Logan's heavy dark brows drew together, creating the divot in his forehead that Remy was too well acquainted with. The Cajun cleared his throat and tightened his hand on his hip, tugging him back against his lean chest. He felt a spike in his adrenaline that snapped him completely from the boredom of their wait.

"Ya've got yerself a keeper, kid," the blond giant chuckled, shaking his head. He moved along, continuing to check IDs. Logan's hackles remained up, bristling. He swatted Remy's hand from him, but this time both of them eased around his upper arms and his lover's honeyed voice fanned over his ear.

"Easy, cher."

"That was some bullshit," Logan muttered. "Don't encourage him."

"Who wuz encouragin' anybody?" Remy retorted. Logan ignored the hint of dismay in his voice and stared out into the street.

The line seemed to stand stock-still for interminable minutes, and patrons stopped exiting as the night's best music so far blared out the front door. Remy itched to go inside and dance, fighting the urge to move to it, knowing how Logan complained about that habit, but he was restless. Remy didn't want to admit that Logan's earlier suggestion of Duffy's made sense. He could have two drinks under his belt by now-

"Hey, Dimples," a voice rumbled in Remy's ear, spooking him, "you thirsty?" Remy almost spun on the speaker but didn't have to; the speaker's lips were centimeters from his temple.

"Could stand ta wet my whistle," he admitted softly.

"Then hurry up." The bouncer stepped neatly over the rope cordoning the patrons into their unruly line and unhooked it, urging Logan and Remy to follow him. He rehooked it, smirking at the fuck-offs that followed in his wake as the two men trailed on his heels to the counter inside. Logan stared up at Remy, confused and annoyed as the checker nodded to the girl at the desk. "These two are fine." Logan dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Never mind. It's taken care of." The girl raised a brow, then motioned with a jerk of her head for them to go in. Remy gleefully tugged Logan toward the bar by the elbow and flagged down the man on tap behind the counter. Moments later, Logan and Remy were nursing sweating glass bottles and people-watching.

Their familiar dance began, taking place off of the floor. It never failed.

"C'mon, mec!"

"Nah."

"Don' be a bump on a log."

"Ya liked my bump, last time I checked, kiddo."

"Like it more if ya get out dere an' work it fuh me."

"This ain't where I planned ta work it."

"Y'know ya want to." Remy gave his shoulders a brief shimmy.

"Stop it."

"Can't help it." Remy took a hearty gulp of his brew. "Mmnhh!" he exclaimed. "Hits de spot."

"I'll buy ya another."

"Ain't gonna slow me down." Remy began dancing in his seat, and Logan recognized that gleam in his eye. He would nag him relentlessly until he got Logan out of his seat, be it flirting, cajoling, or -

"So what, I'm still a rock star!" Remy belted out with abandon, using the beer bottle as a microphone.

- blatantly bad singing, with little regard to dignity or volume.

"Fer the love of God," Logan muttered, trying not to laugh. He ducked his face behind his hand in an I-don't-know-this-guy gesture.

"C'mon. Y'look nice," Remy told him, rising from his stool and sidling up to him. "Y'sexy, mec. C'mon an' dance wit' me."

"Ya know I ain't into that."

"Can't tell me yer scared," Remy pressed, wrapping his hand around Logan's wrist and giving a rough little tug.

"Leggo."

"Non. Like pullin' teef' t'get ya t'come out wit' Remy."

"I'm out here!" Logan argued. He wasn't looking at Remy, because his dark eyes and the look of pleading in them would undo him if he let it.

He was scared.

"Ya dance wit' me all de time at home," Remy murmured into his ear, steaming his lobe and giving him fuzzy little chills. "Like it well enough den. Why not now?"

"Ain't ready t'dance. Lemme have one more. Then I'll think about it." Remy expelled an exasperated breath. "C'mon. I'll buy ya another one. Siddown." Remy huffed and tried to resume his seat, but his stool was snaked away from him by a young sorority girl with half-grown out highlights and too-snug green top. Logan patted his thigh sympathetically. "C'mere." Remy grudgingly backed himself between Logan's parted legs and leaned against his lap. He took a long swallow of Logan's proffered beer when he held it to Remy's lips before Logan flagged down their bartender for another. He relaxed slightly against Logan's warm bulk and felt safe and steady, comfortable with his man in the growing crowd.

Safe. That was the word for what they had. Remy felt a hint of irritation as Logan's fingers tapped out the beat of the music against his lower back.

*

He felt eyes on him from across the room once they were halfway through their third drink. Remy was still swaying to the music, feeling his oats. Logan had given up on trying to resist his flirting and had his arm wrapped snugly around his narrow waist, but he was still stubbornly glued to the barstool.

It was the Jolly Blond Giant, watching them furtively from the door frame.

Remy nodded, saluting him. Logan caught the gesture and his eyes followed Remy's to the door. He grunted.

"What's that fucker want?"

"Got me."

"Yeah. I got you," Logan muttered. "Yeah, I got him, motherfucker," he added, sliding his palm up Remy's back until he casually gripped the back of his neck. Remy felt an odd jolt in his belly and stared at Logan in surprise and confusion.

"What de fuck? Relax, cher. Don' give `im a show." But Remy felt a thrum of excitement come over him at the feel of Logan's fingers tangling in his hair and his boyfriend's entire body stiffening at attention at his back. He gave Logan a mischievous look. "Give us some sugar, cher." Remy leaned in and nuzzled his neck, and Logan responded by closing in on his teasing mouth, taking it in a biting, almost brutal kiss that gave Remy little shivers.

His message to the interloper watching them was clear: Back the fuck off. MINE.

The ID checker's smirk blossomed into a full-wattage grin, and he threw back his head and laughed.

A few minutes later, Remy felt those eyes on him again. He was sure of it. "Baby?"

"Hn?"

"Gotta use de lil' boys room. Back in a sec."

"Hurry it up. Let's get outta here after this." Remy's face fell.

"Y'ain' danced wit' me yet."

"Yeah, yeah..." Logan hedged and looked slightly guilty, but he began cajoling him, letting one brawny arm snake around Remy's waist.

He caught those damned infuriating, smug eyes swing their way again, and he growled low in his throat. "Cher, whatsamatt- mmmmph!" Remy moaned into another consuming kiss, sagging against him this time. Their tagalong across the room wasn't their only spectator this time; Logan flushed at a few snickers around them and the suggestion that they get a room. Remy responded to him with enthusiasm, welcoming the velvety stroke of Logan's tongue and the heat of this strong hands gripping him and carefully guiding Remy's face at an angle to suit him. His fingers fisted themselves in Logan's collar, heedless of wrinkling it.

What the hell came over him all of the sudden? Better yet, what the heck was wrong with that? demanded a voice in his subconscious. More. Yummy. "Hurry back," Logan murmured, steaming Remy's lips.

"Yeah," he husked. "Miss me while'm gone." Logan squeezed his hip one last time before he left, and Remy couldn't tell if he felt more drunk from the beer or the passion that was lately, mournfully out of character between them. Logan watched him weaving slightly as he made his way through the crowd to the john and smirked, satisfied that he was the one who left Remy in that condition. He went back to his beer, contemplating the half-empty bottle and debating on another.

"Chuck," a familiar voice barked, "two more of what he's havin'!" Logan frowned at the brush of a hard, hot masculine chest against his arm, just enough to invade his space. He smelled the slightly metallic, citrus aftershave he recognized from outside and looked up halfway through what he'd said, confused when he saw the tall blond beckoning to Logan.

"Never said I was still thirsty," Logan informed him bluntly.

"Ya didn't hafta. Figured ya needed t'wet yer whistle. Unless that's what yer man was doin' for ya a minute ago." Logan turned away from him and stared at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He took a casual gulp of his beer, but he bristled at the man's familiarity.

"Ain't anyone's business what my man was doin'," he warned, voice low and smooth as silk.

"Coulda fooled me. Looked like it was everybody's business, handsome." Hot prickles bathed Logan's nape and he narrowed his eyes. "I ain't blamin' ya. I've gotta give it to ya, he's fuckin' hot."

"Yeah? Ya think so?"

"Hell, yeah. Real pretty. I fuckin' love redheads, know what I'm sayin'? They're little wildcats. `Specially a pretty one like that. Yer a lucky man, bub."

Logan chafed. "Yeah. Pretty lucky." The bartender set down two more beers and cleared away the empties. He hovered, waiting for the money.

"It's on me," Logan's host told him.

"Naw, it ain't," Logan said, reaching for his wallet, but the bartender grinned and held up his hands.

"Don't worry about it, it's taken care of," he assured Logan. "Vic, you want anything?"

"Seven up."

"Lightweight?" Logan quipped. He expected the big guy to tell him to fuck off. Vic disappointed him, letting out a crack of laughter and slapping him heartily on the back.

"Workin', Shorty. I don't get ta let my hair down til they close down the bar." His comment automatically made Logan's eyes flit to his hair, long, lush and thick, an enviable honey blond. He had it clubbed back in a ponytail that reached midway down his back, making Logan wager that he had even more hair than Remy. The severe style emphasized a high, broad forehead and strong, thick, sandy brows. His cheekbones were high and sharp and he had a prominent jawline, giving his face a European look. His nose looked as though it had been broken before, and it was further marred by a scar just left of the bridge, but it made him look rakish and kept him from being too pretty.

More sandy gold hair ran down beefy forearms, which he folded across his chest. "Why're ya over here warmin' the stool? Get out there an' shake yer ass." He motioned to the dance floor, and Logan decided he was tired of being polite.

"Fuck off."

"Don't mean ta tell ya how ta handle shit with yer boy there-"

"Sure ya don't."

"C'mon. Lighten up, bub. I'm tellin' ya, if ya don't get up an' make more of an effort, he's gonna want outta his cage."

"Guess ya didn't hear me when I told ya ta fuck off. Vic, is it?"

"That's my name. Feel free ta wear it out." Amusement shone in those unsettling blue eyes, and Logan longed to be the second person to break his nose. "C'mon, Shorty. Get real. Guy like him's into the strong, silent type. I get that. Guys like you give `im the chance ta shine an' show off. Yer not just the one who gets his rocks off, yer his audience. Yer the validator."

"What makes ya think ya know shit about what yer talkin' about?"

"I work in a fuckin' bar. Gimme a little credit. I've seen it all." Victor eschewed the big, cheerful red straw and drank his soda straight from the glass, crunching an ice cube. "And I've done it all, too."

"Yer mother must be so proud." Victor barked a laugh and continued to stare out at the crowd on the dance floor. Logan wondered what was taking Remy so long.

His hackles went up when Victor baited him perfectly, as though he'd read his mind. "Looks like he got held up on his way back." Logan stiffened, slowly turning on his stool. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Remy leaning in toward two young men flirting with him, seemingly rapt and very receptive. His body language and boyish grin made Logan shove his drink away, and Victor caught the bottle before it could pitch off the counter.

"Easy, bub!"

"You take it easy!" Logan snapped.

A large, hot hand clapped itself over his shoulder, firm and insistent, burning him through his clothes. "Ease off. Give him a sec. They're chattin' `im up. Don' mean he's in the mood fer what they're sellin'." Logan's nostrils flared and heat suffused his face and neck. A crimson haze settled over his vision, making the club's gaudy lighting fade away to a flicker and dulling the clamor around them. Logan felt his heart pound and began to hear his own pulse. Despite the tang of beer on his tongue, he tasted metal and realized he'd bit the inside of his cheek.

"He's enjoyin' the attention," Victor purred in his ear, and Logan was unnerved by how close it was, how his breath stirred the hairs at his temple. He suppressed a shiver. "Kid's an exhibitionist. He ever work as a stripper?"

"Shut yer fuckin' mouth."

"My bad." Victor didn't back away, and Logan wondered for a moment why he hadn't turned around and pushed this smug fucker outside yet. He blamed the alcohol for mellowing him... sure. That was it. Had to be the beer.

That husky, deep voice was back, nearly stroking him. "Ain't tryin' ta talk smack, bub. Like I said, yer a lucky man. But ya've gotta step up. Work it. Show him what ya' ve got." Remy picked that moment to turn away from his conversation, eyes scanning the crowd. There was a look of confusion on his face when he finally found Logan staring at him, leaning against the elbow he had propped on the bar. The almost feral looking blond bouncer from outside was hovering over him, looking as though he'd caught Remy with his hand in the cookie jar.

There was something smoldering and dangerous in Logan's expression that made Remy's gut twist and pulse speed up.

He leaned down and murmured something in Logan's ear, and an odd sensation of jealousy swept over Remy. What de fuck... ? What the hell was he doing, touching him like that and leaning down all over him?

"Go get `im."

Those three words propelled Logan from his stool like a shot. He closed the gap between him and Remy and caught his wrist in an almost savage grip, full of blatant possession. "C'mon," he snapped, tone whip-sharp and intolerant of delay. Remy's heart pounded, and he tried to spare the men behind him a glance, as if to say What just happened here? But what confused him even more was that Logan wasn't dragging him toward the door.

His compact, burly lover was shoving his way through the crowd on the dance floor and taking him with him, not pausing until they reached the center. The music throbbed over them, dictating their pulse and movements. The beat was infectious but meaningless to Logan. His only concern was getting Remy's mind off its earlier distractions.

It didn't matter that he hated to dance. All that mattered was returning his focus to him. Period.

Reminding him of a few things wouldn't hurt, either. Remy grunted as he was hauled up against a hard, unyielding body, and his hips followed suit, already moving in sync with Logan's grip on him, trying to match his moves, his rhythms. If the other clubbers around him were surprised, they minded their own business after a few seconds; the short guy looked scary and pissed off.

"Dis is a switch," Remy muttered.

"Shaddup. Happy now?"

"You?" Remy countered. Logan jerked his face up toward him, and his eyes dilated with a flash of anger -

- and just a hint of something else. Remy challenged him with his eyes and stubbornly set his jaw, all the while never breaking his rhythm. He loved to dance, and he wasn't going to waste a minute of their time on the floor on drama. His torso rippled smoothly against Logan, arching into him teasingly. Logan's hands fisted around his narrow, hard hips, and Remy's arm drifted up over his neck, dangling lazily over his broad back. A voice in the back of Logan's mind accused, Aren't we supposed to be pissed off right now? But Remy was looking at him, sizing him up, eyes gobbling him up, and each bump of his hips teased Logan's manhood, burgeoning and tightening his jeans.

The deejay spun several songs in a row of nothing but throbbing house music with a killer base, and it manipulated the crowd around them like puppets. Both men began to taste their own sweat, and eventually, each other's as they gave in to the aching need between them to own each other. Remy's arm tightened and locked around Logan's neck as he leaned down and claimed his mouth hotly. Logan's blunt nails were clawing at his back and tugging him closer, threading through his belt loops. They were heedless of anything, anyone but each other, how they felt and tasted, of the abbreviated moans that rumbled from their lips, quickly devoured, flavored by the mellow aftertaste of beer.

The sensation of being watched prickled at Logan's nape again. He tried to ignore it, to fall back into the sweet, familiar thrall of Remy's body heat, those firm, supple lips that owned him from the moment they met.

He fought it. Logan even chuckled slightly at the dazed expression on Remy's face when he let him up for air.

"Ya havin' a good time yet?" he whispered, nibbling his lobe. He stroked away a patch of sweat from his brow, then let his hand drop to Logan's chest. His heartbeat was rapid and thumping beneath his palm.

"I could be havin' a better time." Remy shrugged.

"Picky."

"Ya know that by now." Logan nudged him with his erection, then leaned up and bit Remy's neck. Remy grunted in surprise.

"Do dat again, an' ol' Remy's gonna leave ya walkin' funny fo' de next week."

"Who's gonna leave who walkin' funny?" Logan suddenly followed Remy's gaze toward the bar.

Victor was staring at them, hard. He saluted them with his nearly empty glass, gave them a brief nod, then downed the rest in one gulp. His eyes never left them, moving over them like greedy hands.

Chapter Text

Remy stiffened, and Logan winced as his hand tightened around his upper arm to the point of discomfort. "What de fuck is his deal?" he demanded. His voice was harder than Logan expected, at odds with his mellow mood when they walked inside.

"Beats me," Logan admitted.

"Needs t'keep dat look t'himself," Remy decreed.

"What? You shy now?"

"Whaddya mean, `now?' Ain' like I've been stalkin' him, or askin' fo' his attention, eh?"

Logan was silent, goading Remy to stare at him and read his deadpan expression. "What de hell. Really? Ya t'ink Remy's been askin' fo' it?"

"Nah. It's just - sometimes, ya throw yerself out there. Send out signals."

"Signals. Remy's got yer signals, mec. Tell me what dis one means." Remy nodded to Vic for a moment, making sure he had the man's attention, then pulled Logan to him, leaned down and mauled his mouth. Logan's low grunt of protest evaporated into a groan of pleasure. His fingers threaded through Remy's tousled chestnut hair, tangling in it and using it to hold him immobile for more of the drugging kisses. Remy ignored one of their neighbor's comment of "Seriously, get a room!" as he took from him, twisting his hand in the back of Logan's shirt.

"Ya still doubt me?"

"Ya gonna stay put?" Logan challenged.

"Can't b'lieve ya gonna ask dat," Remy tsked. The song changed to a ballad for the purpose of driving the patrons on the floor toward the bar for the shot special. Logan and Remy slow-dragged as they each thought about what the other had said. "Somebody Already Broke My Heart" moved their feet in a slow, lazy glide, and Sade's low croon made them wistful, doing nothing to settle the itch between them, the strange sense that something was just... missing.

Nature called; this time Logan answered it with a gruff apology. "Lemme make a pit stop, Rem." He sloughed off Remy's grip and headed toward the men's. Remy huffed a ragged sigh, backing away toward the edge of the dance floor as he waited.

That uneasy feeling rubbed all over him again, but when Remy looked back at the bar, their stalker was gone.

Remy didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Logan wove his way through the crowd toward the dank smelling corridor in the back. He nodded his way past a handful of men lingering in the hall who weren't standing in line, and he gratefully stepped up toward the urinal, heedless of its less than pristine state. He unzipped himself and suppressed a groan of relief at the cool air hitting his dick and how good it felt to take a piss that put ten race horses to shame.

He ignored the sounds of two young men wearing fraternity letters across their shirts bragging about an afterparty once they left the bar; he didn't envy their stamina any more than he did the hangover they were in for in the next eight to ten hours. Briefly his thoughts drifted back to Remy and how much he'd changed since they'd been together. He was about that young when they first met, gorgeous, carefree, and he didn't give a shit.

There were still moments when he wondered why Remy really chose him. What was the appeal for him, when there was such a difference between them in age? Logan told him point-blank that he didn't want to be a "father figure" to him or a sugar daddy. Remy replied promptly by telling him to shut the fuck up and asking Logan, did he want to go back to his place or his own.

He felt the presence of a tall body beside him, barely glancing away from the urinal.

"Just borrowin' that beer," Victor muttered. Logan's ears grew hot with annoyance. He hated talking to anyone in the men's when he was exposed. "Got a while til last call."

"We're just about done here." He hoped that would discourage any more discourse from the blond busybody.

"Don't hafta be so hasty." Clearly Vic had been holding it a while, Logan surmised, wincing at the sound of piss hissing into the porcelain, more repugnant when it wasn't his own.

"Saw everything we need t'see," Logan shrugged, sorely tempted to tell this guy to fuck off.

"You sure?" There was a teasing note in his voice, but his mouth was a sober, straight line. Logan ignored it, but he felt the man's eyes burning into him as he zipped up and headed for the sink. He resisted the temptation to flick his own eyes over the edge of the wall between commodes to "peek" out of simple politeness, even though a voice in the back of his mind nagged him, cajoled him Haven't ya ever wondered?

Victor was a big, big man.

Was Logan sure he saw everything he needed to see? He heard the staccato zip of the ID checker's fly behind him as he fought with the soap dispenser for one decent squirt. "Here."

"I got it." But Victor, as usual, wouldn't take no for an answer. He took the liberty of closing in on him from behind, leaning over his shoulder to reach around him.

"Nah, gimme a sec, back up." Logan practically fell back into him as he did just that; the back of his head bumped against his burly chest, giving him another whiff of his aftershave. It irritated him that it wasn't an unpleasant smell, combined with Victor's rugged, male pheromones and a faint hint of sweat. Vic whapped the dispenser so hard that it rattled, and a jet of soap shot into Logan's dripping palm. Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes, giving a heavy sigh.

"Thanks."

"Sure, shorty."

"Fuck off," Logan finally muttered.

"I ain't talkin' smack."

"Yeah. Sure ya ain't." Logan's buzz was wearing off. The music outside the men's was beginning to wear on his nerves, too loud and too trendy for his taste. "I've had enough of yer mouth tonight, bub." Logan sidestepped him and headed out into the hall.

"What? Don't mean any trouble." Victor followed him, nonplussed.

"No? Mighty fuckin' opinionated since me and my man stepped through the door. Been watchin' us all night like a hawk." The blue eyes raking over him didn't look the least bit contrite, even though he held up his hands.

"I'm just enjoyin' the show." Logan clenched his knuckles at his sides hard enough to make them crack audibly. "Make a hot couple." Logan chafed at his confession, feeling himself flush almost painfully; his scalp felt so tight it gave him a headache.

"We're a couple, all right."

"Bet yer proud of it. Ya should be."

That baffled him. It wasn't what Logan was expecting.

...why did Vic sound... wistful?

"Damn right I am. Quit starin' at him. He don't like it, and I ain't crazy about it, either." His words sounded hard and awkward coming out of his mouth, like a playground bully warning the new kid away from his girlfriend.

"Who said I was starin' just at him?"

"Wait... what?"

"You heard me, bub."

*

Remy wondered what the hell was taking Logan so long to come back. His earlier enthusiasm for the music waned now that he had no partner. He shook off offers from the young men flirting with him before, as well as a couple of women who'd arrived too late to see his lover stake his claim. Irritation crawled up his spine and he folded his arms, petulantly retreating to the bar. Remy gulped down a red plastic cup of ice water and bit savagely into a wedge of lime, hoping Logan would hurry his ass up, already.

*

What the hell was he saying?

"What the hell are ya sayin', here?"

"Whaddya think I'm sayin'? Watchin' the two of ya's been my entertainment fer the night. I'm the kinda guy who likes ta watch, sometimes." There was a note of something hopeful in the word sometimes that made Logan's brows draw together.

"Mindin' yer own business ain't got much appeal?"

"There ain't any fun in that," he told him bluntly. "Hard not ta notice what's between you two."

"And what the heck would that be?"

"Issues. And a helluva lotta heat. Ya looked pissed when ya first came in here. Saw that outside. What'd he say ta push yer buttons, Shorty?"

"I ain't gotta tell you shit."

"Sure ya don't. But that told me plenty." Logan never noticed how close Victor stood to him until he was practically staring up into his nostrils. His own breathing felt ragged, almost harsh, gusting in and out of his chest, bringing some of Victor's CO2 in with it. He wasn't used to being around someone who didn't find him intimidating on the best of days, let alone a mean-tempered sonofagun the rest of the time. No one crossed Logan.

This guy loved pissing him off, was eating it up and begging for more. His mellow buzz gone, Logan felt adrenaline seeping into his veins, making him edgy and charged up. It didn't help that Victor's eyes kept flicking from Logan's darker ones to his well-shaped, sensual lips. It was unnerving to be subject to such blatant regard and inspection.

What'd he say ta push yer buttons?

Where did Vic want him to begin? a voice inside him nagged.

"I see this shit a lot. Guys like you who go fer a wild, sweet young thing they can party with, but ya wonder if he appreciates ya. Don'tcha." Logan itched to punch him, but there was more than a hint of truth in his words.

Wasn't there.

"There's more ta Rem than a party. Ya don't know him. Ya don't know me."

"That's my problem, on both counts."

"What the fuck are ya talkin' about?"

"I wanna know ya. Both of ya. I get off at three, when we close up. I don't hafta stick around til they take the deposit to the bank, but I hafta chase out the stragglers. After that, I'm up fer a while. I'm a night owl."

"Yer outta yer mind. Where do ya even get off asking me if... nah. Yer crazy."

"Only way I don't get off is if I don't ask, way I figure," Victor shrugged. His lips curled in a lopsided smile that Logan would have found sexy on someone who wasn't giving him a hard time.

"Rems ain't into that. He'd never go for it." Victor shrugged again.

"Would you?" Victor's voice was a low, raspy husk that scratched him all over, making Logan tingle. "Ever been in the middle?"

Holy...

The mental image hit him, and Logan couldn't process it.

"Ever wonder what it feels like ta have it both ways?"

"I ain't gonna listen to this!" Logan spat, tiring of his nerve. He gave Victor a shove, then chafed when the taller man caught his wrist. His grip was firm rather than rough, and Logan could tell he enjoyed the tension that ripcoiled through his muscles with that contact. His heart kept hammering in his chest. Victor's palm felt hot, just like the rest of him had for that brief moment when he'd bumped back against him.

"Are ya a top? Bet ya are." His voice was low and smoky. "Ya like bein' in control?"

Logan's mouth was suddenly dry. He craved another beer or anything else that would busy his mouth and prevent him from having to defend himself to this... interloper.

"How's it feel ta have yer pretty partner under ya, callin' yer name? Looks like he fits ya like a glove. Does he like it rough?" Victor enjoyed the emotions playing across Logan's features, including a distant look in his eyes that told him that Logan was remembering how Remy felt, reminiscing about it and definitely savoring it. Logan shook himself, letting his face flatline.

"Shut up."

"Bet you do."

"Are ya finished?"

"I'm just gettin' started, handsome."

"What de fuck is dis?" Remy's voice was strident, like the crack of a gunshot as it reached both men above the din of the music. His dark eyes were blazing and his mouth was set in a hard line. His inhalations were labored, as though he'd run through the crowd.

Victor had a grip on his lover, who was doing nothing to free himself. Instead, he watched Logan staring up intently at him, making his blood boil.

"Just makin' yer man here an offer."

"Ya don't have anything he wants, mec," Remy snapped. "Leggo of `im."

Remy didn't know what came over him; the violence welling up in him was unnerving.

Logan never gave him a moment's worry over his faithfulness. He was steadfast and loyal, and if anything, he was almost predictable. It was easy to take him for granted and to assume his eye never strayed, simply because it didn't. Ever. There were moments - arguments -when Logan would threaten him with the unthinkable: If yer gettin' tired of me, lemme know right now. I can find someone else who doesn't have a problem with me an' my bullshit like you do, Remy.

Watching Vic invading Logan's personal space, touching him, goddamnit, pissed him off. Made him see blood red. The thought of another man coming onto his lover wasn't any different than licking his ice cream cone without permission; it just wasn't done. Even if Remy wasn't speaking to him on a given occasion, he was well within his rights to object if someone else wanted to holla' at him.

"He's hot when he's mad," Victor chuckled.

"Hotheaded," Logan corrected him before he could stop himself.

"Like you."

"Fuck off."

"Keep up that dirty mouth an' yer gonna turn me on," Vic reasoned.

"No, he ain't," Remy claimed, grabbing Logan's upper arm and jerking him up against him. Logan's expression demanded What the fuck?? as he stared up at Remy in confusion.

"Darlin', take it easy..."

"He don't need ya ta fight his battles, `specially since I don't wanna fight."

"Den act like it," Remy retorted. "Leave `im alone. He don' want you." It stunned Logan to hear his own words from moments ago coming out of Remy's mouth, and briefly, it pleased him, too. He didn't want to admit it, but the protectiveness in Remy's tone was a complete turn-on.

"He wasn't fightin' that hard a minute ago. Were ya, Shorty?" Victor provoked him ruthlessly, grabbing Logan's wrist again, tugging Logan into him more forcefully than Remy had. Victor's body was firm, an advantage of his profession and the kind of impeccable physical condition he kept himself in to handle it.

"Knock that shit off!" Logan barked. What was he, a wishbone? Remy reached out and shoved Victor squarely in the chest. Victor reared back slightly, more amused at Remy's strength than impressed. Remy swatted Victor's hand away while he had the opportunity, but it simply drifted to Logan's waist, scorching him through his tee. Victor's grip was even more possessive and appreciative of Logan's supple flesh and the firm muscles underneath.

"Damn," Victor murmured, "ya feel good, Shorty." Logan's cheeks were blazing with embarrassment and irritation. "Ya get ta curl up ta this every night, Pretty Boy?"

"Every damned night! Now leggo!"

"Uh-uh. The hell with that, he feels nice," Vic teased.

Logan was beyond uncomfortable, not only with Victor's approach, but at being... fought over?

"Get yer own man!" Remy demanded roughly, and Logan realized Victor was baiting Remy -

- with him. Logan was the bait.

"I don't think ya know what ya've got," Victor challenged. Those wicked blue eyes gleamed as they zeroed in on Logan's appalled expression, then shifted their focus to his mouth.

It was too tempting to pass up. Victor allowed Remy to pull Logan away for a split second before he resumed his grip, snatching him fully away. All Logan saw was Victor's look of triumph as he looped one brawn arm around Logan's neck in a grip that would have been companionable, like an embrace from an old friend, under different circumstances. That was the last coherent thought he had before Victor's mouth crashed down on his, taking his lips in a brutal kiss.

Every alarm in Logan's brain went off in a deafening clamor, temporarily shorting out his nervous system so that all he could do was feel, having no control over any of his senses. Victor's heady scent tickled his nostrils and filled his chest while that hard, hot mouth stole his breath, bringing with it a taste of his soda and the aftertaste of tobacco; Vic had snuck a cigarette while he was still outside. His knees buckled and the music around them faded away to a dim buzz on the fringes of his awareness. He felt Remy's eyes on him and on what was happening to him, and a voice of reason inside him bellowed for him to break the sinful contact with Victor.

"Sonofabitch," Remy hissed, stunned and furious. But his stomach twisted as Logan's low groan reached his ears. His blunt fingernails dug into Victor's chest, whether in self-defense - or worse, in pleasure, Remy couldn't tell. Victor let him up for air, surveying the damage he'd done. Logan was dazed, a fact that pleased him no end. Remy was gaping and looked ready to murder him. That pleased him just as much.

"Don't cry, Pretty Boy. There's plenty more where that came from."

"Naw, there ain't," Remy argued, jabbing his finger almost in Victor's teeth. Before he could press any further, Victor reached up and grasped his wrist, jerking it down. He grinned savagely at the way Remy's eyes dilated and his rapid pulse pounding beneath his thumb.

He looked pissed off, ripe for plucking, and delicious. His grip on Remy's nape wasn't gentle at all, fingers tangling into his long, lush hair and hauling him against him, much in the same fashion he had with Logan. He swallowed Remy's curse, tugging his hair to jerk his head back, tilting his mouth up to his so he could savage it. His tongue was like hot sandpaper as it lapped at him, stroking his and showing it - and him - who was boss. Little shocks and sparks ran through his system and Remy, too, felt the shame of what could only be a betrayal of Logan for - enjoying Victor's rough possession, but he felt heady and excited, feeling Logan's eyes on him, drinking in his pleasure, and wondering if he wanted to share in it.

Impossible. Never in a million years. Logan was his love and his only, a one-man man. He'd never go for this asshole's lines -

"Rem?" Logan said hoarsely. "Remy?" he repeated when Remy broke free - with difficulty - staring up into Victor's satisfied face. Victor's eyes were blazing with renewed hunger. He didn't realize that he'd been clinging to Victor's shirt collar, or how hard he was panting. Victor's breath was misting over his lips.

"Take it or leave it, boys. C'mon, babe. You gonna hold out? Ya think he don't want it?" Remy's eyes swung back to Logan, beseeching him.

It was a painful decision. It should have been simple. Just say no, nagged his conscience. Logan won't think less of you if you just tell this party crasher goodnight and to kiss off. Just say no. Just say no.

"Think of it," Victor plied smoothly, "two of us wrapped around ya. Two pairs of hands, running over yer body. Hn? Like that? Bein' taken by two people? Yer damned tasty, babe." His forearm still dangled over Logan's chest as he leaned down to nuzzle his temple, making Logan groan in response. His lover's dark eyes pleaded with him.

It's up to you. I'll follow you no matter what you decide, they seemed to tell him. Victor's hand was still combing through Remy's hair, savoring its texture and weight. His thumb stroked his jaw, and Remy fought the urge to purr beneath the caress. He found Logan's hand and gripped it, threading his fingers through his for support, hoping the contact would soothe his confusion, make his decision easier.

If it'd make you happy. That's what the squeeze of Logan's fingers around him conveyed, that and his silent nod. Remy closed his eyes and bit the bullet. When he opened them and tried to speak, Victor's mouth was back at him, pressing in on him and nipping at his lips. Remy moaned, letting his palm skim down over his broad chest, just as invitingly hard and firm as Logan's. He wondered if he was hairy, too. He loved the feel of a hairy man, loved how it felt rasping against him when he made love. Remy felt feverish in anticipation of Victor's promise, two sets of hands, two mouths, two bodies pressing in on him, taking from him...

When he came up for air again, he told him, "Go ahead." Victor eyed him quizzically.

"Go ahead an' what?"

"Give `im anot'er taste. Y'know ya want to." He jerked his head at Logan, wrapping his arm around his waist. Remy leaned in and nuzzled Logan's neck, evoking a groan of pleasure. Remy's eyes burned into Victor's and he felt himself growing hard at the hungry look and the way Victor's hand skimmed over his, barely tickling his knuckles with his caress. He covered his hand fully, capturing it against Logan as he leaned down and took a long, thirsty kiss from him, savoring it like wine. Remy watched this and nibbled Logan's lobe, sucking it gently between his teeth. He felt his shiver, letting his tongue play with his sensitive flesh the same way that Victor's tongue wreaked havoc with his mouth.

Voices intruded on their party as strangers strolled past them in the hallway on the way to the toilets. "Get a room!" one of them jeered again.

This time, it was a good idea.

Chapter Text

Only a moment’s hesitation kept Logan and Remy from agreeing to Vic’s suggestion of the handicapped stall in the men’s, consciences overcoming lust, if only for a moment…

The wait for Victor to finish his obligations for the night was arduous and frustrating. They toyed with ice water, chewing lime wedges down to the last pulpy bits as they watched him at the front door, turning latecomers away with gruff injunctions to dry out. He was blunt and aggressive about it; he wouldn’t admit aloud that impatience fueled him. Logan and Remy’s brooding slouch over the bar aroused him and filled him with wanting.

They were such physical contrasts, but both of them were his type for different reasons. Victor couldn’t wait to try them both on and see how they fit.

His short, burly pick was staring at him, measuring him. There was still that look of caution in his flinty eyes that Vic longed to wipe away, wondering if making him come – hard – would fix that. Logan raised his cup to him, briefly, before Victor turned away and ushered two more girls outside as they left the patio seating.

Logan and Remy couldn’t remember spending a longer or more frustrating night at any bar.

“LAST CALL!” the barkeep barked as he collected pint glasses and clunked them onto a large tray behind the counter. His voice snapped Logan and Remy from their reverie and the fog of music and humid air inside the club.

Last call.

Go time.

A silent nod from Vic nudged them off their stools, which they kicked back under the bar as they headed for the door. The night’s mild chill felt good against their hot flesh, and the breeze ruffled sweaty hair and fanned their cheeks. Remy lit up a cigarette, content with it for the moment, but Logan refused the offer for one, wishing he had one of his Cubans instead. They huddled together in the shadows, several feet away from the club as they watched the other patrons make their way down the street to a nearby Denny’s or into parked cabs. They people-watched, both nearly silent with anticipation, contemplating their decision as butterflies and jitters duked it out in their guts.

It would be easy enough to leave Vic a note. Take off for home with a brief “Thanks, but no thanks.” Sure. Simplest thing in the world. They didn’t have to take this step.

Or didn't they.

The kisses alone changed everything. It was so alien to them both to act on that kind of abandon and curiosity, having been strangers to it since they met. What they had was solid, or so they thought. Wasn’t it. Safe. Wasn’t it. Love didn’t have room in it for a third, so naturally, with Victor, they didn’t expect anything but a memorable night.

Logan prayed it wasn’t one they would regret. He fought the urge that he had for the past two hours to tell Remy “We don’t have to do this.” But he watched his lover, searching his face and taking in his body language as he smoked. His lips were hard with impatience as he blew out the plumes of smoke, and he didn’t seem to be watching anything around them, just concentrating on something Logan couldn’t see. It drove him nuts. It was rare that his boyfriend closed him out, but asking him “What’re ya thinkin’?” just wouldn’t work right now. He knew what he was thinking; Logan just wanted some words to busy his mouth.

Victor had plans for that mouth…

There they were, waiting for him like nervous prom dates at the foot of the stairs. He snickered to himself at the image in his head, then sobered. Were they changing their minds? Shorty looked troubled, and Pretty Boy just looked…blank. Weird. It unsettled him.

Smug confidence curled Victor’s mouth. Once he gave that kid a taste, he wouldn’t even remember his own name. He wanted to hear him beg and moan his name…

“Vic!” He spun on the owner of that voice and scowled at Birdie, who waved a grey slip at him. “Don’t forget your timecard!”

“Sheesh,” he muttered. “Fer fuck’s sake…” He snatched it from her and beckoned impatiently for her pen. She snorted ungracefully and folded her arms beneath her breasts.

“Wanna get paid?” she reminded him. “You forgot on Sunday night, too. But if you wanna lose eight hours of OT, I’m fine with that.”

“I’m sure ya are,” he grumbled at the tiny blonde as she yanked the card and pen from his grip and stuffed them into her apron pocket. She shook her head.

“Always the last one clocking in, Vic, but you’re bright an’ early when it’s time to walk out that door.”

“Don’t miss me too much, peaches,” he shrugged, patting her cheek. She stuck her tongue out at him, flashing the silver stud embedded in it. “G’night.”

“’Night, bitch,” she called cheerfully to his retreating back. Remy and Logan watched him with amusement as he approached.

“She yer kid sister?” Logan inquired.

“Nah. She thinks she’s my ma, though.”

“She sweet on you, mec?” Remy prodded, allowing his assumptions to rear their heads. Vic seemed like the easy sort…

“She was before we fucked,” Vic shrugged, turning his back on Remy’s blink. “My car’s over there.”

“We’re parked in back,” Logan told him. “Ya gonna follow us home?”

“Uh-uh,” Vic informed him. “Yer gonna come home with me.” Before Logan could protest, Victor snatched the keys from Logan’s hand just as he pulled them from his pocket. “I watched ya drink. Ya think I’m gonna let ya get behind the wheel?”

“He didn’ have dat many,” Remy argued, but he admitted to himself that part of his own buzz still lingered.

Logan and Remy shared a moment of panic and indecision. Both of them naturally assumed Victor would accompany them home, not the other way around. Separate cars ensured that they could back out any time.

As if he’d read their minds, Victor muttered, “Look… I ain’t a psycho. I ain’t an early riser in the mornin’, either, so I ain’t gonna kick ya out with yer shirts on backwards. Huh? I know ya just met me,” he pointed out soberly, and something in his eyes looked resigned, as though, he, too, were having second thoughts, “and I ain’t gonna run off with yer keys, but I can’t let ya drive…whether ya come home with me or not.” He defied Logan’s frown by tucking the keys into his own jeans. “Ya want ‘em, come get ‘em.”

Remy’s eyes gleamed. Logan tapped his fingers against his thigh as he considered his challenge. Vic began backing away toward his car, hands held out wide.

“Train’s ‘bout ta pull outta the station, boys. Ya wanna hop aboard, I’ll show ya a good time. If not, I’m gonna watch ya climb inta the back of a cab.” He jingled Logan’s keys in his pocket, as if baiting a donkey with a carrot. The action made Logan and Remy’s eyes zoom down to his crotch. The denim strained across an impressive bulge.

They automatically followed him. “Shotgun,” Remy muttered as they waited on the passenger side.

“Age before beauty,” Logan countered.

“Ain’ much of a backseat. Gonna be bent in half, mec!” Remy argued as he looked over Victor’s car. It was a nondescript Toyota that hadn’t been washed in several weeks, if the layer of graying dust on the windshield was any indication. Remy recoiled slightly, but some of his worries were extinguished as Victor unlocked the car from the inside once he climbed in through the passenger door.

“No one’s ever complained ‘bout my back seat before, babe,” Vic leered, winking at him over the top of the seat as Remy grumbled his way inside. The tiny ceiling light provided stark yellow glare that gave Victor a better look at the younger man. He was even more desirable up close, and his eyes were so dark they were almost black. They were also drowsy, like bedroom eyes, and they held a hungry look in them that called out to Victor’s lust. Despite Remy’s protests, he stretched out his legs, letting one of them sprawl across the bench. The interior was relatively clean, free of fast food containers or cigarette butts, but it did smell slightly of tobacco, to Remy and Logan’s silent relief; he wouldn’t mind that they smoked.

Victor keyed the ignition and immediately, the radio blared twangy country music from the car’s rear speakers, scaring the shit out of Remy, who promptly scowled at his driver. “What de fuck…?”

“Oops,” Victor chuckled, grinning at his reflection in the rearview. Logan tsked beside him. “Ain’t into Brooks and Dunn?”

“Nah. Make mine Johnny Cash,” Logan mentioned casually. Victor turned down the volume and carefully steered them out of the lot, winding down the windows for some fresh air.

“Ya like Johnny, huh? What’s Pretty Boy’s favorite?” He craned his neck around the edge of the seat. “Ya like that hip-hop crap that the kids listen to?”

“Remy ain’ no kid,” he grumbled, but there was no malice in Victor’s voice, so he relaxed. Sitting in the backseat was awkward; he would have preferred having Logan in the back with him, or better yet, riding together in their own car. Victor took advantage of their current seating arrangement. His hand slid off the gearshift and grazed Logan’s thigh.

“Ya ever done this before?” Victor rumbled, squeezing him and letting his palm mold Logan’s solid flesh through the denim, exploring the slope of hard muscle. Logan’s dick hardened with the contact and proximity of his fingers. Victor mainly watched the road, but he had no problem driving one-handed. Remy noticed the set of Victor’s shoulder and the movement of his arm. He restrained the urge to lean over the seat and watch. Tellingly, Logan’s head bumped back against the rest, and Remy heard a low, deep explosion of breath that wanted to be a moan.

“No,” Logan answered truthfully.

Remy remained silent in the back, fuming.

“Not the two of ya?” He was baiting them again. He squeezed Logan’s leg again, then let his hand slide over the contour of his inner thigh, enjoying the heat he found there. Logan’s legs parted slightly in invitation. His ears burned with the odd sensation of letting another man feel him up when his lover was right behind him, hearing everything.

He wondered if Remy was jealous that he hadn’t sat up front, or merely angry at him that he had.

“No,” Logan repeated. Victor’s hand massaged him more roughly, fingers drifting into crease between his crotch and thigh. Remy moodily watched the street lights flash over them, noticing how brightly they illuminated Victor’s blond hair. Victor caught his eye again in the mirror.

“Kid?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t be shy back there. Ya wanna peek, go ahead and peek. Better yet, join in. I want ya ta be ready as soon as I park the car.” A hot, sheepish flush washed over him and he caught Logan’s profile as he stared at Victor.

“Ya don’t hold anything back, do ya?”

“That ain’t any fun. Now this…THIS is fun.” Logan swallowed roughly as Victor shifted his hand, find him and kneading him in his large, thick palm. His dick twitched and cramped with the effort to meet that knowing grip, growing swollen and hot. “Yeah,” Victor murmured, “that’s nice, ain’t it…feels good…”

He enjoyed this one. Rough and quiet most of the time, but he sensed something wild and hungry in him, and Victor bet that he was an animal between the sheets. He felt another presence looming over his shoulder, and sure enough, Boy Toy was peeking over the seat, just like he’d invited him to.

Logan felt Remy’s warm breath dusting over his neck and his fingers drifting over his shoulder, caressing him they way he often did when they were alone as a prelude to talking. Those fingers combed lightly through his hair.

“Like I said, kid, don’t be shy,” Victor beckoned huskily. “Get comfortable.” He felt the pressure against the back of the seat let up a moment before he heard the sound of separating zipper teeth. The wind from outside snatched away some of the volume of the music, but all three men ignored the noise from the street. Logan could swear he heard his own heavy breathing as Victor continued to grope him at a faster pace.

Remy’s heart was pounding with anticipation. He fumbled inside the flap of his boxers, freeing the crown of his erection to let it bask in the cool night air, then edged himself up against the back of the passenger seat again. Logan once again felt his touch and was grateful for it, wanting in some way to share this with him, not wanting him to feel left out. His hand covered Remy’s this time, stroking his graceful knuckles, while his other hand cupped Vic’s more snugly around his hardness, encouraging him to work him however he wanted.

Victor took the next exit, picking up speed as they left a long line of headlights behind them.

“Ya live outta town?” Logan asked.

“Nah.” Victor wouldn’t give them anything else by way of a detailed answer as the car slowed to a crawl, then pulled off to the side of the road. Victor cut the engine, but then left on the radio. Without the traffic around them or the headlights, the interior of the car was pitch black. All Remy could make out were their silhouettes. His gut twisted in a mixture of panic, confusion and arousal.

Victor unbuckled his seatbelt and turned, closing the gap between himself and his front passenger. “Get comfy,” he rasped, reaching over him to the lever on Logan’s seat. He felt himself almost upended as his seat tilted backward, giving Victor better access. “Man, that’s better,” he murmured as he worked Logan’s zipper open, jerking open the tiny button. That large, hot hand dipped inside Logan’s dark cotton briefts and fished him out, running itself appreciatively over his pulsing flesh. He twitched and throbbed in Victor’s hand, and this time Logan’s moan was genuine as Victor began to jerk him off.

Remy finally had a decent view. Logan’s face was twisted in desire, and he captured his deep, throaty gasp for himself in a demanding kiss. He reached over him and skimmed his hand over Logan’s pec, unerringly finding his nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Voices in Logan’s head cried out that he should feel ashamed and guilty over this turn of events, about what he was allowing this stranger to do to him, but Remy being with him, sharing it with him, gave it a different flavor, almost made two wrongs a right.

Right?

Two mouths took from him hungrily, competing to drain him dry, to own him. Victor engulfed him, humming with satisfaction over his taste and his smooth thickness. Remy’s tongue stroked his, teasing him as Logan reached up and threaded his fingers through his soft hair to hold him there. It was difficult still for Remy to crane himself over the seat to get to him, but his hands were busy divesting Logan of his shirt, peeling it open to bare his heaving chest. Remy ran his hand through the layer of crisp, coarse hair on Logan’s chest that he loved and plucked at his nipples. Logan feared that he wouldn’t last at the rate that they were going, both adamant to hold his regard. His memory flashed briefly to that moment when they both held onto him in the club, neither willing to let him go. At first it had been annoying, but it was also heady, and to his shame, thrilling.

Victor’s head bobbed up and down in an easy rhythm, just as effective as Remy’s, the seal of his mouth was hot and snug. Logan’s balls drew up into hard, leathery globes that Vic cradled in his hand. He sheathed him fully, taking him down his throat, and Logan nearly lost it, hips bucking up into that luscious heat as though he were fucking paradise off the edge of the freeway.

A tortured, almost strangled moan escaped Logan as he neared his peak. “What…the fuck…are ya doin’?” he accused. “It’s too soon…”

“Nah, Shorty. Just the appetizer,” Victor promised.

The thudding in Logan's chest penetrated his consciousness, seeming to boom in his ears as Victor's hot breath stopped feathering over his throbbing flesh and his lips engulfed him again. Remy made short work of his buttons, so his shirt gaped open wide, allowing the cool night air to bathe his sweat-slicked flesh. "Please," Logan grunted between kisses, even though he didn't know what he was asking for, whether he wanted to continue on this path to a mind-bending climax, or to take enough of a breather to... well, breathe. A voice inside him reasoned that if he paused long enough, he'd question what he was doing. Remy's kisses goaded him in Victor's direction, urging him to just feel.

"Jus' go wit' it, cher," Remy whispered in his ear, catching his lobe and worrying it gently between his teeth. Then he suckled it, lapping at it with slow torture. His boyfriend's voice was a low, soothing rasp.

He did what it told him to.

Remy and Victor's palms caressed his flesh, skimming over his chest and belly; it became difficult to tell whose hands were which, but they were greedy with him, searching out his body's delights. Victor gently raked his blunt nails over his hips and combed them through the thatch of coarse curls nestling his cock.

"Je t'aime, cher," Remy whispered, right before the tip of his tongue speared its way inside his ear's canal. Logan shivered and felt himself clam up with guilt. Victor felt the change in him and paused, pinning him with his dark gaze.

"Ain't gonna hurt my feelin's none if ya wanna swap sweet nothings with each other. I'm just along for the ride." He'd nailed it on the head in one; Remy's sentiment was personal and reserved for their time alone. It felt more awkward to say it aloud in front of a stranger. Victor was a stranger. "I just wanna hear ya," Victor told him frankly, tweaking his nipple. He reached over and teased Remy's lips, beckoning to him to open for him. Remy obediently suckled them, dampening their tips. Victor stroked Logan's tightly beaded nipple with Remy's wetness, then returned to that beautiful, waiting mouth to dip back inside its heat. Victor stroked his thumb over Remy's lips and was rewarded by the faint nibble of Remy's fine, even teeth. He wanted to wreak havoc with that mouth, and he transferred his focus to him for a moment, prying his mouth open wide so he could invade it. Remy groaned in surprise, then hummed in satisfaction.

He surprised them both a moment later. "Put it away. We'll be back at my place in a minute," he told them. Logan stared at him in a daze, and Remy was in no better shape as Victor rebuckled his seatbelt. Logan tucked his throbbing flesh back into his pants but left his shirt only half-buttoned. They rode along in silence, but their flesh screamed for sweet release. Victor's fingers tapped happily against the steering wheel as he drove.

His apartment building was relatively nondescript, a three-story brownstone on a street lined with trees old enough for the roots to have broken through the pavement. The cars in the shallow parking lot were nice enough that if Logan and Remy had driven themselves there, they wouldn't find their hub caps missing in the morning. Victor let them out, chuckling to himself as the ceiling light came on again.

"Damn," he muttered, enjoying the boys' rumpled, frustrated state. "Sexy," he said, more to himself. They tramped up the steps behind him once he unlocked the front security door. The corridor was poorly lit; Logan and Remy instinctively sidled along the wall to avoid stumbling until they reached Vic's door. The door hinge squealed slightly as he pushed his way inside.

The smell of a man's apartment screamed volumes. Victor's disclosed that he liked chicken; the scent of his earlier dinner lingered as they walked past the kitchen. Their path through the apartment was relatively clutter-free, but the same couldn't be said of his coffee table or dinette set; both were spread thickly with magazines and mail, and a couple of shirts hung over the chairs. Remy pondered if they were choices he discarded in favor of his simple tee. Victor's hand curled around his as he ushered them back, and he gave Logan's lower back a shove.

"My palace," he muttered. "Make yerselves at home." Without further instruction, Victor nudged off his shoes and tossed them into the open sliding door of his closet. Remy sat on the unmade bed and groaned with relief; it felt good to sit down on something more yielding and larger than a barstool. He watched with interest and growing arousal as Victor stripped off his shirt and whipped it into the hamper in the corner. Logan and Remy admired his physique. He was rough-hewn and chiseled all over, a by-product of years of training as a fighter and a token of his night job. Remy approved of the tawny hair slicking over his chest, tapering neatly over his belly as it descended beneath his waistband. He popped his pecs at them briefly, smirking. "Hope ya ain't bashful."

"Non, mec," Remy quipped. "Ain' never been shy before."

"Oh, yeah?" He approached Remy with a predatory look, forcing him to lean back and crane his neck up, up, until he stared into those glittering, steely blue eyes. He stepped roughly between his thighs, splaying Remy's knees apart, and Remy responded with a lazy grin. His shirt hem pulled loose from his waistband as he laid back on his elbows, waiting.

Victor didn't hesitate. "Ain't shy, eh? Look pretty shy t'me... yeah, yer shy," he rumbled, reaching down to Remy's middle. He jerked open the button on his pants and Logan heard the sharp rip of zipper teeth as Victor began to manhandle his clothes off of him. Excitement bubbled in Remy's gut, enjoying the feel of those large, rough hands. He suddenly felt the rumpled, cool sheets under his bare ass as Vic took his briefs with his jeans in one savage yank.

"Damn," Logan muttered, watching them and suddenly feeling more aroused than awkward. Vic bent over him again and his hands clutched Remy's shirt, bunching it in his grip. He yanked it open, separating the long line of snaps.

"I ain't gonna let ya stay shy fer long, Pretty Boy," Victor assured him, and those hands had their way with him, tangling in his hair and holding him still as he crushed Remy's mouth beneath his. Remy felt the scratch of his stubble and insistent scrape of his teeth as he nipped and pulled at his lips, learning his taste. Victor's fingers found his turgid, aching nipples and toyed with them, and he made low groans of satisfaction at the feel of Remy beneath him. The younger man's skin was smooth and hot, unblemished and supple and made to be licked all over. Victor's voice rasped over the column of his throat. "Feel good, Pretty Boy. Can't wait ta find out how it feels when I'm inside ya. Huh? Ya want that?" Remy's cock throbbed with need, craving Victor's grip, his mouth, the feel of his manhood scraping and pressing against him with increasing friction. His brain short-circuited with the thought of Victor on top of him, something that felt foreign to him. Letting a man dominate him took trust, something he gave Logan wholeheartedly, and admittedly, Remy hadn't thought that far ahead. Of course Victor wanted to take him...

The huge blond had "alpha male" written all over him. That mouth was devouring his throat and painting his collarbones with heat. Remy moaned and leaned into the palm cradling his cheek, gently gnawing on the edge of Victor's thumb. His eyes drifted shut with the sensations of pleasure Victor wrought. Behind them, Logan watched with interest and felt his flesh twitch inside his too-tight jeans. His hands worked open the last of his shirt buttons until Victor murmured, "Get over here, bub. Come an' have some o' this." Logan felt a sense of relief, that Victor didn't plan to take Remy himself first... for the moment. He almost didn't know what he hoped, but Remy looked sexy, bare and wanton and arching in pleasure. His dark eyes sought him out, and he beckoned to him.

"C'mere, cher."

"We want ya real bad," Victor informed him, turning back to face him. Logan obediently approached, kicking off his boots and letting his shirt gape open. Victor paused in his ministrations and reached up to drag Logan close by his belt loops. "Been wantin' ta take these damn jeans off ya all night, Shorty. Show Daddy whatcha've got." Seeing his stiff flesh loom up in the dark confines of his car wasn't enough; Victor wanted to see all of him, up close and personal. He stood, reluctant to leave the comfortable, welcoming nook of Remy's legs, but Logan's eyes challenged him, and his mouth was too tempting to resist. While he kissed him again, Victor peeled Logan like a banana, scraping his shirt down his arms and leaving it puddled on the floor. Long, work-worn fingers ran over his fastenings, undoing them impatiently and digging inside the elastic waist of his briefs. The smooth, plump head of his cock bobbed free for Remy and Victor's admiration as his jeans landed with a barely audible swish around his ankles.

Logan exceeded Vic's expectations. Every inch of him. Out of the boots, he was definitely short, but he more than made up for it in muscle. His skin was slightly tanned and ruddy with good health. Long, hearty veins stood out in his arms and shoulders and he was hairy, damn it. Logan was dark, dangerous looking and all male. Victor's hands snapped out and gripped his hips, jerking him against him. Logan huffed halfway in annoyance, but then he groaned at the rasp of Vic's jeans, still intact, as Victor ground himself against him, and so help him, Logan found himself clinging to this man, arching his face up into his brutal kiss, swiftly undoing his hair tie to free that rippling, thick blond mass that felt as luxurious as Remy's. Logan felt his hands kneading him, gripping the supple, firm globes of his ass and squeezing them as he continued to grind, and Victor's knee slipped between his thighs, urging him to ride him.

Remy couldn't believe what he was seeing. Logan was compliant and so yielding, hardly the man he woke up next to that morning. Low groans and gruff sighs escaped Victor as he practically screwed Logan standing up. They turned awkwardly and Victor shoved him down onto the bed beside Remy. They both gazed up at him, rapt as he unzipped his jeans.

Whoa.

It beckoned to them, bobbing slightly as Victor's stomach muscles twitched. A thatch of that crisp, curling taffy blond hair obscured his generous sac, but his dick was a work of art, enviably long, mouthwateringly thick, and decorated with a mere, pearly drop of precum in the tip.

"Come an' get it," Victor husked.

They only lay there staring a moment longer before obeying Victor. Logan sat up and reached for his hand, pulling him to the bed. That cock loomed before them, just a breath away from being inside their mouths. Logan stroked the pit of Victor's knee, which made the giant quiver. Remy caressed the length of one gracefully muscled, tapering thigh, enjoying the slight demarcation of a tan line left from his swim trunks at some point. Victor liked outdoor sports, too, clearly. Remy filed that bit of info away, even though he didn't have much reason to remember it. This wasn't likely to happen again. It was just a fuck.

Wasn't it.

Victor's flesh jerked with Logan's light touch as he traced the underside of the rosy head, breathing over it. His whorls of hot breath tortured him while Remy cradled his balls in his gentle grip, teasing them. Remy enjoyed watching Logan's approach, the quick nips of his lips before his tongue darted out to trace the long, pulsing vein, moving up, then slowly back down toward the base.

"Ahhh-ah-hanhhh," Victor managed on a low choke. Shit. Shorty had a great, great mouth, and that tongue would drive him over the edge before the night was through. He swiveled it around the head, then dragged the tip through the tiny slit, tasting him. Logan's low, pleased hum resonated through him. His beefy hand clamped around the back of Victor's leg, possibly to support him where he stood. Remy's own hands were busy exploring him, mapping out his body's contours, teasing the crease of his groin, then lapping at the pristine flesh there. Long, dexterous fingers teased his ass, feathering over his skin and lightly dragging his fingernails over the slope. "Yer playin' with me," Victor accused as his hips jerked themselves toward Logan's heat. The words came out on a ragged laugh.

"Think I'm playin'?" Logan murmured before taking him into his mouth fully and giving his cock a generous, firm pull that made his brain short-circuit. He moved his head in long, even shunts, holding his stiffness up to leave Remy some room. Remy knelt on the floor and with some difficulty, craned his head up to spear the divide of his balls with his tongue. Neither man rushed, both satisfied to take their time with Victor. The experience of this slow exploration was something they'd put aside in favor of hurried, going-thru-the-motions sex as they'd grown more frustrated with each other. Logan's cheek occasionally bumped Remy's as their lips roamed his flesh, something they didn't mind, and their fingers occasionally met while caressing his taut skin.

And bit by bit, they let go.

Victor grew perilously close to reaching his peak; that wouldn't do at all. His fingers clutched Logan's hair and tugged his head back, making him suppress a groan at exiting his mouth - damn it, that mouth. "'Nuff of that," he panted. "Get back. Make me some room." Two pairs of dark eyes smoldered up at him as they moved back. Victor stalked them up the mattress, dragging his prey to their backs. This time he kissed Remy first, and his heart knocked in his chest at the thrill of Victor's body pressing against his, solid, hot and slicked with its layer of fine hair. Even with Remy squirming beneath him to get closer, Victor's arm snaked out and wound around Logan's waist, keeping him both spectator and captive. He didn't protest, instead roaming over Victor's brawny muscles and participating in Remy's slow torture with his tongue. He lapped at Remy's throat and his voice joined the groans of approval of each other's tastes.

All Victor had to do was tilt his head a few degrees to return to Logan's waiting kiss; he was that close, and it excited him. His hips bucked him against Remy, building friction between them. "You stay up here," Victor told Logan briefly, his voice a deep rasp. He descended slowly, studying Remy's physical beauty inches at a time, something Remy hadn't experienced in a long time, evoking memories of how his relationship with his lover had begun, how it changed... Victor's mouth and hands were reverent. Something in his expressions was soft and contemplative, an emotion that seemed foreign on his face. His breath misted over Remy, tongue bringing sizzling heat in its wake as he suckled him. Remy stroked the ball of his foot over the back of Victor's thigh in response, wanting to participate in some way, but Victor had him pinned, and Logan was no help, clearly focusing only on him, as if by some unspoken agreement, Remy would be the first among the three of them to come.

When Victor reached Remy's erection, his hand drifted up and gently parted Logan's thighs, waking his flesh again and bringing it to full mast with his teasing grip. He found a rhythm that Remy liked with his mouth, then matched it with his hand. Logan's hips rutted up into Victor's motions, but he still watched Remy, studying him, tracking his expressions of wonder and arousal, how his eyes would drift shut, then pop open whenever Victor reached a particularly sensitive spot. Logan's eyes dilated with need. "Ya like that?" he whispered. Remy's face was strained as he nodded.

"Oui, cher."

"Ain't feelin' too shy now, are ya, Rems?" Logan's fingertip traced the long line of his jaw, tipping his chin up for another slow, contemplative kiss. "Good idea?" he inquired.

"Quoi?"

"He wants t'know if yer happy," Victor murmured into his flesh, lifting his cock aside to toy with his sac.

"Oui," he told them. "Oui," he repeated, with a hint of desperation in his voice as Logan drew his nipple between his teeth. Probing fingers slipped into his crease, and Remy was done with rational thought.

*

He didn't last long once Victor stopped teasing him and slicked his fingers with a small bottle of Astroglide that he unearthed from the clutter on his bureau. He found Remy's prostate and kneaded it, making Remy strain into the motion of his hand, his long graceful thighs falling apart to give him easier access. Victor sighed and grunted over his mellow, salty flavors, loving the silky feel of him in his mouth and the gentle scrape of Remy's engorged head pressing against the opening of his throat. His younger partner was responsive and passionate, chanting broken endearments in a combination of French, which he didn't understand, and that odd little patois of his that made him wonder where the guy was from. Victor peered up at them with hooded eyes and noticed that they were always engaged, fingers intertwined or clutching each other's hair.

A pang of longing bloomed in Victor's heart. He put it aside, moving back and pulling his fingers free. Victor kissed Remy's knee and motioned for Logan to change places with him. "I wanna see ya together. G'wan."

"How?"

"How do ya think? Show me how ya like it. I wanna watch ya work that sweet ass and give it to him." He smirked down at Remy. "I don't wantcha ta be able ta remember yer own name when he's done, kid." Victor was still hard as a rock, enjoying Remy's responses to him, but he could wait a bit longer.

The time for Logan to feel self-conscious was over as he stretched himself over Remy. I love you, he mouthed silently. Remy nodded, caressing the edge of Logan's jaw with his knuckle before Logan kneeled between his legs. He hooked Remy's knees over his shoulders and leaned in to him, grasping his cock and teasing Remy's taut ring of muscle with the head. He was so hard he ached, and the calm and beer buzz he'd felt previously was replaced by sheer lust.

"Damn it, cher," Remy groaned, "please."

Logan shunted into him in one deep, quick thrust. Remy sucked in a harsh breath of surprise and pleasure, enjoying his partner's fullness and how well they fit. Logan began to rock in even, perfect thrusts, gripping Remy's thighs as heat built between them. This was familiar, but just... enhanced. In the faint illumination from the streetlights outside, Remy's fair skin seemed to glow; that yellowish radiance seemed to lick all over him. From his vantage point, Remy could see the shadows beneath Logan's eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks, making his pecs and abdominals stand out in sharp relief as they rippled and flexed. He was both imposing and stunning, and Remy's breath caught at the sight of Victor looming over his shoulder, watching him with the same intensity that he felt.

Logan felt Victor's rough hands stroking his back, shivered at the feel of his lips drifting over his shoulders and neck. Victor wasn't content merely to watch, then, Logan mused. So be it. Remy was squeezing around him, arching into his thrusts and matching his rhythm as he sped up, and Victor rasped encouragement in his ear. Logan's hips began to snap more sharply, driving him more forcefully against Remy's sweet spot.

"Fuck him," he ordered hoarsely. "I like it. Know you like it too, when ya fuck him hard. Hm?" He bit Logan's neck, a hard little nip that smarted and almost made him yelp, much more aggressive than Remy. Logan's fingers gripped Remy's hips, tightening around them. "C'mon. He can take it all. I know he can." Victor reached around him and gave Remy's cock a few brief pumps. "Ya want more, Pretty Boy?"

"Oui," came his strangled reply. A choked cry escaped him, followed by a long moan that was changing pitch and growing in volume. Logan hoped Vic's neighbors wouldn't mind that his lover was a screamer.

Victor's hands roamed over both of them but he focused more of his attention on Logan, pulling at him, tugging on his nipples to make him gasp. Victor knelt behind him, sharing the nook between Remy's thighs and straddling Logan's calves.

Logan realized Victor's intentions the moment Victor's hands closed around his hips. He growled under his breath.

"What're ya up to back there?"

"Whaddya think?" Victor licked a long, scorching path up his spine. Logan jerked and shivered. Damn it. He loved it when Remy did that to wake him up in the morning. He pumped faster, and the vibrations from his rough play pulsed through Remy, making his skin and muscles tingle. Victor's tongue felt like velvet and sandpaper as it licked over him without pity. He bit him again, this time a vulnerable spot just shy of his scapula.

"Damn it," Logan hissed. He was undoing him...

Victor knew Logan liked an aggressive approach from the moment he checked their IDs at the door, that he liked being pursued, even if he wasn't used to it. Victor hadn't lied when he told them that he'd seen it all.

When Victor brought anyone home, he made it clear that he was the alpha male and that he expected to be in control, no matter how else he accommodated each new body between his sheets. You could name your pleasure, but Vic would eventually do things - and do people - his way.

More oil squirted from the bottle with a low sputter, indicating it was nearly empty. Logan tensed as Victor's blunt finger teased his opening, kneading it and stimulating that zone, sending extra signals to his pleasure center. Still, it unnerved him to be vulnerable. "Quit it," he growled at Victor. Logan didn't want to be a dealbreaker, and he'd certainly considered that if he partnered with Victor, there was a likelihood that he'd want to top him.

"Only if ya tell me ya don't like it." Logan was craning his head back and his eyes squeezed shut as he grew lost in Remy's body; the finger was an invasion, but his body argued with him that it wasn't unwelcome. Victor pushed the envelope, letting his finger slip inside him up to his second knuckle. "Mmmmm. Nice," he murmured. Logan squeezed around it, clenching around him. "Easy, babe," he told him. "Let me in." He twisted his finger, dilating him carefully as he deepened the thrust of his hand. His hand pressed inside each time Logan backed out of Remy's channel, giving him equal sensation at both ends. Logan adjusted to it, growing used to the pressure and gradual stretch. He wouldn't admit out loud that he liked it, considering Victor's loophole.

The tip of Victor's second finger eased inside and began to work him open, and Logan's cry was hoarse and choked. Victor probed him fully, slowly at first. Gradually, he sped up, driving his fist in even, quick shunts, and this time he found his sweet spot. "Oh, God," he muttered. "What're ya -oh, God... "

"No one's shown ya that before?"

"Shit."

"Ya like that." It wasn't a question. Victor twisted his fingers in nice, easy pivots. Pleasure and tension washed over Logan, making him squirm with need... to be filled. Remy watched, entranced, as Logan's face contorted, utterly failing to stay composed. His choppy breathing exploded from his lungs and his thrusts slowed unintentionally as his brain processed the experience, what was happening to him ahead of what he was doing. The sounds Logan made affected Victor, making him smother a curse as he jerked himself, even though he was already painfully swollen. His patience was on short supply, but it would be worth it; that much he knew.

Logan grunted in discomfort as a third finger worked its way inside him. Remy's brow furrowed in concern. "Don' hurt `im, mec," he muttered. "Dis might be too much fo' `im dis time," he suggested. His high began to subside as he anticipated Logan in pain from the experience.

"S'all right," Logan muttered. "S'okay, darlin'... just gimme a minute." His voice and face were strained. He felt guilty at the look of concern and worry creeping over Remy's features, hating to be the cause of it, but the sensations were making it harder to communicate. All Logan wanted to do was feel.

"Cher," Remy argued.

"Jus' need - nnngh - a minute," he insisted raggedly. Victor's hand clamped over his shoulder while he continued to prime him, urging his muscles to relax and accommodate him, and he was so close that Victor could practically feel him pulsing around him. His dick twitched in response.

"Want ya ready for it," Victor whispered over his flesh as he sucked on a tiny hickey he'd given him before. "M'gonna make it worth yer while, Shorty. His, too," he promised. He probed him more deeply still, causing him a stitch of pain that made it harder for him to continue his own thrusts. It became moot when Victor stilled him, capturing his hips.

"Non," Remy told him. "It's too soon. Not dis time." Logan gazed down into his face and held up his finger to Remy's lips, gently shushing him.

"Then when?" Logan asked. Remy looked stricken.

"We can switch if ya want..."

"This is what I-" Logan stopped explaining himself as he felt his body manipulated, hips pulled back as Victor pushed his upper back down. He was anointed with more lube and felt the slap of it against flesh as Victor prepared himself.

"Don't overthink it," Victor said, and Logan bit his lip - hard - as Victor's plump head breached him. His breath was crushed from his lungs as pain blossomed through his core. "Go with it," he murmured into his neck, steaming it. "Move through it." Victor pulled back slightly and thrust into him again. Logan's senses were on overload sandwiched where he was, literally between a rock and a soft place. Remy's breath shuddered out of him at the feel of two bodies bearing into him and the extra "push" of Logan's cock. Victor pulled back and tightened his grip on Logan's hips, covering Logan's broad back with his own. "Just move," he repeated. "Just like that." Logan's hips obeyed, following where Victor led, adopting the pace he began to set.

Remy began to relax, not realizing how tightly he'd locked himself up when Logan's discomfort became evident, and he groaned at the sensations building within him again. Logan leaned over him, supporting himself over him to avoid crushing him beneath their mass, and Remy clung to him, arching up into him, alternately soothing him with deep, greedy kisses and arousing him with his hands.

The fiery pressure taxing his muscles lessened as Logan grew accustomed to Victor's girth and to his slick movements, aided by the oil. Victor shunted into him smoothly, hips snapping each time he re-sheathed himself. That sharp impact drove him against Logan's prostate, and the sounds escaping him held less pain, more pleasure. Victor was a quicker learner, too, returning to the pace Logan had set earlier with Remy. Beneath them, Remy was in ecstasy, nearly folded in half, taking everything they gave. His hands covered Victor's where they were wrapped around Logan's hips. His blunt nails dug into Victor's wrists, making the giant growl in satisfaction at how he affected him.

They moved in sync like a complex machine, muscles burning and growing slippery with sweat. Victor got swept up in the thrill of Logan's heat surrounding and stroking him, fitting him like a glove, and hearing his harsh cries mingling with Remy's. It was so damn good, hadn't ever been this good. He wouldn't last much longer, and from the way Remy writhed beneath them and the strained, drawn-out groan from Logan's throat that suddenly changed pitch, he knew he wouldn't have to.

Remy came first. His thick seed erupted over his hand, and Logan's as his partner reached down to help pump him to completion. He spasmed and arched, fingers tangling in the sheets, and Remy felt his toes curl as Logan and Victor drove into him faster, harder to draw out his pleasure. "MerdemerdeMERDE!" he hissed as Logan throbbed within him, cramping the way he did when he was about to come.

Remy's climax was pulling Logan in, drawing his own out of him with his contractions while Victor's thrusts aimed true, giving him the full benefits of being in the middle. "Come fer me, darlin'; it's all right, ya can, now." Victor was so close, but he needed to feel him, needed to hear Logan let go for what they had to be complete and to validate what his new partners had risked between them. He had to fulfill his promise to make it worth their while. Logan felt his sweat dripping from his brow and straining shoulders. Remy's features strained beneath him, since he hadn't disengaged himself yet.

"Vic," Logan rasped. "Lemme out. Lemme up. He's done."

"Yer not," Victor growled back. Logan's ire flared that his request was denied.

"Bullshit," he snapped. It didn't register to Logan that Remy hadn't made any attempt to work himself out from beneath them. Instead Remy shifted, easing his legs down to wrap them around Logan's waist.

"It's all right, chere," he soothed. "Remy's got a lil' somet'in' left... " Logan scowled down at him, and Remy tsked, pulling him down for a kiss. "Go wit' it." Victor rocked into them, feeling himself reach his limits. Every muscle in his body was rock-hard and straining, pressure building in him and craving release. Remy squeezed himself around Logan, coaxing him, clinging to him, and Logan came with a look of rapture and a hoarse cry that Vic was certain woke his neighbors. His seed broke loose, drenching Remy's insides and filling him with heat. He bucked unevenly into Remy, eyes wide with shock as his orgasm drew itself out with Victor's hard, short thrusts, and Logan realized that Vic was coming, too, groaning gutterally and holding onto Logan hard enough to bruise.

Victor's hips snapped sharply in quick little jerks, and his body drew itself tight, arching back as he let go. Remy saw his face over Logan's shoulder, mimicking his boyfriend's expressions of satisfaction and mind-blowing pleasure. Victor's blue eyes squeezed shut as pleasure claimed him, draining him of his seed in long spurts. Logan grunted at the unfamiliar sensation of liquid heat filling him, leaking out and oozing over his sac.

They collapsed, disengaging and sprawling limply across the bed that seemed too small for the three of them. Logan remained between them, although as their anchor or a buffer, none of them could be certain. Victor was content but could read tension emerging through their haze.

Remy locked himself tightly around Logan, legs intertwined with his, and he buried his face in Logan's chest out of old habit. Victor spooned Logan from behind firmly, one brawny arm looped around his waist. His thigh was flush against Logan's, copying the bend of his knee as he fitted himself to him. Both men's embrace around him was strangely protective.

"The toilet's down the hall, to the right," Victor murmured sleepily, yawning. Logan shivered slightly when he felt Victor's lips in his hair, warm breath tickling his scalp. Remy echoed his goodnight with tiny, searching kisses over his collarbone.

"Thanks," Logan returned, and when Victor leaned up over him, craning around to peer into Logan's face, he accommodated him, accepting his quick peck. Victor stroked Remy's hair back from his forehead where it was matted with his sweat.

"G'night, kid," he told him. Remy groaned in reply, eyes already closed as he wiggled against Logan to get comfortable.

Logan's sleep was choppy, uncomfortable and plagued with uneasy dreams when he finally drifted off. During his visions, he clung to Remy and kept feeling him slipping away, while an enormous shadow dogged him, following him and calling out to him in a husky, drawling rasp. In the darkened confines of Victor's bedroom, he clung to Remy, recapturing him every time his lover flinched.

Chapter Text

Logan heard the low whirr of the air conditioning kicking on and the click of the front door. His mouth tasted pasty and his head began to throb when he flipped to his back. He felt Remy's weight shift, rolling to follow him and resettle against his chest. He began to let details filter into his consciousness. A sheet was draped over them both, feeling cooler against his skin once the A/C began to circulate through the room. He felt patches of sweat make his skin cling to Remy's and sighed; he was sticky everywhere, feeling dried semen matting the hair over his belly and balls. It chafed and made his ass itch, but he didn't want to fidget too much and disturb Remy, who was currently snoring like a buzz saw.

Logan thoughtfully stared up at the ceiling, stroking Remy's hair absently. His boyfriend suddenly felt very precious to him, but Logan felt a hint of guilt creep up on him, marring his afterglow.

What had they done.

He could have lost him. What if Remy had said no from the get-go? He could have stormed out of the club without him, and it would have destroyed Logan. In for a penny, in for a pound. How would Remy feel, now? Would he be angry with him for giving in to Vic and submitting to him? Would he think less of him? Would he resent him for going against the order of what they had? Logan's heartbeat grew uneven and he broke out in a cold sweat.

Remy heard the shift in Logan's breathing and scowled as he woke. "Chere, whatsamatter?"

"Nothin'."

"Hn," Remy grunted. "Bullshit. Somet'in's chewin' yer ass right now, mec. What's wrong?" Logan jutted his chin down to stare into Remy's face, and Remy kissed his jaw. "Fess up."

"Whaddya think's chewin' my ass?" Logan quipped.

"Better not be second thoughts," Remy yawned casually. Logan sighed heavily. "Don' go dere, chere." Logan's fingers fisted in Remy's hair and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Remy�damn it," Logan snapped. Abruptly he released him, disengaging himself from Remy's addictive embrace and propelling himself from bed.

"Fuck," Remy muttered. "What de fuck?" He sat up in bed, clutching the sheet around himself. He sat back against the headboard and sighed. What had they done?

What if Logan was never okay with it? What if he felt like Remy had pushed him into it just for the sake of experimenting? He panicked, feeling his heart knock in his chest. What if things were never the same between them?

Maybe you don't want things to be the same, a voice inside him nagged. It frightened him that suddenly he didn't know what he wanted.

Logan, that voice nagged again. You want him. Period. He didn't doubt that, would never doubt that. Remy felt a hollow ache inside at the thought of losing him over a foolish night with a stranger.

"Please," Remy whispered, feeling his eyes prick. "Please don' leave me, chere." He palmed his own heartbeat uneasily, willing it to calm down.

Logan relieved himself once he slammed the bathroom door shut. Even the sound of his piss hitting the bowl made his head ache, and he wondered how much he drank the night before to leave him in this state. Slowly, the rest of his muscles began to make their complaints heard, unfortunately starting with his ass. "Ow," he hissed, wincing. He felt chafed and raw, and it was the kind of pain that throbbed no matter how he moved. His legs didn't want to support him and his hamstrings stung. Another band of pain wrapped around his lower back and seemed to hang like a yoke over his shoulders. Logan flushed and hobbled to the sink to rinse out his mouth, stealing a dab of Vic's Colgate paste to rub over his teeth. He splashed cool water over his face and searched Victor's medicine cabinet more in the interest of finding some Motrin than simple curiosity. He figured the burly bouncer wouldn't mind too much, as their host.

They wouldn't overstay their welcome. That much Logan knew.

Then it occurred to him�where was Victor? He pondered that on the way back to his bedroom.

Remy had already put his briefs back on and was sifting through their scattered clothing for his shirt. "We gotta wait for him ta come back," Logan said simply. "He ain't here." Remy scowled.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit." He found his jeans first and began hopping into them, even though the effort was painful. Like Logan, he had the beginnings of a stunning hangover and wasn't looking forward to going outside. "This is fucked up. What's he expect us t'do, take a cab back to de club?"

"God, I hope not," Logan muttered, but he doubted that was Vic's intention. He seemed like he'd be a better host than that.

Before he could surmise anything else, Logan jumped at the slam of the front door and heavy, brisk footsteps in the kitchen. "Fuck," Remy muttered, closing his eyes in frustration. Logan stood naked before him, eyes questioning him.

"Whaddya think, darlin'?" Remy sighed.

"Lemme ask `im." Remy moved toward the door, but Victor met them first, looming in the doorway. He grinned at their mussed state of undress and the rumpled covers on the bed.

"Rise an' shine, mornin' glories," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Ya look like ya feel like hell." He was smug and nowhere near sympathetic enough for Remy's taste, but Logan's lips twisted in something approximating a smile.

"Asshole," he muttered. Vic shrugged, leaning against the frame and folding his arms over his chest. He looked refreshed and rested, dressed in a simple gray, ribbed cotton tank and ripped up jeans. His hair was back in its ponytail and he wore an A's cap backwards on his head. Remy watched him resentfully, almost hating how good he looked when he himself felt like death warmed over, mussed hair, circles under his eyes, pillow creases in his face and all. One quick glimpse in Victor's vanity mirror told him all he needed to know.

But he looked good. Vibrant. Fresh.

Still fuckable.

"Damn, that's an evil look. What's that for?" he teased, edging away from the frame and stalking Remy. "Miss me?"

"Eh," he muttered. He continued the search for his shirt, rummaging under the bed in case it was kicked there. He gave Victor a perfect view of his taut ass in his snug jeans. Vic whistled appreciatively.

"C'mon, Pretty Boy. Ya missed me a little? Huh?"

"Could've left us a note," Logan pointed out. Vic sat on the bed, regardless of the fact that Remy was still partly under it. The springs creaked beneath his weight and he sighed.

"Didn't wanna wake ya. Truth is, I didn't wanna leave ya."

"So why'd ya leave? Unless ya want us t'make a call, yer our ride home. Unless ya wanted us t'do the Walk of Shame out the door with our clothes on inside-out."

"Pfft� nah. Uh-uh. That ain't how I roll," Victor sniffed. "Course I was gonna give ya ride home. Yer keys are right there," he told Logan, nodding to them where they winked up from the bureau. "Left that option open, in case ya didn't wanna stay. So you wanna?"

"What?" Remy asked, confused.

"Stick around," Vic explained casually. "Hang out. I don't hafta work til six. M' a night owl," he admitted. "Ya hafta be anywhere?"

"Errands," Remy told him curtly.

"I was just gonna wash the car and get a haircut," Logan said.

"No time ta eat?"

Remy's stomach growled as if on cue. "Ain't gotta go ta any trouble, mec."

"I don't mind." He reached for Remy before he could get up off his knees, capturing his wrist. Remy's brow furrowed before Victor leaned in and stole a kiss that was no less sexy in the light of day, greedy and consuming. Remy tilted his face to give him better access and groaned as his eyes drifted shut. Victor cupped his nape, combing his fingers through Remy's tousled auburn hair.

An alarm went off in Remy's head when he realized that they weren't alone. He pushed at Victor's chest, nudging them apart. "Need a shower, mec."

"Fine. I'll leave a towel for ya." He nodded to Logan. "You, too, Shorty." Logan's cheeks flamed.

"Ya gotta call me that?"

"Whaddya wanna be called? I ain't the type ta stand on ceremony that often, bub, but I ain't had a formal introduction from either of ya so far. That's kinda a first for me, y'know? I like a mind-blowing fuck as much as the next man, but it's nice t'have a name." He was blunt. Logan rocked back on his heels and chuckled.

"Logan Howlett."

"Sounds like ya have two last names," Victor muttered. Logan gave him a look that said "fuck off."

"Ya didn't seem like ya cared who I was when ya approached me last night."

"Consider yerself lucky."

"Why's that?"

"I don't take just anybody home." Victor straightened up. Something in his eyes dared Logan to argue that point. Remy slipped from the room before Victor could get his details, and Logan blocked him from stopping his flight. "So how do ya like yer eggs?"

"Ya don't hafta bother."

"The hell I don't. I'm starved, and I hate eatin' in front of ya if ya ain't gonna eat with me. I'm makin' `em all overeasy unless ya tell me different, bub." His eyes roved over Logan hungrily, taking in his disheveled state as he stood wearing nothing but his boxers that he managed to unearth from the pile beside the bed. They were the kind with the open flap, and Logan's barn door was open. Victor smirked at the sight of his cock rearing its head � literally � despite Logan's efforts to tuck it back in. "Unless yer hungry fer somethin' else, handsome�" Logan's cheeks flamed, and his ass throbbed in response. It was out of the question; he was sore as fuck.

"Nah. I'm gonna get ready once he's out," Logan told him bluntly.

"Suit yerself," Vic shrugged. "Why don'tcha just go in with him now? Saves water. I'll be in the kitchen." Logan didn't know if he was disappointed or not that Vic decided not to maul him like he'd done to Remy. He admired his retreating back, broad and hard, with a rock-hard ass hugged lovingly by his faded denims. Logan decided his suggestion made sense, and he immediately headed down the hall. He rapped on the door before opening it, making a face at the scented steam. It smelled like Axe shower gel, not one of Logan's favorites.

"M' almost out," Remy barked over the spray.

"Just me," Logan assured him.

"I mean it, I'll be out in a sec," Remy said hurriedly. Logan frowned when he heard the shampoo bottle hit the tub floor with a thunk.

"What the fuck, ain't like I haven't seen ya nekkid before, Rems," Logan muttered as he pulled aside the curtain just enough to let himself in. "Rem�what's goin' on? What's wrong with you?"

"Not'in', mec," he said casually enough, but his hands told a different story. Remy was lathering himself with gobs of gel, scratching at himself with his nails and scrubbing hard enough to take paint off a wall.

"Slow the fuck down," Logan growled as he stepped inside. Remy roughly scrubbed the back of his neck, then plowed the foam through his hair, letting the shower spray hit him directly in the face. "Remy�talk t'me."

"Said I'm almost out," Remy reminded him, but his voice was clipped. He ducked under the spray and rinsed his hair, negating any further response. Logan ducked back from the fine drops that richocheted off Remy's head into his own face, annoyed that they were soapy; some of the mist got in his eyes, making his slight hangover worse. Logan reached for him and closed his hand over Remy's narrow hip. Remy exhaled on a shudder as he continued to lean into the spray that was actually a few degrees hotter than Logan usually liked.

"Rem," Logan ordered quietly, "c'mere."

"Non. G'wan. Lemme out."

"No. Come here."

"M'ready t'get out."

"I ain't ready for ya ta get out. I want ya right here, so ya can tell me what's wrong. I don't want there t'be anything wrong. Think we decided last night that there wouldn't be." Remy paused and swallowed, choosing his words carefully. He reached down and squeezed Logan's hand before removing it from his hip.

"Last night ain't today."

*

Victor whistled in the kitchen as he unpacked the groceries and left his kitchen table littered with white plastic Safeway bags. He clanked a clean skillet onto the burner and turned the flame to medium. He set several eggs out in a bowl and put away the rest, then grabbed the Tabasco from the refrigerator door. His counter looked like a meat lover's paradise, boasting two packs of bacon, sausage links, a rope of kielbasa, Canadian ham, a block of cheddar cheese, and a sack of Ore-Ida hash browns that were beginning to defrost.

He knew it. Shorty looked like he was okay with it, more or less, but the kid�fuck. Fuck.

Nothing like the light of day to turn a great night into a bad idea. Victor wondered if breakfast would smooth things over, or at least take the edge off. He sighed raggedly, then turned his kitchen stereo hanging beneath the cupboard on low volume. Vic sung in an uneven rasp to Clint Black while he cracked the eggs into the sizzling oil, enjoying their smell as he broke the yokes.

At least it was the weekend. Victor didn't have any special plans laid out before inviting them over, and he still didn't once he dropped them off, but it all depended on when. There was little he could do about letting them walk away with second thoughts about what they did the night before. Vic hummed as he started the potatoes in a second pan. The elephant in the room that Vic wanted to banish was whether they had second thoughts about him.

Kisses didn't lie, though. Remy beat feet, but he didn't necessarily consider Vic kryptonite with a response like that, not a postcoital snog, either, when you're still too drowsy to protest. Victor reran those moments back in his head, trying to figure out where he went wrong. Then it occurred to him�the kid looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar when he realized Logan was watching him�watching them. "Ouch," Victor muttered.

"Whatsamatter? Cut yerself?" Logan rumbled from the doorway. Victor looked up in surprise from his musings, then smiled and waved the spatula at him in greeting.

"Siddown. What's yer poison?"

"Coffee?"

"Ya wanna make some, go `head. Right over there." A meager stack of filters sat beside the sink, and a dilapidated coffee maker that was so stained it couldn't be called white anymore sat in the corner.

"Cups?"

"Here." Victor handed him one hanging from the hooks over the stove, which Logan hadn't noticed. Their fingers brushed as he took it from him. Logan cleared his throat.

"Preciate it."

"Two of ya got good an' torn up."

"Last I knew, I could hold my liquor," Logan said.

"That don't mean it likes you in the morning, bub." Logan measured out enough grounds for a half a pot until Victor stopped him. "Go ahead. Fill it up. I'll drink the rest of it today, I can tell ya that much."

"Can't be a night owl like you without caffeine."

"You a day person?"

"Nah. Actually get my second wind at night, but it's `cuz I'm an insomniac."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Dream a lot. I have a hard time dropping off."

"Even after a long day?"

"Yeah. More or less." The pot hissed and guttural sounds as the water fed itself through the filter. The scent of the coffee made Logan salivate, which was the only smell that appealed to him right now. The eggs were iffy, at best, and Logan didn't know if he could stomach the bacon.

The next few minutes were relatively quiet as Logan read the sports page of Victor's Daily Bugle. Victor continued to hum to his country station as he fried the meats.

Remy appeared eventually, skin rosy from his shower. Logan grunted at him over the edge of the paper. Victor gave him a mock growl and leered. "Mornin'," he told him, nodding to the table. "Siddown. Grub's almost ready." Remy looked slightly amused at the sight of the giant standing at the stove, cooking up a storm. The only thing missing was a frilly apron and chef's cap�he almost snickered at the visual. "What?"

"Not'in,'" Remy claimed.

"Mind yer manners, Rem. We're comp'ny," Logan reminded him dryly. "Have some coffee."

"T'ank God," Remy breathed, relieved. He automatically got up and reached for one of Vic's mugs, which he noticed immediately. He edged carefully around him as Victor flipped the hash browns.

"Kiss the cook," Logan added, as an afterthought.

"You didn't," Victor pointed out, raising one shaggy blond brow in his direction. Logan "hmphed" as he rose from his seat. Victor set down the spatula and grinned down at him. "Don't put yerself out or anything."

"Get down here," Logan told him, swatting his ass. Victor complied, leaning down and giving him a sloppy kiss. "Gotta teach someone over there some manners about thankin' the host." Logan headed back to the table, expression deadpan as he flapped the paper open again and went back to his reading.

"Remy's tante taught `im plenty of manners, chere," Remy pouted from Victor's other side, tugging on Victor's ponytail to get his attention.

"Don't act like I've got a gun ta yer head," Victor muttered. Remy's eyes were full of mischief and dark intent when they met his, though, and he dipped his head for Remy's kiss, pleased when he wrapped his arm around his waist. Victor set the skillet back down on the stove so he could fully enjoy the distraction. Remy swallowed Victor's low chuckle, literally, as he took from him with little regard for the potatoes.

"Merci, m'sieu," Remy drawled.

"Heh. Yeah, whatever that means," Victor allowed. Following Logan's example, he gave Remy's rump a swat. "Siddown, kid."

The rest of the breakfast went without incident as the men made short work of the food and coffee. Logan and Remy automatically cleared their plates, and Vic's, once the last scrap of bacon was gone. Vic huffed.

"Ya don't hafta do that."

"It'll only take a minute," Logan said, shrugging. Remy began to soap up a sponge and scraped the crumbs of potato from the skillet into the trash.

"Yer my guests."

"Yer our cook. And our ride, in a minute," Logan reminded him blandly, not looking at him as he started filling the sink. Once he said the words aloud, Logan felt a tinge of regret. He had to be blunt, but he didn't want to hurt his feelings and act like they were running off. But he needed time to process it all, and to do it inside his own four walls.

"That's fine," Victor grumbled as he picked up the sports pages where Logan left off. His country music was partially drowned out by the crash of pots and pans in the sink and running water.

The drive back to the club was uneventful. Logan and Remy made do with Victor's hair care products and deodorant, but they drew the line at using his razor; both of their jaws were dark with stubble and their clothes were slightly rumpled in the light of day. They chatted about ordinary things to stave off the inevitable question.

"Don't be strangers, eh?" Victor prodded. He handed Remy his business card, since he was sitting up front this time, having called shotgun first. Logan wasn't in the mood to argue with him for it. Remy peered down at it briefly before slipping it into his shirt pocket.

"Got another one?"

"Ya can't share?"

"Might be nice t'keep one on the fridge." Victor shrugged in agreement and handed one back to him, but held his end of it as Logan took it, forcing him to stare up into Victor's face. "Ya don't gotta be polite or shine me on, `kay? Been down that road before. It don't get any more entertainin' with repetition, y'know?"

"We know where ya work."

"Ya know where I live," Victor corrected him. "Rest. Ya both look like hell. Least it's Saturday." He patted Logan's cheek and turned back to the radio to turn it off. "Pretty Boy?"

"Don' know why ya like callin' me dat so damned much."

"Gimme yer full name, and I'll stop."

"Remy. Remy Etienne LeBeau." Remy looked irritated, as though Vic was taking away one last, sacred thing after Remy had given him the rest of him, thoroughly exposed and plundered the night before.

"That's a name." Victor watched them a moment longer, almost expectant as they got out of the car. Logan hesitated, unsure of whether he wanted to offer him their numbers in return, even if it was just a cell number. To his credit, Victor didn't fish for their digits or any promises. He reached into his pocket once he let Logan out from the back and handed him his keys.

"Thanks for breakfast," Logan offered.

"Yeah." Remy got out without another word and headed for Logan's car. Logan wanted to hiss at him to give a proper goodbye, but Victor merely chuckled, enjoying himself as he watched the kid walk. He liked his graceful long strides and proud posture, and despite his wrinkled state, his body was stunning. The late morning sunlight caught his hair, bringing out highlights in his chestnut hair. Remy turned around and waited for Logan expectantly. Logan merely tossed him the keys, which Remy deftly caught left-handed. He sighed.

"Bye, Vic." He didn't offer a kiss, but Logan reached down and gently gripped his forearm where he was leaning it along the edge of the window.

"Yeah," he repeated. "Bye, Logan." Logan backed off as Victor started the car and didn't spare him a parting glance as he rumbled out of the lot. His remnant of a smile faded as he got behind the wheel. Remy had the radio on low volume already, but Logan reached over and turned it off. Remy scowled briefly before turning his attention to his own window.

"I ain't gonna listen to that right now. You know I wanna talk."

"Wait til we get home."

"Why can't we do this now?"

"I ain't gonna do dis in de car. Ya have a problem wit' it, you can do all de talkin'." Logan gave him a hard look and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. His jaw worked but he bit back the words that wanted to leap from his mouth. The rest of the ride was uncomfortable. Remy had his seatbelt unbuckled and one foot out the door before Logan even applied the parking brake.

"Don't do that shit," he snapped, but Remy was already tearing up the steps. Logan fumed at feeling like he was chasing him into the house, chafing as much as when Remy pushed him away in the shower. "Don't do that shit," Logan repeated, raising his voice slightly, then abandoning his attempts as one of his neighbors opened her door and waved to Remy, who shot her a clipped, cavalier "mornin'" on his way into the tiny studio unit.

It was one of their arguing points, how little space they had. On the one hand, it was cheaper than a two-bedroom. On the other, when they needed to each go to their corners for a timeout, there was nowhere to go except out. There was no escaping each other in the confines of their apartment, which Logan's buddy Scott nicknamed "The Lunchbox" when he stopped by to drop off his missing sunglasses.

Their close quarters felt more claustrophobic and very oppressive once Logan kicked the door shut and fastened the chain lock and deadbolt. He tossed his keys onto the kitchen table and sighed. His eyes stalked Remy through the living room as he searched for his cigarettes, peeled off his shirt and draped it atop the easy chair. He flung himself into it and fished his lighter out of a small basket of miscellaneous items on the side table. Logan immediately fetched the ashtray from the kitchenette and thunked it down beside him. "Fuck�we don't live in a fuckin' barn."

"Fine."

"No, this ain't fine. Talk t'me. Ya didn't hafta be rude."

"Wuzn't bein' rude. Jus' wuzn't gonna give `im de wrong ideas."

"Rem�fuck. What'd ya want me ta tell him?"

"Whaddya t'ink?" Remy's eyes were snapping over his cigarette, never leaving Logan's as he inhaled a hungry pull of nicotine. He blew it out and stared Logan down. His lover stood hovering over him, hands clenching at his sides.

"What, ya mean `Thanks but no thanks? We had fun, but fuck off?'"

"Told `im dat last night in de club."

"But we went home with him," Logan grated through his teeth. "Fuck�nice. That's nice."

"Ya gonna jus' stand dere, mec?" Remy blew out another long puff that streamed endlessly from his lips before they flattened. "Siddown."

"Don't feel like sittin' down. Don't tell me ta siddown." Logan plowed his hands through his already disheveled hair. "Remy�we went home with him. We went for it. You an' me both." Remy clammed up, and his angry posture spoke volumes. "You enjoyed it." Remy stared down into his lap suddenly, and Logan tsked. "Tap that thing out. Don't get fuckin' ash on the rug." Remy chucked his cancer stick into the tray and slapped his thigh loudly.

"Oui. Sure, mec. I enjoyed it." His voice stung Logan when he emphasized himself, accusing him of being a hypocrite.

"I got into it," Logan admitted quietly. "But I thought it was what ya wanted. Thought ya wanted ta try it out."

"What I wanted. Hnh�neh. Whaddever, mec."

"Don't `whatever' this shit! Don't WHATEVER me, Remy!" Logan grabbed up the ashtray and hurled it across the room. The heavy glass knocked out a huge chip of drywall and shattered as it hit the kitchen tile. Remy jerked in surprise and then glared up at him, eyes blazing.

"Dat ain't cute. Dat's bullshit. Don't pull yer lil' act fo' Remy. I ain't impressed."

"Then what'll impress ya? Huh?" Something unholy, like a brew of opposing elements swam in Logan's dark eyes, betrayal and regret locked in a chaotic dance. "Who-" Logan's voice cut off sharply. He turned away from him, trying to catch his breath. Remy watched Logan's back rise and fall, a broad, uneven motion that unsettled him. "Who do ya�"

"What de fuck are ya tryin' t'say?" Remy demanded.

"Who�do ya want� me ta be for ya, Rem."

"Non. Who do ya wan' ME t'be for you, chere. Better tell me, `cuz hell if I know," Remy said bitterly. "Dis ain' anyt'in' new, is it? Huh? Is it?" he prodded. Logan spun on him, but Remy held up a hand to indicate he wasn't finished. "It ain' like ya ain' considered it, mec."

"What�three of us? Remy, I never said-"

"Non. Someone else. Not wit' us. Wit' you." Logan's jaw worked.

"Like hell. Is THAT what you think? Remy, that's bullshit. Last night�fuck. It was a fluke. I don't know where it came from, but that don't mean I don't want you."

"He wanted ya," Remy grumbled. "How did it feel? How'd ya like it, chere?"

"How'd I like�nah. Don't do this. Don't flip this shit around on me!"

"Why not? He was pretty damned hot for ya, chere. Case ya didn't notice, he came up on you first. Right when ya cut out ta go piss. When I left ya at the bar. He tried ta step wit' you." Remy got up from the recliner with difficulty, hating how his muscles protested the movement, but he was starving for another cigarette and his head was still throbbing. Logan pursued him to the kitchen and watched him light another, letting the ashes fall into the stainless steel sink.

"What made ya say yes, Rem?" Remy shrugged.

"T'ought it was what ya wanted."

"That ain't it. Worse came ta worse, ya could've pulled me aside-"

"Pulled ya aside? What, have a lil' conference by de urinals? Call a meetin'? Wuz Remy s'posed ta whisper de plan in yer ear, mec?"

"We didn't�" Logan hesitated, hating the anger heating his belly and tightening his scalp. "We didn't hafta do it."

"Mebbe we did," Remy mused quietly. He stared at him as he took another drag and leaned his elbows over the counter.

"Whaddya mean, maybe we had to? What're ya sayin', Remy?"

"Mebbe�dis wuz de step we needed t'make a decision." Remy's stomach twisted as the words came out of his mouth, and Logan reared back as though he'd slapped him.

"What. The fuck. What the fuck are ya tellin' me, Remy? Huh?"

"Ya know what'm sayin', Logan." Even as the words hissed out of him like escaping steam, Remy felt sick. He didn't recognize his own voice, hating that it sounded so cavalier and matter-of-fact. "We wouldna wanted `im if dere wuzn't somet'in' we ain' gettin' wit' jus' de two of us, non?"

"NO! Don't go there, Rem! Don't EVEN go there with me!" Logan shouted, at his wit's end. "What? Is it me? You feel like I'm not givin' ya what ya need? Tell me, then. Tell me what the fuck do ya need t'be happy."

Remy couldn't sum it up in words. He took another drag and turned his back on him, staring down at his socks. What he was mustering up the resolve to tell him, Logan had no clue, but he already decided he'd hate it.

"I don' know. Sometimes, Remy's happy. Sometimes, guess'm at a loss, chere." His admission struck Logan in the chest, and he felt his heart beating all the way into his neck. "Did what we did last night fo' you, mec."

"What, and you didn't do it for you?" Logan accused. "Thanks. Nice of ya t'think of me, Remy." Confusion shared equal time with anger, and Logan sank back against the refrigerator. "Remy�look at me. Damn it, look at me!" Logan swallowed up the space between them and imposed himself upon Remy's line of vision, so close he could see his eyes dilate and smell his breath.

"Back de fuck up, mec," Remy warned him, chucking his cigarette into the sink. Logan's nostrils flared. His hands boxed Remy in against the counter, hemming him in on either side of his hips. Logan shook his head.

"Don't make this just about me. Did ya think�did ya think ya were givin' me a present? Or a way out? Remy�tell me ya didn't wanna watch me CHEAT on ya and have a reason ta dump me?!?!"

"Non," Remy confessed, shaking his head adamantly. "But if ya want an out, dere it is."

The room seemed to echo around them with Remy's words. The silence boasted background hints of sound that swamped them a little at a time; the tick of Logan's Dallas Cowboys wall clock and the hum of the automatic timer on the thermostat kicking on; the hiss of cool air through the hallway vents; the faucet that dripped with metallic thuds until Remy screwed the tap tightly shut; the blinds rattling in their bedroom where one of the windows was still likely cracked open, something Logan would normally have scolded him about when their fuel bill was so high. Street sounds and footsteps in the corridor outside their door invaded their privacy, an annoying distraction.

Logan couldn't think, couldn't process it or wrap his head around what Remy was saying. "If I want an out, there it is," he repeated numbly. "If I want an out, huh?"

"If ya want it," Remy murmured.

"Not if you want it," Logan said. His voice sounded hollow and hard. Remy's heart squeezed in his chest.

Voices screamed in his head, stabbing him. Fix this shit, and fix it NOW.

"S'my fault," Remy conceded. "Don' know why I let dis happen. Jus'�ya looked�like ya wanted it. But it's more den dat, Logan. Ya looked like ya were enjoyin' it. Like ya liked `im comin' on to ya." Logan searched his memory of the night before, wondering when he'd sent out signals, to Remy or to Victor, that those advances were what he wanted.

"Ain't like I invited him over. Ain't like I told him `Here, bub, take a look at my ass.' I didn't shake my tail under his nose, Remy. I didn't flirt with him."

"He saw somet'in' he wanted."

"Looked like he was lookin' at you first."

"Pffft�" Remy tsked, waving that notion away with his hand.

"Remy�everybody always looks at you first," Logan pointed out. Remy shook his head.

"What de fuck? What're ya talkin' about, man?"

"I dunno. It's the same ol' routine when we go out. We walk in anywhere, and everyone's beatin' a path ta yer door, tryin' ta get yer attention, or just plain tryin' ta get with you. It was funny at first. I couldn't blame anybody. I've got a hot boyfriend, I get that. Yer still hot."

"So, what den? Ya feel like de ugly stepsister? Dat's bullshit, anyway, mec. When we met, Remy wuz de one who made de first move."

"What'd ya see?" Logan prodded.

"What? What'm I s'posed ta say? What'd I see? Saw you. I saw ya an' I wanted ya real bad. I gotta write ya a poem or sing it out on the street?" Remy looked annoyed, but it clawed at him that Logan really was unsure, that he held doubts as to how attractive Remy found him, after all these years?

Did he feel nothing when Remy ambushed him at dawn, searching out his sensitive places before Logan woke up fully, pulling him from sleep with nipping kisses and caresses beneath the sheets? Weren't those moments at their computer desk when he snuck up on him and embraced him from behind, kissing that little spot behind his ear proof? When Logan found him staring at him at random moments, when he looked peaceful and deep in thought during mundane tasks, he always asked him, "What?" Remy always gave him a cavalier "Not'in'," but he couldn't � wouldn't � put into words that he still found him so desirable, felt such a sense of fulfillment whenever he realized, This man is mine.

"Ya ain't gotta sing anything," Logan grumbled, "and we don't hafta have this discussion." He felt that odd tattoo drumming itself on his brain, making him throb all over, and Logan heard his own heartbeat rushing in his ears. His feet carried him in a sharp about-face from the kitchen. Remy looked up, stunned, before his long legs darted after him. He practically skidded to a stop outside their bedroom door. Logan whipped off his shirt and chucked it into the hamper, then stood staring into the closet for a suitable fresh shirt. Remy broke out in a flush and gripped the door frame until he white-knuckled.

"Where you t'ink your goin', mec?"

"Ya gave me an out. What d'you care?"

Both men glared at each other, resolve flagging even as they hardened themselves against each other. "I had a good time," Logan admitted. "But Vic ain't you. No one feels like you, but I ain't gonna stand here an' try ta justify myself last night. I don't wanna think I ruined us, but yer givin' me this vibe that it's just me who shit all over what we had."

Remy didn't feel the tears that darted down his cheeks until he tasted the salty drop that welled up in the corner of his mouth. He dashed them away but wouldn't weep. "Den go," he muttered. He backed out of the doorway and hung out in the hall, just watching him balefully with his hands in his pockets.

Logan's fingers shook briefly as he did up three of the buttons and crammed the shirt tails into his jeans, impatient with the garment, possibly� He planted his feet deeply into the shoes he'd discarded minutes ago and retrieved his wallet from his pocket, counting his remaining cash and stuffing it back into the fold. He brushed past Remy in the hall, pretending to ignore his stony look. Remy's bloodshot eyes pulled at him, begging his feet to turn around. Logan dashed cold water into the bathroom sink and dampened his hair, slapping gel into it and disciplining the shining mass with Remy's wide-toothed comb.

"Where you goin'?" Remy repeated dully. He'd run out of steam. He told himself he only needed to know for posterity. He refused to beg him to tell him when he was coming back. He followed Logan back out to the living room, where Logan peered around, checking to see if he forgot anything. He paused in the kitchen again, grabbing a glass and filling it with lukewarm tap water. He downed it in three swallows to chase away his cotton mouth and thunked the glass by the sink.

"Where you goin'?" Remy demanded this time, planting his hands on his hips.

"Out," Logan hissed as he jerked the door open, winged himself through it, and slammed it behind him.

Remy stood in the living room, stunned for a moment, before it truly hit him.

He didn't feel himself run for the door, couldn't form words or even manipulate his voice around the simple need to breathe. Remy began to hyperventilate, and the cold, clammy sweat that broke out over his cheeks made him dizzy.

Logan heard a tiny sound through the door as he retreated down the hall but ignored it. He savored the pound of his steps vibrating through the stairs beneath him.

The tiny sound came from Remy. He was sure of it. His hand paused as he jammed his key into the door, before it began to shake.

Upstairs, Remy leaned over the edge of the toilet bowl, sweating and spent. He flushed, ducking back from the speckles of cool water that threatened to splash up into his face. The porcelain felt cool beneath his cheek, but it didn't help.

"Damn it," Logan hissed. He didn't even make it inside the car. Every voice inside him screamed at him to get the hell back inside the apartment, and this time he obeyed, kicking himself, prodding his instincts for answers. How the hell could he fix this? Fuck, how? "Rem," he muttered under his breath. He tried the knob, but Remy locked it after him, making him worry. "Remy," Logan called out hoarsely as he knocked, "open up. C'mon."

Remy groaned around the throbbing in his head, worse for the thudding outside. But Logan's voice broke through the pounding, and relief flooded him.

"C'mon, Rem." Logan unlocked the door and was relieved that he hadn't used the chain lock this time, but the apartment was too quiet. "Remy," Logan barked. "Rem. Where are ya?"

Remy didn't answer; he leaned his head back against the wall and waited for his breathing to settle.

He was clammy and pale when Logan reached him. His reaction was immediate; the bathroom linoleum gave his knees an ugly friction burn as he skidded to a stop before him, kneeling and pulling him to him.

"I'm sorry," Logan whispered. "M'so damned sorry."

"I don't wanna give ya an out," Remy confessed into Logan's neck. His lover merely held him, head tucked protectively beneath his chin. Something warm dripped onto Remy's scalp and he heard a loud sniffle above him. "So damn pissed right now."

"Yer right."

"Non. I wuz wrong. M'pissed at m'self." He felt Logan grip his long hair, fingers tangling in it, and he felt little regret over dampening Logan's shirt.

Logan and Remy remained like that for long minutes, coping. The night before hung over them like a disjointed dream and murky cloud. Memories of Victor's touch and greedy kisses lingered, but this moment was for the two of them. They helped each other up and Remy brushed his teeth. By the time he followed Logan into the bedroom, he'd already shed his shirt, much happier without it.

They crawled back into bed and fell asleep with the air conditioner whirring overhead. They both felt feverish but still slept tangled around each other until the sun shifted in the sky.

Remy was disoriented when he woke. He rubbed his eyes to clear them, and his cheek rubbed against Logan's solid chest, leaving behind a sweaty patch of hair on his chest as he lifted his head.

There it was. That soft, peaceful look. Remy studied his face, musing as he picked out those details that he loved. Tiny laugh lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and winked out from the brackets forming around his mouth. His brows were dark, heavy and unruly, frowning slightly even in sleep. His lips were a fair beige and chiseled and were supple and firm beneath Remy's tracing fingertip.

"I love you." Logan's eyes drifted open groggily and he scowled a moment before they focused. He yawned and peered down into Remy's face, feeling the full weight of him sprawled across his chest, leg tangled with his.

"That's nice," he murmured. Remy slapped his ribs enough to make them smart. "Ow�easy."

"Wouldn' kill ya ta say it back."

"Ya might kill me if I didn't. Ya know I love ya." Logan kneaded Remy's nape, making him groan just short of a purr. "I do. Ya drive me fuckin' nuts, but I do."

"Likewise, chere."

"Rem�" Logan sighed and mustered his feelings into one big fist, then blew them out in one gust. "Do ya wish last night hadn't happened?" The air thickened between them for long, tense moments. "Remy."

"Yes'n no." Remy leaned up from his chest and propped himself on his elbow. He laid his palm against Logan's cheek. "Didn' know it'd be like this."

"Nah. C'mon. We both kinda knew, deep down."

"T'ings don' hafta be different�"

"Maybe they do." Remy tensed and reflexively tried to roll off of him, but Logan's beefy grip on his arms stilled him. "Nah. Yer not goin' anywhere. Talk t'me."

"Whaddya mean, maybe dey hafta be diff'rent?" Remy's tone was defensive, and his eyes were accusing as Logan sighed again, this time in exasperation.

"Last night was an eye-opener."

"Didn' know ya doubted de way I wan' you."

"I didn't have a fuckin' clue that ya were jealous."

"Never t'ought I had reason t'be."

"Ya don't. That's what I'm talkin' about. I ain't pointin' the finger." Logan's fingers drummed against his upper arm in thought. "It ain' t just that. We're different. You an' me. Opposites."

"No shit."

"Do ya ever wish ya picked someone like you?"

"Like me how? Good at cards? A snappy dresser? A guy who likes black an' white movies, margaritas an' candles?"

"No�just�someone who laughs a lot."

"Ya laugh wit' me all the time."

"Not like you do. Not fer all the reasons you do."

"Dat's how I'm made."

"I ain't askin' ya ta change. I'm just pointin' out that maybe I ain't the same man ya fell for. Maybe I don't live up ta yer expectations." Something in Remy's face hardened, and Logan wished heartily that he'd kept his mouth shut.

"Whaddya t'ink my expectations are? Ain' like ya gotta scale tall buildings, mec. Remy dat hard t'please?" Logan gnawed on the corner of his lip and blew out a frustrated breath.

"I dunno. Are ya?"

"Crazy fucker. No." Remy leaned in and kissed him with lazy grace and found his slumbering pelvis, grinding slowly against it. Their breath mingled, flavored with tiny grunts and rumbles of satisfaction.

"I ain't crazy," Logan mumbled. "But if I was, it'd be yer fault."

"Bullshit." Remy tipped his head back, heeding the pull of Logan's fingers tangled in his hair to give him better access to his taut, muscular neck as he rolled them over.

"Ya make me crazy," Logan insisted hotly against his throat, laving his pulse. Remy arched beneath him, twining his legs with his and gently scoring his back. Their twitching flesh stiffened between them, seeking each other out. Every slope and hollow of their bodies aligned and generated friction and heat each time Logan thrust against his lover. In the back of his mind, Remy knew sex wouldn't fix everything, but it was a damn good start�

Logan's mouth was everywhere, tasting him, attempting to lap up the last traces of Victor to push the memory from his mind. He wanted to imprint himself with Remy and Remy alone, to chase away the feel of a second pair of hands, a second mouth, to reassert that two to a bed was plenty. Logan felt a frustrating pang of fear that somehow, Remy would find him�lacking, somehow.

His submission changed things. Completely. From the moment they gave in to what lay between them, Remy enthusiastically gave Logan control over his pleasure both because he trusted him, and because he was fantastic at it. Rough and hard, slow and tender, it didn't matter; Remy always let Logan in, and he always felt whole, filled and fulfilled, one piece of a puzzle. Remy had topped before, and he'd certainly enjoyed it, but being with Logan was different. If there was any stagnation of their passion, it wasn't due to the technique itself so much as the dynamic of everything else. Logan didn't feel like going down on him if he had to argue with him about whose turn it was to make dinner or take out the trash, and Remy wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole � or HIS pole � if Logan turned off his show and stole the remote without asking or grunted in monosyllables when Remy had friends over. An argument could evaporate in the face of good sex, but honestly, they only bookmarked it and put it on pause once the bed was a shambles and their clothes were back on. Disdain often hung in the air with the afterfunk.

Remy's hands twisted in the pillow beneath his head and his eyes snapped open, then drifted shut in ecstasy as Logan took him into his mouth. His fingers busied themselves with his soft pucker, other hand rummaging in the nightstand for a depleted tiny bottle. Remy climbed his crest so quickly and easily with Logan groaning into his throbbing flesh, humming around it how good he tasted, how tight and silky he felt. His breath strangled in his chest and he could only pant and shudder, eventually finding the voice, clipped and desperate, to beg him for it.

"Dieu," he muttered. "Chere�aw, God, chere, fuck me�" His passage felt stretched and slick, welcoming the continued intrusion and rhythmic thrust of Logan's fingers with tiny squeezes. Logan's erection throbbed painfully beneath him where he lay on his stomach, chafed by the warm cotton sheets.

Would Remy think less of him with the image of Victor topping him, grunting and crying out at his back? Logan wanted to fuck the image away, wipe it from Remy's memory, but he couldn't deny that Vic had marked him, made him enjoy it, pushed him to give in to it. The feel of him pulsing inside him, splitting him open while he chanted encouragement in his ear and devoured his neck haunted him, would haunt him for weeks. It was a bizarre, almost unholy union of three bodies, a step beyond Shakespeare's beast with two backs as he gave and took as the conduit between his lover and a handsome stranger who clearly wanted them both, any way he could have them.

Logan was frenzied above him, sweat dripping from him as he possessed him, huffing and panting as he slammed into him, reminding Remy with savage intensity that he owned a prostate, adding the footnote that his nipples liked to be teased and suckled between greedy teeth. Remy shut his eyes and began seeing vivid colors as his breathing picked up, matching Logan's. His body tingled and sang even though he knew he'd walk funny in the morning. The soreness would be worth it, both worthy punishment for the night before and a souvenir of the best make-up sex he ever had. Logan in turn felt his hardness coddled and sucked into Remy's tight sheathe, slave to the pressure building within him as his precum mingled with the lubricant, easing and speeding his thrusts. Remy's body welcomed him back, familiar yet new.

"I belong to you," Logan grated out as he shunted faster, harder, fingers bruising him, balls slapping Remy's ass. His words opened Remy's eyes and opened the flood gates, making him hyper-aware of his lover, showing him every one of his emotions. Remy pumped himself to hasten his completion, pleasure making his brain short-circuit, trying to share in the only way that he knew how what Logan meant to him.

"Oui," he rasped before giving in to the speechlessness that accompanied only the best orgasms, making coherent thought moot and overrated. Logan's hand covered his as his seed spurted thickly over his fingers, erupting from his plump crimson head and spreading its heat over his belly.

The thought flickered across Remy's mind that, what if Logan still wanted Victor? What if he'd kidded himself that Logan only wanted a man who would submit to him instead of one who could meet him on his level and give back his brand of dominance and assert himself with him? Remy remembered the effect Victor's appeal had on him, how it felt to have the blond giant's body closing in on him, the lush weight of all that taut muscle and the wiry rasp of his hair against his sensitive flesh. Did Logan want the same things from Victor that Remy wanted from him? Did Logan need to feel protected and sheltered, physically, the same way Remy did when they lay down at night? Did he ever feel vulnerable? Did he feel that Remy only took from him and ignored his needs? Or, was it that somehow, he just couldn't�or wouldn't, submit to Remy himself? Was he afraid he wouldn't like it? That Remy couldn't please him that way?

His discouraging thoughts put themselves on hold as Logan cried out harshly in a long strangled growl that changed pitch. Remy felt him cramp and jerk inside him, flesh tightening as his release flooded him with liquid heat. They both lay panting and twitching, sprawled in a heap. The covers lay crumpled on the floor, literally fucked off the bed. Remy heard a chip of plaster from the wall bounce off the back of the headboard before it landed on the rug. He sighed in contentment and kissed Logan's hairline. Remy's breath tickled; Logan flinched and snuggled closer.

"I'm all used up. Wake me in a week."

"De day's gone. Whaddya wanna do."

"Wake me in time t'do it again. Scratch that. Feed me first."

"T'ought ya were gonna wash de car."

"No one's written their name on the windshield yet." Remy contemplated their position, then went out on a limb.

"What're we gonna tell `im."

"Whatever we need t'say. Whether it's what he wants ta hear or not."

Chapter Text

The rest of the week went the way Logan and Remy expected, in some ways. Their conversations were more tentative and polite, as though they didn't want to step on each other's toes. Calls and text messages to each other during work hours were more frequent, even if it was for nothing important. Neither of them slept as soundly at night, despite common sense remedies like tea, massages, long showers or their favorite no-brainer, sex. They continued to skirt around the elephant in the room, because neither of them wanted things to reach the fever pitch that they had on the weekend. But every discussion that boasted even an incremental disagreement made them teeter over the edge of the abyss, and it frightened them. Kisses goodbye in the morning were still perfunctory but no longer skipped; kisses hello were gratuitous but laced with something bittersweet, the knowledge that they were nearly lost forever.

The civility between them was driving Logan nuts. Remy developed low-grade migraines that sprung up out of nowhere from stress. He didn't know how to release it.

Logan lay awake at night cataloguing every detail of Remy's physical presence as he lay with him, as though he were preserving it for a time of famine. His hands knew him intimately, occasional freckles, scars, the folds of his skin where his muscles flexed, those tangled curls at his nape where he sweated after he took down his ponytail. Logan memorized his smell on the pillows, drinking in his Listerine-scented breath when he finally slept. What he hated most were the panic attacks, those moments where his breath locked itself in his airway and for one dizzying moment, he forgot how to breathe. Touching Remy, even in the most minute gestures, chased away the fear and rebooted him, settling him temporarily until his heart ceased its skipping and his pulse stopped rushing in his ears.

Logan was an old-fashioned man. He hated flaky behavior in anyone, and he couldn't abide it in himself. Victor was a more than willing participant in their one-night stand, but it wouldn't be fair to encourage him or just write him off. He left them a voice mail that Friday at noon, when both of them were at work. Remy looked amused after Logan hit play; they hovered over the machine as they each recognized his deep, drawling rasp.

"This is Vic, wonderin' where Shorty and Pretty Boy are at. Shit, I know yer at work, ya don't burn the midnight oil like me. Anyway, gimme a ring if ya get around to it. I work tonight. Start at six."

"When did ya give `im our number?"

"I didn't. It's listed, remember?" Remy snorted as he reached into the fridge for some juice. "What?"

"Not'in'." Remy swallowed the cranberry juice cocktail in long, thirsty gulps and licked his lip, now slightly rosy, which Logan would have found appealing if he wasn't giving him such an annoyed look. "So now we've got `im callin'."

"People call people they've fucked sometimes," Logan reasoned dryly. "Then again, this might be touchy-feely for a guy like Vic. It's been a week. I'm impressed."

"Ya are, huh?" Logan shrugged. Remy narrowed his eyes at him, then sighed as he left the kitchen. Logan wanted to pursue it, but he thought better of it and took some hamburger from the freezer to thaw. He unwrapped it and set the red hunk into a large ceramic bowl, then set the microwave on defrost. He listened to Remy thumping around back in their bedroom, chucking his work boots into the closet and barging into the bathroom. The shower door slid open with a thunk and he cranked on the spray. Logan sighed; the kid was in a mood. Sheesh�

"One fuckin' voice mail. That's all it takes," he mused aloud. "Why me, God?" He stared at the light on the machine, no longer beeping now that they'd heard the new messages. Logan hit play again. "Anyway, gimme a ring if ya get around to it. I work tonight. Start at six�" They didn't have any plans. Logan doubted Remy would be in the mood for another bender, but a side of him entertained the idea of seeing Victor in his own element again, but not necessarily his home.

It would eat at him if they didn't talk, at least. Like what, bub? Thanks for the good time, Handsome. Gimme a call sometime�... wait. Nah. Don't.

No. It wouldn't work.

There were too many unknowns. It had been so long since Logan had indulged in a fling. Truth be told, he hated them. It was one thing if his interest in someone soured after getting to know someone, but that was just it. They hadn't gotten to know him at all, except that he loved bacon and slept on his left.

Remy had been too angry at him, and Logan himself was so mired in confusion that worthwhile conversation pretty much left the room the moment they stepped into the kitchen. Everything was still too fresh. Logan and Remy both needed time to mull things over and take inventory. The long and short of it was simply this: They fucked up.

Hadn't they?

Logan headed back to the bedroom and was surprised to find Remy out of the shower already, putting on fresh clothes instead of his undershirt and boxers. Remy squeezed leave-in detangler from a squirt bottle and rubbed it in his hands, distributing it through his thick fall of chestnut hair. Logan stared at his reflection in confusion, scowling at him as though he'd passed gas.

"What the fuck? Where are ya goin'?"

"Get ready," Remy shrugged. "Ya wanna eat first or just head straight to de club?" Logan processed his question in bite-sized chunks, wondering why he was having such a hard time translating what he'd just said.

"I thawed hamburger," Logan said numbly. "Who said we were headin' straight anywhere?"

"Ya gonna get ready or not, chere?" Remy reached for the stiff-bristled hairbrush on the vanity and began yanking it through his locks, taming it back into his ponytail. Logan reached for the brush, wanting to help him, since he loved his hair. Remy pushed him off. "Get in de shower. Get washed. Already pulled out a shirt for ya. Change into de black jeans. Dose look better den de ones ya have on."

"Shit�" When did he get so bossy? Logan opened his mouth to say something else, then settled for frowning at his back before he headed for the shower, grumbling the whole way.

Butterflies took wing in his gut. This was the moment of truth; they were going to talk with him and lay it all out on the table. Logan took extra time soaping himself, letting the water run over his scalp and pound his back. He needed to center himself, needed to think.

When he got out of the tub, Remy already had his shoes on and was spraying on some Axe. He was slick, sharp and beautiful in his black Lycra blend polo shirt and Dickies slacks. He wore the earrings Logan had given him for his birthday, including a small gold hoop that he wore through the hole pierced at the top of his left ear. The cartilage felt like hell for the year it took for it to heal, but it was a hot zone that he loved for Logan to nibble and suck. Logan felt himself stirring at the memory of it during their foreplay, but Remy's voice snapped him back to attention and kept him on task.

"Dere's yer shirt."

"I wanted the blue one."

"I hate dat one." It was a lie, but Remy was calling the shots, and he shoved the white one at him. "Already pressed de collar on dis one, it's ready t'go. So get ready." Logan couldn't complain; at least it was a simple polo, almost the same cut as Remy's, without any print or decoration to ruin the lines. The fit was snug and showed off his muscles, but Logan felt self-conscious as he eyed himself in the mirror. What were they getting dolled up for?

The ride over to the club was tense. They squabbled briefly over the volume of the music and where to park. Remy was clipped and short with him, and Logan's replies were more strident than he meant them to be.

"Can't find a better spot?"

"Our feet ain't broken. Mine ain't, anyway."

"Fuck off."

"Look. Quit it."

"Fine."

"You done?"

"M'fine."

"Are ya done." He emphasized the last syllable with a slight warning tone.

"M'done. Get out. Let's go." Remy was out the door before Logan had even cut the engine. Logan swore to himself as Remy slammed the door shut. He stomped after him and caught up to him at the door. It was early enough that they didn't have to check their IDs, and Logan was privately disappointed that Victor wasn't at the door yet. They approached the bar and took their seats. Remy recognized the girl that Vic called "Birdie" the last time, standing behind the counter and drying a tray of beer mugs with a beat-up dish towel. She winked at them.

"It's still early enough for you to get something off the grill. Want an appetizer menu?"

"Oui," Remy nodded. She set down the glass and moved to take their order.

"Jalapeno poppers and hot wings are the special. They come with bleu cheese dressing on the side." Logan was starved, but he didn't want to waste eight dollars on finger food. Remy ordered for them anyway.

"We'll get dat an' a frozen margarita."

"Beer," Logan corrected, holding up his finger. "Molson. Just the bottle."

"Sure thing, babe," Birdie chirped, winking at him again. "Customer's always right." She served their drinks first, slapping off the cap of Logan's beer on the counter with impressive strength. She was off, trotting back to the kitchen by the time Remy licked the first grains of salt from the rim of his glass.

They ate. They drank. They waited. The bar began to fill up around them as the sun went down.

*

They hadn't called. Victor told himself it was no big deal.

He felt like a schmuck.

He hated that and didn't miss it, certainly. It brought back old memories of being seventeenish and making out with a hot girl at a dance, exchanging numbers, then wondering if she'd take his calls. Playing cat-and-mouse. Deciding whether or not to ignore her calls and the hint of desperation in her voice if she called him first. Would be blow her off. Would he give a fuck. Would she stalk him�gads, he hated drama.

He gave them a week. Truthfully, he gave Logan a week. Remy beat feet out of his car before he could offer him anything resembling a proper goodbye.

Like Logan, Vic was old-fashioned. He was a gruff, hard-talking, harder-walking cuss and ornery sonofabitch, but he still enjoyed the niceties. He told himself he wasn't too disappointed that they hadn't called him. Maybe they were busy. Sure. They were busy. Both of them were well put-together; he'd bet money that they held down solid jobs and lived comfortably between the two of them. It wasn't like Vic didn't have a life, or like he was desperate.

Still�it was nice. When a guy called back and didn't flake, it was just nice, damn it. A thanks-but-no-thanks would have helped. It ain't you, it's me; we both know it's you, but I don't wanna be a monster about it. Whaddever.

Fuck it.

Victor ran late. His dishwasher picked that night to back up and for a hose to burst, flooding his kitchen. One angry call to his super and an hour of figuring out how to mop and sop up the mess later, Victor could kiss clocking in on time goodbye. Nice way to ruin his night out of the gate.

He was still fuming when he made it in through the back entrance. The alarm on his car squawked back at him angrily as he punched the autolocks with his clicker on the way inside.

"You're late." Birdie was unsympathetic about it. She picked at her nails and bit the jagged edge off of her pinkie. Birdie was such a petite, dainty looking woman until she did something so base, or even repugnant. Farting, scratching, belching like a three-hundred pound truck driver, none of it was off limits. He'd kidded her about it easily, and she just as gleefully told him to fuck off. But at the same time, she took care of him and watched his back. Half the time she knew what was in his head before he did. She handed him his timecard, which was already tucked into her apron pocket. He grabbed it, punched it in the clock, and shoved it back at her. She sighed. "What're we gonna do with you, Vic?"

"We, who?"

"We, you. Get it together. And don't slouch. You'll get a hump. Quit making that face, too, or it'll stay that way." She gave him her best Pollyanna smile. "Your fan club showed up a while ago. Don't keep `em waiting."

"What the fuck're ya goin' on about now?" One shaggy blond brow cocked itself at her as Victor grabbed his tiny pen light out of the office drawer. He made no bones about taking off his Tapout tee and putting on one of the polo shirts with the club's name on it out of a box of spares in the corner.

"Didn't even show up in uniform," she tsked, cracking her gum at him. "You know what. The hot ones. Short Stuff and Hot Pants. They're at the bar." His broad back was turned to her as he pulled on the shirt, and he froze a moment before freeing his thick hair from the neckline.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. Damn�that was unexpected. Not unwelcome, but you could knock him over with a feather. Anticipation hurried his movements. Vic smoothed back the strands of hair that clung to his face with static and snugged up his ponytail holder to neaten his look, but he knew it was a lost cause without his comb. His A/C in his car was out and he ended up riding to work with the windows down, which felt good but wrecked his attempts at neatness.

"They're still out there. The tall one looks pissed. What'd you do now?"

"None of yer business, Birdie."

"Doesn't mean I don't wanna know."

"Ya don't wanna know."

"See, now I DO wanna know. Tell me you didn't do both of them?"

"Okay. I didn't."

"You didn't," she accused, blue eyes widening. "Holy. Shit. You did. OMFG." He'd reduced her to `Net speak. "You dog. You fucking bastard. You SLUT. What is it with you, Vic?" She looked appalled and impressed as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "You just took them home?"

"Yup."

"The dirty laundry didn't jump up and wrestle them to the floor?" She was no fan of Victor's housekeeping, having said the occasional graveside prayer over his vegetable crisper in his fridge when she once cleaned it out.

"Too busy wrestlin' me outta mine ta give a damn. Why don'tcha ask `em." He prayed she didn't, since Birdie actually was that direct, and frequently lacked even that much tact.

"Don't think I won't," she countered, reading his mind. "They both speak French?"

"Ya got me. Dunno half the time what Remy's sayin', but it sounds good."

"The short one looks like he understands him just fine. I love guys with accents."

"Get yer own," he huffed in his usual deadpan. He slapped her ass on the way out of the office just for good measure. She sighed after him.

"Don't fuck this up," she murmured as he made it to the end of the hall.

"I heard that," he called back over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd.

Victor made his rounds, checking the patio for IDs of minors who stayed inside past the shift turnover, kicking a few out before he went back to work the door. Kyle and Laura glared at him from the front desk as he appeared, annoyed that he seemed to be hesitating on his way out. "What the fuck are ya waiting for, man?" Kyle demanded as Victor's eyes perused the dance floor. "Get out here. I backed ya up out here for the past two hours. I've gotta take a piss."

"Don't blame me if ya gotta a tiny dick�I mean, bladder," Victor told him unsympathetically. Laura Linney stared at him like he was a dog turd and rolled her eyes.

"Maybe if you hadn't been at home with the measuring tape, you would've made it to work on time," she barked. "Get out there."

"Has it been twenty-eight fuckin' days already, Laura? Shit, break out the Midol an' chocolate, people, she's gonna blow." Gibney snorted. Laura threw her pen at him, sticking out her pierced tongue at his low "Ow�" She brandished her ID stamper at him threateningly.

"Don't blame me when you're a grease smear on the sidewalk that I didn't warn you to get your ass out there."

"Right. On that note�" Kyle muttered, pretending to slink away. Victor grinned.

"Idiot." Kyle flipped him the double-bird while Laura rolled her eyes.

It was killing him to be outside when he really wanted to prowl the interior. Victor winced at the weird flutter in his gut. Why was he so excited, fer cryin' out loud? So they decided to grace him with their presence�

Victor simply let the odd, silly little smile on his face linger there for a few moments as he told the next couple to take out their IDs.

*

Remy spotted him and half-hoped Logan wouldn't. His heart hammered briefly when he saw the blond plow through the crowd easily due to his size and intimidating demeanor.

Remy felt frustrated and foolish. He'd nagged them out the door. This was their chance to be direct and put the episode with Victor to bed.

His resolve faltered when he saw him, looking just as appealing as he did before in the club's shirt that stretched tightly over his muscles and a pair of faded jeans that lovingly hugged his ass. The lights outside the doorway burnished his hair, turning it gold. Remy had second thoughts about their decision�HIS decision, to let Victor go. What bit of liquid courage he gained from the liquor evaporated when Logan spoke.

"He's outside."

"He's workin' now," Remy muttered.

"We can catch his eye. Or we can come back."

"Fuck dat," Remy told him sharply. "Line's wrappin' around de buildin', mec. Ain't gonna go out an' come back in."

"We don't know when his break is," Logan pointed out, irritated.

"Probably whenever he wants," Remy deadpanned. Logan didn't doubt that.

"Hey, Bright Eyes," Birdie clucked at them, cracking her Wrigley's between her teeth, "ya wanna see Vic, head out to the patio at around ten. That's when he takes his break. Ya don't hafta even hang out that long, if you don't want."

"What's the deal? You Vic's boss?"

"No one's Vic's boss except Vic," she teased. "But yeah, head outside around ten. He likes takin' his breaks out there so he can have his smoke. Don't tell him I told you this, but the Vicster's a claustrophobic. Shhhh," she told them in mock-confidence, but she ruined it by grinning. Remy smirked, and Logan smothered a groan.

The neon-lit clock that resembled a dart board over the bar read eight forty-five. Remy was getting restless as the club continued to fill up, and the deejay began to spin some of his favorites. "We jus' gonna sit here?"

"We could just come back," Logan offered sourly.

"Don' hafta come back. Jus' wanna do somet'in' while we're here, mec."

"Another drink?" Birdie offered.

"Oui." Remy laid a tenner on the bar and she slid it out from beneath his fingertips. The second one tasted stronger than the first, making Remy smile furtively at her over the rim of the glass.

"Big guy? A word to the wise? He's hot. Show him off. Take him out there," Birdie nagged, making Logan sigh raggedly. She enjoyed how the gesture inflated his very wide, very yummy chest. Victor had good taste; Logan was definitely hot.

"Yer as bad as he is," Logan grumbled.

"You're welcome. Go. Shoo."

"Remy ain' finished," he complained.

"I'll hold onto it for you," she said, snatching it up and tucking it back beneath the bar. "Shake that fine ass for a while. It's more fun than me nagging the skinny out of you about what you did with Vic. What the hell did either of you see in him, anyway?" Logan knew she was joking around, but he flushed. The frail knew too damned much, and she had a mouth. "Unless you don't mind me nagging-"

"Let's cut a rug, Rem," Logan ordered, grabbing Remy's hand and dragging him from his stool.

"Fine by me," he quipped as they cut through the crowd.

*

Vic's night was no different from any other, except for that fucking little flutter. Every time he flashed his penlight over a license and stared into hopeful faces to check for a resemblance or for blatant dishonesty, his impatience and frustration grew.

He knew he saw them, briefly. He couldn't focus on that, but he could have sworn the tall brunette in black was Frenchie, and that his date was short, burly, and uncharacteristically overdressed. They winked in and out of the crowd beneath the strobe lights. His neck grew stiff from craning his head around to peek, but Victor forced himself to focus on the patrons and do his job.

*

Remy had already worked up a sweat, feeling the faint buzz and a sense of rebellion coursing through his blood. He threw himself into the music, dragging Logan with him, and his lover eventually settled into it and started to enjoy himself. Logan stuck with his "safe move" and merely watched Remy's moves.

It was too much fun to unsettle him, and Remy bumped against him in the guise of the crowd pressing them too closely together, taking any excuse to grind against him and grope him.

"Brat," Logan hissed. "Quit it."

"Ya like it, chere," Remy dared him. His hand hooked itself casually around Logan's hip. He leaned in and inhaled a deep breath of Logan's aftershave at the hollow of his throat. Logan was embarrassed at attracting the attention when he lacked a significant buzz, but Remy was more flamboyant and direct. But Logan didn't want to give a free show.

"Behave, fer fuck's sake," Logan chided him, annoyed.

"Didn' mind last week."

"That was last week." Logan freed his ass from Remy's teasing grip and rearranged his hands so they were above his shoulders instead of below the waist. His words clammed Remy up, evoking what he'd told him that morning.

They rode the momentum of the crowd pushing against them until they lost track of time. Logan hated the feeling of the patches he'd sweated in his shirt, making it cling to his heated flesh. The synth of Depeche Mode pounded in his ear drums and began to give him a headache. Logan longed to chase it away with some beer and some time outside.

The music slowed mercifully to a lowrider ballad straight from the fifties, an abrupt change from the songs that preceded it. Neither man wanted to linger on the floor for it.

*

Victor's view of the dance floor was no longer obscured once he took his break. However, to his dismay, they weren't out there. He growled under his breath, and several patrons ducked his seeming wrath as he brushed past them to the patio. Great. He invited them, they got sick of waiting and then left.

A smoke would take the edge off, at least. Victor longed for a cold beer, but he never drank on the job. The heady sense of excitement leaked out of his system and disappointment welled up in its place, tasting slightly bitter on his lips.

He pushed it down as he pulled his Zippo from his pocket. The hell with it. It wasn't the end of the world. It was just sex. It wasn't like he'd never stumble across another fuckable human being for the rest of his life, was it?

"Damn it," he muttered aloud. Who was he kidding? It sucked. It was like striking out twice. Victor lit his Marlboro red and sucked hungrily on it to clear his head. He needed to put this in perspective. He would have passed them on their way out through the front door; the other likelihood was that they could have lingered in the billiard room, or they might have been in the men's. His eyes searched the crowd outside. He wasn't the only one smoking, and several couples took advantage of the tables in the shadows and their sloppy buzz. Vic found a vacant bench and sprawled on it, leaning back and staring up at the sky. It felt good to stretch his long legs out for a moment.

Birdie's words lingered. "Don't fuck this up." It wasn't the first reason Victor had wanted to swat her for echoing his own concerns out loud. He'd certainly fucked up before, and he'd grown very good at sweeping his failures under the rug and moving on. The thing was, even when Victor felt himself crumble a bit around the edges with each new hurt, he'd always fill in the cracks, but to the practiced eye, they still showed.

The long and short of it was, it was just a fuck. If they wanted a repeat performance, they'd stick around. If they didn't, it was no sweat off of Victor's back.

His view of the sky disappeared as two beefy palms clapped themselves over his eyes.

 

*

It was one of Logan's favorite bad habits to sneak up on people. He liked to keep them guessing and catch them off-guard, and he loved that first, clueless moment of "what the fuck?" as it lit up their faces. Victor stiffened and jerked in surprise for a moment as he processed that he wasn't being jumped in the dark, and his hand snapped around Logan's wrist faster than a cobra until Logan hissed beside his ear.

"Take it easy," he chuckled. "What're ya doin' out here, Lazy Bones? Get back ta work!" Logan was slightly surprised at Victor's sharp, solid grip and the strength that went into it, and Victor was reluctant to release him. Logan withdrew his hands and backed up a moment, giving Victor room to turn and face him. Victor's blue eyes unsettled him, seeming to look through him. He stared Logan up and down, taking in the changes since he saw him last. He wasn't anywhere close to buzzed, and he was uncharacteristically dressed up; Victor wondered if that was Remy's doing. But he couldn't deny that it was just a different look for him, the more civilized version of the wild man he was in bed. His hair was more carefully styled, telling him he'd had that haircut he said he planned the weekend before.

There was something in those dark eyes that piqued him, some anxious little emotion, breath bated for Victor's response to his presence. Victor's lips curled in his usual smirk.

"I am workin'," he shrugged. "Takes work ta be this hot." Logan snorted.

"Ya tell yer boss that when he signs yer check?" Logan nodded to the bench, and Victor moved his long legs to make room for him to sit.

"Where's Bright Eyes?"

"Men's," Logan murmured. They sat together a moment and watched the crowd on the patio. "Nice night."

"Yeah."

"Looked for ya earlier."

"I've been here."

"Thought we'd try ta catch ya before ya had ta work the door," Logan offered simply. "No luck."

"Birdie said ya were here." Victor dug into his pocket and produced his box of Marlboros. Logan held out his hand as Vic tapped one out and flicked open the Zippo, leaning down to ignite the tobacco. The gesture was intimate and friendly, but Logan was at a loss.

He thought of Remy and their decision to be blunt, but it was difficult once Victor sat in front of him, admittedly just as handsome as before, just as open. They'd responded to his invitation in person; he'd read what he wanted into that, Logan considered. Victor looked as though they caught him when he finally had a chance to wind down. There was something harried in the set of his shoulders, and his long hair was faintly mussed from his ponytail, as though he'd run his hands through it. Logan's inner voice reminded him to stick to his resolve.

"Rough night?"

"Rough day. Sucked. Bout ready to break my lease. Dishwasher exploded."

"Fuck." Logan was genuinely sympathetic. He patted Victor's broad shoulder, briefly reminding himself how solid he felt. He released him and continued to enjoy the cigarette and cool air. "Sorry."

"Ain't yer fault. It'll give the sonofagun the excuse ta replace my floor. The linoleum's all jacked up and buckled."

"Didn't look that bad," Logan said, but truthfully, he didn't remember much about Vic's kitchen, or even his apartment in his bleary-eyed state.

"It's a shithole," Vic assured him as he neared the end of his Marlboro. He exhaled a long, wispy cloud through his firm, pursed lips and eyed Logan. "So what's the deal?"

"Nothin'. Got yer call. Felt like comin' out."

"Ta see me."

"Yeah."

"What's on yer mind?"

"Why's somethin' gotta be on my mind?"

"If ya didn't have that `Vic, we've gotta talk' look on yer face that ya've got now, we'd be back inside, and ya'd have my tongue down yer throat. I'm good at readin' these things, Shorty. C'mon. Ya've got an `It's ain't you, it's me' speech hidden up yer sleeve. Spill." Logan sighed. He attempted to stub out his butt, but Vic stopped him, grabbing his wrist. "Don't waste that. Enjoy it. Hang out with me til my break's over."

It was like déjà vu. Remy suppressed the urge to march outside and grab Logan away from Vic again, except this time, Logan didn't look like Victor's attentions were unwelcome. They looked like two acquaintances having a chat and sharing a smoke. Remy sighed in exasperation and decided it was his own fault. He'd pushed it by bringing them out and forcing this confrontation.

Hadn't he?

Remy would admit to himself that there was something in Victor's voice that threw him off. Initially, he was cocky, brash Vic, but the plaintive note in his words reached him and left him confused as hell. Remy waded his way through the tables and patrons, expression cloudy and shoulders set. He schooled his voice to be cavalier.

"Got lost on de way back from de toilets?" he inquired innocently. He laid his hand over Logan's shoulder in a not-so-subtle sign of possession. Logan squeezed it reassuringly, but Victor merely chuckled.

"I was babysittin' him til ya got back." Logan's cheeks flamed with the same annoyance he'd felt before, when Vic baited Remy. "He looked lonely."

"Can't leave me ta my own devices."

"He talks ta strangers wit' candy if I turn my back for a sec," Remy shrugged. This time Logan tapped out the butt on the bench and chucked it into a nearby trash container. "Didn' tell me ya wanted t'have a smoke, mec."

"Vic was havin' one. Didn't occur t'me til I came out here."

"C'mon. Ya know ya wanna give in ta peer pressure, kid. All the cool kids're doin' it." Victor's eyes mocked him, but he was glad to see him there, enjoying how he looked. Like Logan, he was more polished tonight, neatly shaven and handsome in dark colors. Remy was quietly kneading Logan's neck, making him rumble in contentment and lean back into his body heat. "C'mon. Have one." Victor pulled up a chair abandoned near one of the tables and pulled it up for him, but while he was standing, Remy took his empty spot on the bench. Logan hissed at him under his breath, but Victor sat down in the chair, nonplussed. Remy's eyes flicked over Victor and his outstretched hand. A cigarette was already sticking up out of the box, waiting to be taken. Remy reached for it instinctively. Logan's hand at his lower back signaled him to relax while Victor shared another smoke with Logan. Victor sat in his casual sprawl again, arm dangling over the back of the chair. He took a long drag off his smoke and blew out another plume, enjoying its path through the air and how it dissipated just short of touching them. Victor handed Logan his lighter to start Remy's cigarette, enjoying the intimacy of watching the task performed between them. He took it back from him, letting his fingers graze Logan's intentionally.

"Feel like I'm at a tea party," Vic muttered. "Two of ya look cozy."

"It's always jus' been de two of us," Remy countered. "Ya been together a long time, ya get cozy." He threw down the gauntlet. Victor chuckled wryly.

"Yer just an' ol' married couple, eh?" Remy's brows drew together and he exhaled through his nose in annoyance. "Guess it better be cozy, if ya've been at it that long."

"Don' knock it til ya've tried it." Victor feigned offense.

"How d'ya know I ain't tried it?"

"Have ya?" Logan cut in.

"Nah. But ya wouldn't know that if ya hadn't asked," Vic deadpanned. Logan smirked.

"Idiot."

"Seriously, though. You two tie the knot?" Victor's eyes immediately flicked to their hands, looking for rings.

"No. Just `goin' steady'," Logan told him casually. The question annoyed him, too, not just for its intrusiveness, but for the fact that he'd walked right into it.

And it pissed him off that he felt ill-prepared to elaborate. What'd Vic want him to say, "It's complicated?"

Remy's fingers laced themselves through his. "Goin' on four years."

"Shit. What're ya waitin' for, then? If ya ain't made a decision after a year, yer just spinnin' yer wheels."

"Ya get that shit outta a textbook or a talk show?" Remy countered evenly.

"I'm just sayin'."

"Maybe ya've said enough," Remy muttered. There was something cold in his smile, while Logan sat beside him with beetled brows, a shush waiting on his lips.

"Look," Victor told him, "I get it. Yer serious. I was a diversion. Huh? That it? Wanted ta stroll over to the other side of the fence? Yer own grass greener, Bright Eyes?"

"Looks pretty green from here, mec," Remy told him in that detached, calm tone that Logan recognized as three and a half baby steps from Remy doling out an ass-kicking.

"Yeah. Bet it's green." Victor sat back, dropped his chin and opened his mouth in a broad `O', blowing out three perfect smoke rings with neat, precise flicks of his tongue. That talented, flattened pink tongue that felt like velvet and sandpaper. Beneath his annoyance, Remy felt a twinge of remembered arousal at the sight of it. A tingling little flush ran over him; he suppressed a shiver.

Logan's nipples hardened, both from Victor's gesture and his intense scrutiny. His icy blue eyes held mischief and secrets � theirs.

"Somethin' pushed ya over the edge. I had somethin' that made ya look over the fence." His words were directed at them both. Victor took one last drag, letting the ashes flare blood red before he stubbed out the butt beneath his boot. "Ya looked." His voice wasn't accusing, but Remy's face flushed. "Thanks fer comin' out ta have a smoke with me."

Remy searched for the words to take him down several pegs and rose from the bench sharply. Vic wasn't finished. "Thanks fer the good time, boys. S'been real. Don't stay out too long past yer bedtime," he flipped over his shoulder.

"Victor," Logan called out softly. "Wait up." Remy had already released him, and this time he followed Logan after him. They caught up to him in the corridor, no mean feat with Victor's long-legged strides. "Ya gotta make this hard?"

"I ain't the one makin' it hard," Victor corrected him. "I ain't makin' it complicated at all. Easy as pie fer me. C'mon, Shorty. Why'd ya meet me here? Wanted ta brush me off in person?"

"No�yeah. Fuck. No."

"Make up yer mind, will ya?" Victor murmured softly. He peered back at Remy and shook his head. "Ya would've been fine with leavin' me high and dry, kid. No explanations necessary from you. Cuz it was just killin' ya ta let me take a crack, huh? Cuz ya just hated it."

"Non," Remy muttered.

"'Non,' he tells me. Don't get all fancy in French with me, kid. I know brush-offs come easy for ya. Yer the charmin' type. Great for a good time."

"M'good for a whole fuckin' lot more den dat," Remy spat.

"Ya don't wanna reach for more than that `cuz ya figure yer gonna get burned. Shorty here's the exception. Am I right?"

"Whoa," Logan warned. "Back that truck up, bub. Ya ain't givin' me much reason ta rethink why we came out."

"No one told ya ta rethink anything. I am who I am. I ain't in it for anything else but a good time. I ain't tryin' ta bring drama."

"Ain't tryin', huh?" Remy quipped. "Bullshit. Like de fuckin' Good Humor man, deliverin' drama by de double scoop, mec."

"Hn. `Scuse the fuck outta me." Victor shrugged. His face was still collected, his don't-give-two-shits smile still in place. He wiped the sweat from his nape and fanned cool air beneath his damp ponytail; none of them felt the faint cool breeze blowing through the entryway to the patio. Logan and Remy were still florid from their time on the dance floor. Victor didn't know what was making his temperature rise, but it no doubt had something to do with that gleam in Remy's eye, or Logan's defensive, broad stance and the vein throbbing in his jaw.

"Only in it fo' a good time," Remy muttered. "Bullshit. De good time's dis. Rilin' somebody when dey see yer game."

"No games here," Victor promised, holding up his hands.

But his favorite one was afoot. Victor moved his piece two spaces across the board, enjoying himself. "Ain't like I'm tryin' ta separate the two of ya. I like ya as a couple. Both of ya." His voice prodded them to remember what he liked about the two of them, specifically. "Liked you when I had ya beggin'." This was directed at Remy.

"Glad ya liked it. Cuz dat's de end of it."

"Ya love havin' the last word."

"Oui."

"Sheesh," Logan muttered.

"Ya talk in yer sleep, too," Victor told him smugly. Remy scowled.

"Bullshit."

"Real chatterbox. Ya got pretty adamant about tellin' somebody not ta leave."

Remy paled.

"That's enough," Logan told him brusquely. "We're gonna go."

"G'night. It's been fun." Victor stepped aside to let them precede him to the club's main floor. He leered after them, letting them feel his eyes on their retreating asses on the way out.

Remy fumed. Logan sighed as they headed for the door.

"Had enough already, huh?" Kyle called out.

"Yeah," Remy snapped.

"Thanks," Logan added briefly. Kyle gave him a nod of farewell. Laura shook her head behind their departure.

"They were here for Vic?"

"Dunno. Tall one looked pissed, though."

"Yup. Vic," she shrugged, before she went back to filing her black-lacquered nails.

 

They climbed into the car, avoiding each other's glance as they buckled up. Remy's breathing was hard and uneven; he wound down the window to benefit from the cool air, but it didn't calm him.

Three stoplights through their way home, Remy hissed "What de fuck was dat?"

"Whaddya think?" Logan shrugged.

"Grass is greener, huh, Bright Eyes?" Remy mimicked sourly. "Ain't tryin' ta make t'ings complicated," he continued, adding Victor's growling rasp. Logan chuckled.

"Nice. Not bad. Gotta go lower, though."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck me, why? What the fuck did I do?"

"Ya fed it."

"I didn't feed shit."

"Ya didn' tell `im he wuz fulla shit. What wuz dat `goin' steady' bizness?"

"Whaddya want me t'say, Rem? That we're engaged? Fuck�we've never even talked about it." That silenced Remy. "Huh? No? Discuss?"

"Non." Logan felt like Remy had surrounded himself in static, and he'd get an ugly shock if he lingered too close. He sighed raggedly and ended up stuck at the next red light.

"Liked ya when I had ya beggin'," Remy muttered. "Ain' like HE didn' beg." Logan begged to differ. Vic had called the shots through most of their encounter. It felt alien to him to give up so much control, and to think a stranger had that much power over them. That's what unnerved him, Victor's power.

They continued on until Remy slapped the arm rest. "Fuck," he hissed.

"What now?"

"M'jus' pissed. What de fuck was dat back dere, huh? We tell `im `t'anks but no t'anks' an' he jus'�flips it on us." Remy huffed, as though the very idea was ludicrous.

"Eh. No harm, no foul."

Remy fumed and stewed.

The reasonable, logical side of his brain � he DID have one � told him that it was for the best. The hell with that Victor thought. He was an interloper. A party crasher, if he had to be honest, the kind that just walked in through the front door with the rest of the guests, drank the wine, and said thank you while they walked out the door with half the leftovers and centerpiece.

It was no use. Remy was irked, frustrated, and what Victor had said about their relationship drove him batshit.

What made it worse was that there was a grain of truth in his words. Remy popped his index knuckle beneath his thumb, then moved on to his middle one.

"Stop that. Sounds sick when ya do that."

"Cut me some slack, mec. I'll crack `em if I wanna crack `em." Misery loved company, and the interior of the car felt like a pity party. Logan responded by turning on the radio, cranking the volume on a hard rock oldies station.

The irony almost amused him when Vince Neil wailed out of the speakers that "Dr. Feelgood" would make them feel all right. God help them for it being such a lie.

Logan pulled into an AM/PM. "Want anything?"

"Naw. Ain' we jus' headed home?"

"I need gas. It's a penny cheaper here. Might not be if I get it tomorrow morning." He unbuckled and was halfway out before he ducked his face back. "So ya want anything?"

"Said I didn't."

"Fine, then. Ya don't. Don't hafta bite my fuckin' head off." Logan slammed the car door shut more loudly than he meant to. "Brat," he muttered under his breath. Remy turned off the ignition and left the radio on but turned down the volume until it was just background noise.

Logan had enough drama for one night. The worst part was that now he was restless. He wasn't tired, physically, just aggravated. He almost didn't want to go home and stare at the walls and feel Remy glaring daggers at him all night, or worse, try to go to bed with the two of them mad at each other.

He still didn't know why they even were. Everything was said and done with Vic.

Wasn't it?

 

*

He'd put the hook in them. Victor could bide his time. The crowd swelled slightly and more of the patrons moved out to the patio.

The kid had him pegged, even though Vic would never admit it. He DID enjoy riling `em up, rattling cages and getting a rise out of people, especially his lovers. It gave it a little spice, and what was the harm? Logan and Remy needed their cage rattled; then maybe he could invite `em to step out of it.

He wished they hadn't stepped out so early. They made the first half of his night go by a little faster knowing that they were inside waiting for him. A pair of college girls called out to him teasingly from the floor, plastered as hell, but he smirked and shook his head, a simple refusal. Barely legal wasn't his flavor.

He liked them passionate and wild, seasoned and rough. Male or female, it didn't matter. What made the sex sweeter was the challenge. Vic didn't want an easy meal; he wanted to fight for it, and he wanted his prey to have some spirit. Victor almost felt bad � almost � for egging Remy on, but it just felt too good. He sensed he could be a real sweetheart, but Vic saw his type before. Things came too easily for him, at least on the surface. What was below it intrigued him.

Birdie came up to him during his second break, not surprised to find him alone again out back. This time Victor nursed a Dr. Pepper with his cigarette and stared out over a short wall. "Hey."

"Hey."

"They already took off?"

"Yeah."

"That's too bad."

"Eh." She watched him quizzically. "They'll be back."

"They said they would?"

"Nope."

"Ya think so, huh?"

"Yup." Birdie shook her head slowly.

"I don't get you."

"Nah. Yer one of the only people who DOES get me, babe."

"After years of letting you drive me batshit, sure." She reached up and stroked his long, broad back. "There's something wrong with you."

"Part of my charm."

"Yeah." He let her hug him briefly. "It is." She backed away and headed back toward the kitchen. "Like I said, don't fuck this up."

*

The night went as Logan predicted as soon as they stepped in through the door. Remy was out of his club gear and in bare feet and boxers as soon as they made it to the bedroom. He broke one of his own rules and brought back a wrapper of Ritz crackers and ate them in bed while he channel-surfed to Letterman. Logan shed his shirt and laid it over his computer chair before he booted up their Mac.

"Come t'bed."

"Ain't tired yet." Remy shot him an irritated glance as Logan plugged his headphones into the speakers and logged onto his Playlist online. He was drowning him out. Remy spent the next hour trying to draw him back in, occasionally catching his attention to share what was on the set with him, but Logan grunted in monosyllables, briefly craning his neck around before going back to his Farmville game or eBay surfing. Remy eventually got up and threw out the wrapper, flicked off the set and turned his back on him, attempting to get to sleep. Logan slowed his typing and clicked at a minimum, but he knew Remy could hear him.

He pondered his options. Stay. Go to bed. Or, stay. Watch TV with no volume. Or, stay, cuddle, kiss and make up. All three options held little risk of further argument for the night, but none of them would soothe his restlessness. Logan was at a loss.

Remy watched the wall, eyes seemingly glued open. He occasionally felt Logan's regard and still basked in the dim, bluish glow of the monitor at his back. His sigh was heavy and deep.

"Why'd ya go back tonight?"

"Hnh?"

"We went back t'tell him no. Right?"

"Right."

"Ya glad?"

Silence.

"Logan."

Logan removed his headphones and stared into the dark at something only he could see. His low sigh made Remy's stomach knot.

"Logan."

Remy sat up in bed and swept the covers aside. His long hair was tousled and hung loose down his back. His posture was unnaturally stiff, looking nothing like a man ready to retire for the night.

The silence was the worst part. It gave his mind too big an opportunity to wander in bad directions. Remy's fingers fisted in the covers. He plowed his hand through his hair and sighed again.

"Fuck it."

"What?"

Remy was up in a flash, making a beeline for his discarded clothing. The jeans weren't rumpled, but the shirt had tuck marks around the hem. "Rem."

"C'mon."

"What?" Logan barked in annoyance.

"Ain't gonna sleep."

"Not unless ya get back in bed," Logan reasoned with him, but he was already up from his chair, logging off from the Mac. "Get back in bed."

"Nah." Remy threw Logan's shoes at him and grabbed the keys off the dresser in tandem, multitasking further as he found his hairbrush on the cluttered vanity that he hadn't straightened before they left earlier. He whipped it through his locks, generating static from his harsh strokes. He skipped the ponytail and shoved his feet into his loafers without bothering to put on socks.

"Rem."

"If yer gon' stay here, lock up after me," Remy called back over his shoulder. Logan stared after him with his mouth open.

As though a pair of invisible hands were pulling his strings, Logan dropped his shoes with a thud and crammed his feet inside. "Fuck�"

The ride back to the club � back to the club � was tenser than the one home. Déjà vu, his mind screamed. Logan didn't know why he was going along with this. What the fuck did Remy have to prove? Was he trying to prove something?

And why?

What killed him was that Logan was pondering this from the passenger seat. Remy had even revved the engine at him from the lot, which pissed him off; Logan didn't wanna even know what his neighbors must've thought. The kid needed a spanking.

Remy peered at him from the corner of his eye while he drove, wondering what that odd little look was on Logan's face. It made him tingle.

Logan was surprised that they found a better parking spot this time. Cabs were already lined up out front as patrons' second winds died down and they called it a night, but there was still a lively crowd of stragglers lined up to get inside. Every voice of reason inside of Logan screamed at him. What were they doing back there? Pressing rewind and play on this again wasn't going to yield a different result. Yet here they were.

Obviously, Victor was at the front door, not looking the least bit surprised. A low breeze made his ponytail whip behind him and the stray blond tendrils fan over his face. The gleam in his eye hadn't dimmed. "Welcome back," he called out as he saw their feet hit the pavement. He ducked back in the doorway briefly; Remy and Logan couldn't see him from around the sea of heads in line ahead of them. "This is stupid," Logan muttered. "We don't hafta do this."

"Yeah. We do."

"Rem, we don't!" Logan reached for his hand, tugging on it, but Remy snatched it away. Their faces wore almost identical indignant looks. Logan simmered, only hemming himself in because they were in a crowd.

"Ain' last call yet. Remy ain' tired yet."

"I might be."

"Non. Ya ain't." The line barely inched forward. Logan sighed.

"Fuck."

Remy watched a medium-height, rangy blond man with hair almost as long as Victor's step out from the doorway and head toward the back of the line. He wore one of the club's polo shirts and a short apron at his waist like Birdie's. His narrow, blue-gray eyes flitted over them, then stopped. He approached them and gave a flick of his head for them to follow.

"C'mon. Up front. Ya already paid yer cover. Yer hands are stamped, right?" Logan and Remy were baffled.

"Yeah," Logan replied. "And?"

"Yer gettin' special treatment. Follow me." They obeyed, confusion written on their faces. Remy almost laughed as the people behind them cursed and complained in their wake. Logan was relieved it wouldn't be a long wait, but his gut churned with anticipation of an even bigger problem, if it continued to be a problem.

It shouldn't have been a problem, damn it.

It felt surreal, stepping back inside after they'd beat a retreat. Remy saw Victor first at the mouth of the corridor, beckoning to him. Logan tensed beside him.

"Don't come here just ta go another ten rounds with him," Logan grumbled. "Two of ya are grown. Act like it." Remy said nothing. He only took Logan's hand this time when Logan reached for him and they wove their way through the crowd. Victor descended the hall, occasionally looking back to make sure they were still following him. The noise died down slightly as they reached him. Victor nodded for them to accompany him into a small office.

"Two of ya are out past yer curfew."

"Don't remember anyone tellin' me I had one," Logan shrugged.

"I sure didn' tell `im," Remy added for good measure. Vic grinned.

"Good. `Cuz I'm a night owl." Remy let out an exasperated breath.

"Who'da figured," Logan mused. He watched with amusement as Victor headed for a rack of timecards on the wall. "What's up?"

"Gibney's fillin' in for me." He removed his card and punched it into the digital clock on the wall. "I'm off."

A hint of excitement fizzed in Logan's gut. Victor smiled at them with shark's teeth. "Now I can let my hair down." He nodded to Remy. "Looks like you already have, Bright Eyes." He took in his rumpled state. "Whatsamatter, couldn't sleep?"

"Non."

"Countin' sheep's good for that. Or a good fuck. I'm good for that." Victor crossed his arms over his beefy chest. "Unless yer grass is still too green, babe." Remy closed the distance between them, and his dark eyes were blazing with dangerous, unfathomable emotions.

"Maybe ya didn't find out jus' how good t'ings are on dis side of de fence, mec," Remy told him. "Mebbe ya can't give `im what I can."

"And yer missin' the point, bub. Maybe I can give ya both somethin' ya've never had before." Victor's eyes flitted down to Remy's lips, taking in their luscious hint of natural pink, standing so close that he could see the pores of his stubble. "Right now," he murmured, and Victor's hands shot out and caught Remy's hips in their hard grasp.

"Vic! Don't�" Logan was silenced mid-warning as Victor's mouth took Remy's in a hard, borderline violent kiss. "Shit," he hissed, too little, too late.

Remy's brain was a chaotic jumble of overwhelming sensation mingled unstable emotions. His heart was already drumming erratically when Victor gave just as good as he got, bragging in his face and showing no signs at all of backing down, or backing off altogether. Logan was Remy's. Period. Victor needed to step off.

Instead he stepped up his game, claiming him, molding him, teeth capturing Remy's succulent bottom lip to force him to open for him. Remy clouted his chest with his fist, but his voice came out in a shifting, strangled groan of need. Victor hummed in pleasure at how good he tasted, pissed off or not. He snaked his arm around Remy's narrow, supple waist and tangled his hand in his hair, holding him captive while he plundered him. His tongued chased Remy's and stroked it, teasing it, coaxing it to come and play

Logan didn't know whether to be appalled or turned on. Principle among his emotions was confusion.

"Uh�hello?" Remy's hips responded to Victor's rough possession of him, grinding against him as his fingers clawed at Victor's back. "Remember me?" An alarm went off in Remy's head as he remembered where he was, and who was watching. He fought him, pushing Victor off of him, and his face was flushed and stricken, eyes wide with the enormity of what he'd done.

Logan merely stared. His fingers twitched and he cleared his throat. His face was calm, but Remy knew that look was deceptive.

"Chere," Remy whispered.

"Nah. We didn't forget you," Victor offered belatedly. He flexed his index finger at him, beckoning him. "C'mere."

"Desole, chere," Remy told Logan, ignoring Victor for the moment.

"Nah. Way I see it, ya got a choice," Victor said, stalling Remy's likely tide of apologies. "Ya put on this act like ya don't like me, but yer body's tellin' me different, Sunshine. So's yers," Victor pointed out, nodding to Logan. "Ya wanna get pissed off at me fer what I did just now, I'm gonna be disappointed, darlin'. Don't let that go ta waste." He nodded at Logan's crotch as he closed in on him. Logan was painfully hard but so mad that he could spit tacks. "Seems like neither one of ya has any real reason t'be mad." As if to demonstrate, Victor's hand eased itself between Logan's thighs and cupped his hardness; his own dick twitched in response.

"Ya t'ink?" Remy said, attempting to sound cavalier, but he shook.

"I ain't tryin' ta take him away from ya. Get that through yer pretty, thick head. And I ain't tryin' ta take HIM from you," Victor reminded Logan, as though he were explaining it to a child. "I had a good time. I wanna keep havin' a good time. And I wanna take both of ya home and fuck ya til ya can't walk straight. What's so complicated about that? Simple," Victor mused. Logan's fist clenched at his side. He had no words, except three that scratched their way out of his suddenly dry mouth.

"Fuck. Let's go."

*

Initially Logan and Remy balked at Victor's joking suggestion of taking their own car to his home, but once outside, Victor pulled Logan to him and backed him up against the car, his hard body pressing him into the door, and a low, hungry growl preceded his rough kiss. He ground against Logan, forcing groans of need from him, and Logan's jawline felt hot beneath his thick palms as he angled his face to suit himself. Victor's tongue invaded his mouth just as thoroughly and as much without pity as it had Remy's, and Logan wanted to feel ashamed at how he clung to him, how he held onto Victor's wrists. He was panting when Victor let him up for breath. "Get in," Victor snapped. Logan and Remy shot each other a look, then mutually shrugged a "Why not?" before they climbed in. But this time they took a different tack. Victor didn't have a center console in his bench seat, and Remy urged Logan into the middle since he had the shortest legs.

"Like bein' crammed into a sardine can," Logan grumbled.

"Take a chill pill, Shorty; ya ain't got a problem with it," Victor insisted, reaching down to knead his jean-clad knee. He turned out of the lot and lurched into traffic, making Remy hiss in caution. But soon they were on the freeway, and the memory of their last ride down that road came back in sharp detail. Remy had a better advantage this time, without the back seat separating him from his lover.

Before Logan could fully absorb that he was once again in the middle, Remy's mouth distracted him, nuzzling his ear, nipping at it playfully. His hot breath made Logan's jeans feel two sizes too tight across the crotch. Oh, his boyfriend knew he loved his ears� Remy's palm tightened around his thigh, nearly burning him through the denim. Logan felt a desperate, strangled groan work its way from his lips. Victor's hand grazed Remy's fingers, not to be outdone as he slid it over him, finding his bulge again. Logan throbbed beneath his touch and he felt his breathing speed up. They stopped at a red light, and Victor took advantage of their pause to devour Logan's neck, cradling his jaw. Remy's lips steamed his temple and skimmed over the crest of his cheek. "So damn sexy, chere," Remy whispered in his ear, catching his lobe between his teeth.

"He's right, Shorty," Victor rumbled into his neck. "Wanna fuck ya real bad. Real hard." Logan's gut clenched, remembering their first encounter. Would he be able to handle it?

More importantly, if he let Victor take him again, how would Remy handle it? Those questions dogged him but Remy was reaching for him, bringing his face around for a full-contact, tongue-tangling kiss chased away his worries, albeit momentarily. Victor wanted to dominate him in kind, but the light turned green and he heard an impatient honk behind him. Vic rolled down his window and flipped the driver the bird. "FUCK OFF!" he shouted as he made his left turn onto the exit.

"Keep yer eyes on the road," Logan muttered.

"Next yer gonna tell me ta keep my hands on the wheel," Victor joked, giving Logan another telltale squeeze. Logan's dick cramped with the need to push itself further into his grip.

"Keep yer hands on the wheel," Remy quipped. He was only half-joking.

"Nice try, Pretty Boy." Victor reached around Logan and tugged a lock of Remy's hair. Remy caught his hand and lightly bit his fingertip. His dark eyes challenged him. "Aw, yer gonna pay for that. I'll teach ya what happens to ya when ya bite Vic." His voice held growling, dark promise that made Remy's heart pound. Remy held onto his hand a moment longer and pursed his lips around the tip, suckling it.

Vic's dick stood up tall and cried foul.

Mercifully they pulled into Vic's lot and parked in the back, in the least lit corner secluded by a few trees. Victor unbuckled his seat belt with one hand, then reached over with the other to undo Logan's buckle, enjoying the way the older man's abdomen jumped in surprise. "Vic!" Logan scolded, exasperated, but being partially freed from the restriction felt good, and Victor's fingers finding him between the separated flaps of his zipper felt even better. "Fine," Logan muttered, opening his legs to welcome him, "have it yer way, damn it�"

"I'm gonna," Victor promised, and Logan drowned in his kiss, unable to believe he still felt the euphoria of the week before, no less exciting because it was now familiar. Logan arched up into it, craving more of his mouth's sweet, hard punishment and the flex of his fingers pumping his throbbing flesh. He felt Remy's hand covering Victor's, sharing his grip alternating with reaching more deeply into his boxers where they now hammocked his upper thighs, and Remy's tongue distinguished itself, less aggressive, more tender as he cradled his sac.

Two mouths took from him and demanded his attention, but he couldn't divide it between the two of them. Each man appealed to him in their own way, neither one of them any less compelling or passionate. His brain couldn't process the sensations in concert or rank one above the other. He took each delight separately to enjoy them to the fullest, his longtime lovers lips painting his neck in heat before moving onto his sensitive, stiffened nipple; his new fling groping him, urging him to the first climax of the night.

Logan was dangerously close to the brink. "Stop," he panted. "Stop, stop. C'mon. Please. God, please�" His voice just was barely south of a whine when Victor released his dick and patted his cheek.

"Fuck, man, pull yerself together! What are ya, a sex maniac?" he deadpanned as he got out of the car. Remy snorted in disgust and helped Logan back into his pants and kissed him.

"Couldn't help it, chere. Couldn't resist with ya sittin' right there," Remy confessed. They followed Vic up the front steps, hands linked. Victor slowed to let them catch up to him and then took Logan's other hand as he unlocked the door. He squeezed it briefly; Logan squeezed back.

"Home sweet home," Victor welcomed, hustling them inside. His housekeeping hadn't improved much since their last visit, and this time Logan and Remy heard the dripping of water hitting stainless steel from the kitchen.

"Got a leak?" Remy inquired.

"Yeah. Ya could say that. Fuckin' landlord didn't fix my dishwasher. Plumber's comin' on Monday."

"Sorry t'hear it, mec," Remy murmured as he nudged his shoes off and lined them up next to Victor's cluttered dining table. Logan followed suit, setting his beside Remy's, but Victor merely kicked his off and let them land wherever. Logan's neck was distracting him, begging him for possession, and he set upon him with a loud, low hum of hunger. Logan's body arched up into his heat and his arm crept around his neck, hand tangling in all that rich hair. Logan was tired of Victor's ponytail and wanted to free it. His fingers toyed with the small tie before Victor heeded his wishes and took it off one-handed, flicking it on the floor.

"Ya like that?"

"Yeah," Logan groaned, "I do." Logan was a tactile man and loved textures, especially the soft, slick feel of hair brushing over his skin. He adored Remy's, since it gave him something to hold onto when they made love and felt so sumptuous in his hands when he helped him shampoo it in the shower, working mounds of scented foam over it so that it drizzled in runnels over their bodies. With his blond hair unfettered and tumbling down his back, Victor looked wanton, wild, and even bigger than ever. His hair drifted over Logan's shoulder while Victor teased his ear with his tongue, letting it dart inside and thrust in a wet, heated simulation of sex.

Remy was just as fascinated by the feel of it, sweeping it back from Victor's neck on the other side before he leaned in and tasted his flesh, exploring the column of his throat. Victor was right; the kid was the sweet one of the pair, something he wanted to take his time with as the night progressed. Even as he reacquainted himself with Victor's flavors, his palm cradled Logan's cheek, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Logan and Victor's lips met, exchanging teasing kisses and bumping against Remy's digit. Logan angled his mouth just a fraction to let it slip between his lips, and he groaned around it, suckling it and making Remy's cock throb with the promise of that mouth working on him once he undressed. Victor, not one to be outdone, captured Remy's hand and engulfed his long fingers in his mouth, letting his teeth graze the length as he sucked them in and out, steaming them with his breath. The sight alone, let alone the feel and the way that Logan's eyes smoldered as he watched them almost made his knees buckle. He wanted them, and oh, how he wanted them to want him.

Their clothing ended up in a heap beside the couch; they couldn't wait until they reached the bedroom. Frenzied hands roamed over each other, groping and kneading stiffened, throbbing flesh and taut muscle. But this time, Logan's hands guided Victor to Remy's body, seeking out and sharing his favorite places and hot zones. Victor eagerly pulled Remy against him, enjoying the feel of his pliant, lean body and the way he moved his hips, grinding on him and practically riding Victor's long, solid thigh. He felt Logan's lips tracing the line of his back, something that drove him crazy, and greedy palms cupped his ass. He couldn't tell whose. It didn't matter.

They gradually tripped into the bedroom and tumbled across Victor's unmade bed. Logan took a sensory inventory of the room, remembering the dim lighting and the scent of Victor's sheets, the firmness and bounce of his queen-sized bed. In the back of his mind, he realized Victor couldn't be comfortable in it; Remy was tall enough that his heels hung off the end if he didn't bend his knees. The bed had to fit a giant of Vic's size like highwater pants.

Remy was dragged to his back and consumed by them, subsumed into them as one part of a many-limbed beast. They turned him on his side while Victor pumped against him, hooking Remy's leg over his hip and wearing him like a glove. Logan wrapped himself around his back and pushed his cock against his crevice, snuggling himself between Remy's firm cheeks. They teased him and took from him and Remy luxuriated in their heat and the press of their hard bodies surrounding him. Victor strove to remind him of what he'd missed the last time and focused on him aggressively. His hands occasionally met Logan's where he stroked and groped him, but he ignored that for the moment. This was about changing Pretty Boy's mind about him, for the moment. This was about fleshing him out and seeing � tasting � what he was made of. Victor loved the sounds he made and the way he bucked against him, and soon he was crying out his name, no longer as worried about betrayal or seeming disloyalty.

"Victor," he husked. "Feels good, homme."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Feels�good�" he whispered as Victor ground against him faster, harder.

"Nah�that word. Whatever it was that ya called me."

"Homme," Remy gasped. "Means�man."

"That's fine," Victor considered, mentally shrugging. He was just glad the guy wasn't calling him an asshole. Not that Victor hadn't heard it before, but not while he was doing his best work in bed. Well, maybe once, but Raven hadn't been all there, after all. "Tell me some more. Teach me some French."

"Now?" Remy huffed, eyes glazed with lust and half-lidded as he looked up into Vic's face when he paused the movement of his hips. Logan chuckled.

"It's sexy shit, ain't it. I love hearin' him talk t'me in French when we fuck," he added, and Remy whined in desperation when Logan's fingers crept into his crease and kneaded the tiny bud of muscle. "All those words comin' outta his mouth when he's turned on�"

"How d'ya know he ain't talkin' shit `cuz ya can't understand him?" Vic demanded. He nipped Remy's chin and trailed his mouth over his neck. His blunt fingernails dug into Remy's leg, crossing wires in his brain and making pleasure and pain hard to distinguish. Precum leaked from the tip of his sex, slicking him slightly the more Victor rubbed against them. Victor ringed both their cocks in his grip, enjoying the way Remy's luscious length pulsed in his hand.

"Dieu," Remy hissed.

"What was that?" Vic asked Logan.

"It sounded like `oh, God,'" Logan explained as he continued to tease his ass. "Got any lube?"

"Top drawer. Already?"

"In a minute. I'm happy here."

"Fine with me." Remy was growing more worked up with their ministrations and moaned into Victor's mouth, combing his fingers through his glorious hair.

"Chere," Remy whispered. "baisez-moi, s'il-vous plait�please, chere�" Logan's two fingers were twisting and scissoring slightly inside him while his lips were busy along his back. He shocked him occasionally with little bites and Remy butted back against him between Victor's hard thrusts. They met a common rhythm when Logan let his length jut forward between his cheeks and just scraped it along his flesh, enjoying the shallow press and squeeze of his lover. The long, drawn-out teasing was almost as satisfying as taking him hard and fast.

"Now what'd he say?" Victor's eyes were dark with passion as he stared down into Remy's face. He was flushed, eyes cinched shut and mouth slack as he moaned and cried out. Victor's thumb stroked the curve of his lip as he studied him. There was so much to enjoy about Remy when the kid wasn't being a pain in the ass. His nipples were ruched little pebbles, rosy now from the rasp of Victor's hairy chest and Logan's fingertips tugging at them. Naked, turned-on and wanton like he was made him cross that line from handsome to beautiful.

"He said ta fuck him," Logan smirked over his shoulder. "Sounds good in French, don't it?"

"Sounds good no matter how he says it. Thanks fer teachin' me the language, baby," Victor rumbled along Remy's jaw. Victor disengaged himself reluctantly from them and got up to rummage through the side table. "Take it easy. I ain't done with ya yet." Logan rolled Remy to his stomach and misted kisses down his back, drawing small patterns over the crest of his ass to ease him down a notch and give him a breather.

Remy felt rough hands pull his hips back, raising them, and a pillow was tucked under his belly. Fingers spread his round, firm cheeks apart and a supple pair of lips nuzzled his crease, breathing over it. His eyes snapped open as a hot tongue speared itself into him, slicking and gently dilating him, and he let them drift shut again in pleasure. Remy moaned into the mattress, unable to see the look of rapture on Victor's face behind him as he tasted him. Remy's hips lifted and fell in a slow rhythm, bucking up into the sensations, but Victor held him down and made him take what he gave, his way, on his terms. He teased him, running his tongue down from his pucker to his balls, lapping them, sucking on them one at a time, then moving back up to his hole. Remy was hard as a rock, begging as his hands twisted in the sheets. Logan stretched alongside him, sweeping aside his hair and kissing his neck, then his feverish face as he turned to face him.

Victor's cock throbbed for him. He needed to fuck one of them, both of them, it didn't matter, but it had to happen quickly. Logan passed him the bottle of lube, and Victor prepared Remy with building anticipation, dribbling a stream of it into his crack. His thick fingers probed Remy and found his sweet spot, wringing a hiss of pleasure from him. Victor kneaded him, twisting his fingers, gradually adding a third. The stretch stung a bit but Remy was fully aroused and ready for whatever Victor had to deliver. Remy's sheathe was so soft and hot wrapped around Victor's fingers; he felt his younger partner squeeze him as he explored him, welcoming a deeper invasion.

"Damn it," Victor muttered. "Need you." He groped Remy's hips, jerking him up onto all fours and drooling over the sight of that magnificent back and the curves of his ass. His pucker gleamed back at him from the oil as Victor spread him open with his thumbs and rubbed his plump head over it. Logan obliged him, pouring oil over his cock and helping him cover himself; he enjoyed the feel of Victor's flesh in his hand and knew Remy was aching to feel it inside him.

Victor thrust himself inside and felt his eyes nearly pop out at the viselike squeeze of Remy's muscles. "Easy, babe," he said, hearing Remy's sharp intake of breath. Logan caught Remy's shoulder and eased his long fall of auburn hair back from his face. Remy bit his lip and was shuddering as he tried to master the feeling of fullness and cramping as Victor penetrated him.

"Ya all right?"

"Oui," Remy hissed, adjusting himself to the feel of a new partner and Victor's considerable girth. Victor began to move, and his breathing was uneven as he worked himself inside, not yet fully seated.

"Damn, darlin'�yer sweet," he grunted. "C'mere, Shorty."

"What?"

"Give him somethin' t'do with his mouth. We're gonna have him screamin' in a minute here." Victor hit Remy's prostate with a corkscrewing thrust, making their sacs collide, and Remy moaned with the burst of pleasure that caused. "Get in front of him. That's it. Open up yer legs." Victor enjoyed the visual of Remy and Logan bringing each other off the last time, and this turned him on just as much. "C'mon, darlin'. Use that sexy mouth of yers and give yer man some lovin'. That's it," Vic crooned. "Suck on it. Suck that tasty cock. Aw, yeah�" His hips caught an easy rhythm and began to pump in smooth, even strokes. Logan groaned at the feel of Remy engulfing him in his damp heat.

Remy hummed and moaned around Logan's thickness as he took it all, giving and receiving, and it was like a drug, pleasing two men in tandem.

Logan watched Victor's movements and wondered if that was how he looked when he'd had him the last time, huge, powerful and wild, abs and pecs flexing and rippling until they were nearly flat with each snap of his hips. There was something lyrical about his rhythm and his sculpted body, something savage in his expression, as though they'd uncaged a beast. He was sexy and driven, and Remy wasn't the only one benefiting from Victor's performance. Remy took him in his mouth in long, deep strokes, trying to keep up with Victor behind him, and Logan lost anything resembling coherent thought when Remy took him down his throat. He fisted his hand in his hair to hold him there, feeling guilty for a moment at being so rough, but he couldn't help it when he was making him lose control�

Remy tasted salty precum flowing up into his mouth and knew Logan was close. He wanted to see him, hear him come for him, feel him thrust up into his mouth and his thighs quiver and jerk against his cheeks. He loved making Logan come, loved knowing he'd taken care of his needs and given him complete pleasure. But this�this was different. Logan's head was thrown back and his body was taut, cock straining up against Remy's palate with every suck, and he was completely lost. His skin was flushed with arousal and gleaming with sweat that picked out the curves of his generous muscles. Remy's fingers crept up Logan's chest and toyed with his nipple, then scratched their way down his stomach to comb through his thatch of wiry hair at his crotch. Logan arched into it, face straining as Remy pushed him to the brink.

"Shit," he barked as he felt himself pulsing, leaking, then bursting in Remy's mouth. "Oh, shit�" Remy's head continued to bob and swivel, swallowing him down and moaning over his taste, how slick his silky flesh felt in his mouth. Some trickled freely down to the base, and Remy let Logan slip free from his mouth to clean him up with indolent licks. Logan shuddered, groaning and panting brokenly. It was so�good�

"Yeah," Victor breathed. "I like that. I know you liked that," he told Logan smugly as he pumped himself into Remy faster, harder, envying Logan's relaxed sprawl and the look of content smeared over his face as he stroked Remy's hair. Remy's panting breath grew uneven again as Victor picked up the pace. His forehead had been resting against Logan's abdomen, but it lifted up enough to let him breathe freely; his chestnut hair tented his face and dusted over Logan's belly as he began to buck back into Victor's thrusts.

"Baisez-moi, mon ami," he begged him. "S'il-vous plait�"

"He said please nicely," Logan told Victor as he sat up and eased himself back, giving Remy's hands more room to plant themselves into the mattress and bolster himself. Victor's thrusts were clean and smooth, pounding into him and hitting his prostate every time, building overwhelming sensations within him. Remy began to cry out, just as Victor had promised, and his cock was leaking onto the sheets. His eyes would snap open each time Victor found just right spot, hit him just hard enough, just fast enough, pushed him that little bit farther, then would drift shut again as he savored it. "Touch him, Victor."

"I know!"

"Nah. Stroke him. Treat him right. Get a hold of him� that's it. That's how my baby likes it," Logan purred, and he soothed Remy with kisses that he craved. The position was perfect Remy from a standpoint of feeling amazing, but he loved face-to-face contact with Logan when they made love. Victor reached around him and grasped Remy's cock, then pumped it to take him closer to his peak. Remy's moans grew in volume, and Logan was becoming aroused again just listening to him. Victor felt the telltale slickness as his thumb swept over Remy's slit where it wept salty drops. "That's how ya like it, huh darlin'?" Victor thrust himself furiously, sending shocks through Remy's body and making his skin tingle from the impact.

A low, steady moan grew in his chest and sang out from Remy's mouth, growing and swelling into a growling, pleading cry, guttural and overwhelming. His hair whipped out and he threw his head back, teeth clenched as he came spurting over Victor's hand. His body spasmed and he bucked back against Victor; as the blond caught Remy's hair, fisting his hand in it, Remy jerked himself completely upright onto his knees. Victor caught him around the waist and held him through those final aftershocks, through which he squeezed Victor, coddled and drained him with his heat.

Only when Remy was spent and beginning to fall limp against him did Victor allow himself to come. His hips snapped him quickly in harsh, sharp little thrusts before Victor flooded his insides with his hot seed. His body wouldn't stop spasming, and his arms were locked around Remy's body, sharing the last tremors with him. Remy's arm snaked up around his neck and he held onto him, both lending him support and holding himself steady. Logan knelt up to meet Remy and face him, helping him regain his equilibrium.

The look of pleasure on Remy's face was radiant, and his head was tumbled back on Victor's shoulder. Victor's harsh breathing stirred the disheveled tendrils of hair clinging to his cheek. Vic kissed his temple with tenderness that Logan didn't expect from him.

"Damn it, kid." He kissed him again. "That was too good. Ya nearly killed me�"

"Remy�" he swallowed harshly, "�gon' hafta try harder next time." Logan snickered under his breath.

"Brat." Victor's now limp flesh slipped free and both men eased Remy down to the sheets. Victor tasted a drop of Remy's seed from his fingers. Logan watched him with interest, then reached for his hand and lapped up a taste of him, too.

"Don't get carried away there, bub."

"Who's gettin' carried away?" Logan shrugged, giving Victor a smug, hooded look as he lapped up the remains from his hand slowly, then teasingly drew Victor's index finger all the way into his mouth. Victor's nostrils flared and his dick twitched.

"Shit. Fucker. Don't do that�*nnngh*�too soon�" Logan bit the tip of his finger playfully, then sighed, letting him go.

"Rems wore ya out?"

"I just gotta rest my eyes," Victor complained as he stretched himself out and roped his arm around Remy's waist. Remy opened drowsy eyes in confusion. Logan usually slept cuddled at his back, spooning him. But Victor drew a line of nibbling, steamy kisses over the crest of his trapezius, making thoughtful sounds of contentment into his skin. Remy shivered; perhaps this one time, they could make an exception.

Logan wasn't picky. He pulled up the top sheet waist-high and covered them, then eased himself into Remy's arms. Remy cuddled him close, satisfied that he could feel them both wrapped around him as he began to doze off.

"G'night, Shorty," Victor yawned, reaching out and patting his hip before his palm returned to stroke Remy's flat belly.

"Night."

"G'night, chere," Remy murmured sleepily, stamping a kiss on Logan's forehead and squeezing him tight.

"G'night, baby."

"G'night, Remy."

Logan suppressed a smile at Remy's look of surprise. Vic had actually called him by his name.

Chapter Text

Neither man knew when their host crept out. The rumpled room was bathed in the faint blue light of dawn. Logan and Remy lay sprawled apart from each other, barely covered by the cream-colored sheet. Two pairs of drowsy eyes roamed the room, taking inventory of their surroundings. Remy sighed.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. Logan exhaled deeply and ran his fingers over his eyes.

"What?"

"Not'in'."

"Nothin', huh.'

"Gotta piss," Remy grumbled. He kicked his lanky stems loose from the covers and plodded down the hall.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, echoing Remy's previous sentiment. There they were, back at square one. The scenario was almost identical, except this time Logan wasn't hung over, and Remy wasn't... well, he wasn't quite as pissed with him, but Logan felt a change of heart brewing inside him that was driving him nuts.

The housekeeping wasn't helping. Victor's room was a jacked up mess in broad daylight. Logan grumbled as he found discarded clothing that Vic hadn't worn the night before. He gathered them up out of habit and tossed them into the hamper, not caring that he hadn't gotten himself dressed or showered yet. Logan preferred waking up in his own bed, to Remy's familiar face when he was just yawning awake and still had tousled hair, morning breath and a pillow crease across his cheek.

Logan hated the uncertainty that went along with waking up to someone new, yet at the same time, Victor had taken that variable out of the equation. That in turn made Logan feel slightly abandoned, and bereft. On the one hand, Vic hadn't kicked them out again, but he hadn't stuck around for much of a good morning greeting, either.

Logan caught himself and chuckled. "Shit, what am I, twelve?" It didn't matter if Vic wasn't all touchy-feely, did it? No, it really didn't.

Logan was relieved to find Remy in the kitchen a few minutes later, still naked but fiddling with the coffee maker. He took brief satisfaction in the fact that Remy hadn't started a shower without him. Logan came up behind him and leaned against his back, tracing Remy's scapula with his lips. Remy felt a pleasant shiver at the unexpected affection.

"Seem glad ta see me."

"See, I thought it was just mornin' wood. Maybe yer right, though." Logan was at half-mast until he began bumping and nudging against his boyfriend, stroking his smooth, warm skin teasingly. Small, feathery kisses traced a line down Remy's back, and Logan was pleased that they'd remained undressed. Victor's apartment was warm enough, and Logan felt himself waking up a little more as Remy successfully filled the filter with Folgers grounds.

Moments later, the carafe slowly perked, filling with brew that Remy made extra strong, and Logan ignored Remy's half-hearted attempts to lead him back to the bedroom to get dressed.

"What's he gonna t'ink if he finds us in de altogether?"

"Whaddya think? Probably what I'm thinkin' right now," Logan murmured, cupping Remy's nape and tugging his head down for a languorous, sloppy kiss.

Remy resisted the urge to spring apart as the front door was kicked open and they heard Victor's heavy footsteps, accompanied by the rustle of plastic shopping bags. Logan turned around to face him, but he accepted Remy's arms that crept around his waist, enjoying the feel of him resting his chin on his shoulder. "Lazy asses," Victor accused, failing to sound mean about it or smother his grin as he took in the sight in the middle of his kitchen.

He pitched a tent in his thin nylon sweats just looking at the two of them. Had it only been a week ago that he'd had them in his home? Both men were tousled, drowsy-eyed and temptingly naked in the stark overhead light of his stove. "I was gonna feed ya, but I think I just had a change of plans."

"Made coffee," Remy told him casually. Victor read something in Remy's eyes that told him to back off again, and he sighed to himself, wondering what the fuck he'd done wrong this time.

Fuck it.

Victor set down the grocery bags on the stove, closed in on Remy and pushed him back until his rump ran up against the edge of the sink. "What de fuck, homme, personal space, non?"

"Nah," Vic rumbled as he nuzzled him, enjoying the smell of sleep that the kid wore like perfume. He palmed Remy's cheek and leaned down for a long, hard snog, lapping up kisses greedily as though he were catching ice cream drippings. Logan's approach had been more subtle, this was the same effect he'd been aiming for, this questing of flesh wanting to meet flesh and the desperate grind of Remy's hips against him, except he was grinding and rubbing against Vic. The nylon felt slick as it brushed against his cock, and he felt Victor bobbing and rubbing against him, too, making him wonder if he'd even worn underwear to wherever he'd gone. Remy felt Victor take his hand and led it to his crotch, making Remy palm and cup him through the thin layer of fabric. He didn't feel an additional constricting layer, telling him that Victor had indeed gone commando to the store.

Remy was beginning to enjoy Victor's brand of kink.

He felt Logan's eyes on him, but the vestige of guilt he felt at this knowledge diminished when Logan took his hand and removed it just long enough to slide it below his waistband instead. "Get it right, darlin'," he nagged. "Sheesh." Victor rumbled in agreement when Remy's fingers closed around his smooth, hard warmth and slowly pumped him.

They made short work of Victor's clothes. Remy ignored his stomach's growls as he let Victor continue to maul him, tugging him from the counter to the kitchen table. Victor shoved a chair out from it and sat down, spreading his legs and pulling Remy between them.

"I didn't wanna get outta bed when I woke up and saw the two of ya still layin' there asleep."

"Shoulda stayed," Logan reasoned with a shrug and smirk.

"Sure. Convince me ta be a lazy ass," Vic accused. Remy snorted as he straddled Victor's lap.

"Jus' made coffee. How d'ya know you ain' de one slowin' US down?" Victor's hands locked around Remy's waist as he settled himself, enjoying the solid feel of Victor's thighs under him and the unfettered buffeting of his cock. There was a calculating look in those blue eyes that mingled apprehension with lust in Remy's gut.

"Dunno. What makes ya think I'm lettin' ya go any time soon, punk?"

"What's this `lettin' us go' shit?" Logan demanded, straight-faced. But he slid his palm over the back of Remy's neck, collaring it and tilting it for better access. Remy groaned at the rough nips and the bruise he knew Logan sucked to the surface. "Might have places t'go an' people t'see."

"Not on a Saturday mornin'." But then Victor had a thought. His eyes had a wicked gleam. "Unless the two of ya have another date." Remy snorted and yanked a tendril of Victor's hair hard enough to smart. Victor spanked him in response. "Ya like hair pullin', Pretty Boy? I'll teach ya ta pull hair." He groped Remy's ass, kneading the smooth, supple cheek before spanking it again, hard. This time Remy jumped and yelped.

"He does like hair-pullin'," Logan told him. "'Specially when I've got him on all fours... " He combed his fingers through Remy's chestnut tangles, fingernails lightly scraping his scalp. He pulled it back, bunching the long coil around his fist and gave it a little tug while his lips steamed his sensitive ear. The sensation traveled all the way down to Remy's dick.

"Ya like that, huh?" Victor mused. He nipped the edge of Remy's chin and leaned in for a more thorough taste of his throat, lapping circles around his Adam's apple. His mouth was so hot, his tongue felt so velvety. Remy wondered in the back of his mind how he ended up back in the middle again, but Logan pressing against his back and caressing him, pulling at him in tandem with Victor's rough, kneading hands was chipping away at his reserve. Remy sighed. "Whatsamatter?"

"Mebbe I wuz plannin' on gettin' up an' hittin' de shower."

"I know ya are. But yer gonna need one even more in a few minutes."

"Maybe more than a few," Logan reasoned. Remy arched into Logan's fingertips as they toyed with his nipple.

"Might even hafta quit thinkin' about it in terms of minutes," Victor countered, enjoying the direction Logan's mind was moving in, "and just change it to `we're gonna fuck ya til ya can't think straight.'"

Almost halfway there, Remy thought to himself. Logan's fingers rose to Remy's lips and stroked them, enjoying how soft they were. Remy let them slip inside, where he sucked them in long, heated strokes of his tongue. Logan went hard as a rock at the contact, suggesting similar treatment soon of his other "digit". Victor caught Remy's heated flesh and ringed it in his fist, pushing himself into his grip to create friction. Remy worked his hips against his host, grinding into him, into his hand, and pressure and heat began to push him closer to the edge. He throbbed for Victor, but he held himself back just shy of begging him to take him again. A voice inside Remy told him not to make it easy for the blond. He had to work for it.

Logan's damp fingertips plied his nipples again, wet with Remy's juices. They pebbled into hard little buds, rosy and delectable looking. Victor bowed his head to take one in his mouth, and he groaned at how good Remy's flesh tasted.

"Gonna hafta try harder... den dat... Remy's still pretty coherent," he teased. Logan spanked him again for his insolence. Momentary pain brought a pleasurable rash of tingles across his flesh. His rump cooled for a half a second before Logan spanked him again. His tongue laved Remy's shoulder where it met his neck in apology.

"Yer bein' a brat again," Logan warned him. "Don't make me take it outta yer hide."

"What if Remy wants ta make ya take it?"

"Yer the one who's gonna take it." Remy stiffened slightly and his mouth dropped open on a low gasp as Victor spread his cheeks further apart and the bulbous tip of his index finger probed him, massaging the snug ring of muscle and slipping inside up to the first knuckle. Remy squirmed at first, then moved his hips to the rhythm Victor set, bringing himself down against Victor's thrusts. His eyes shuttered in pleasure, and he didn't see the fingers that were stroking his lips again, but he automatically sucked them inside, drawing on them like lollipops.

Victor looked curious but not annoyed when Logan's now damp hand nudged his aside and replaced it, priming Remy for the ride. Remy noticed the difference between their hands, totally familiar with his mate's approach and the stroke of his fingers, the angle at which he crooked his knuckles and the low murmur of his voice appreciating how tight and supple Remy felt. Logan pushed deeper, with two fingers, slowly dilating and stretching him, and Remy inched closer to his peak just from the foreplay from two talented men taking their time with him. The slow, thorough explorations from the night before blew his mind once; his brain threatened to short-circuit and shut down completely when Victor attacked his nipple. Remy laved his palm and reached down between them, slicking both their swollen, engorged heads. Victor voice vibrated through Remy's flesh where he suckled him.

Remy almost protested when Victor released them both, but his eyes burned with need and desire when Victor lifted Remy's hips from his lap a few centimeters and lined his hardness up with his soft pucker. Victor thrust up, breaching him, and Remy slammed himself down in one hard, needy thrust, engulfing him. Victor's eyes widened at the sensation of being completely sheathed in his heat. The kid fit him like a friggin' glove and felt incredible wrapped around him. But then there was his face, features painted with rapture as Victor lifted his hips and began to pulling him against him in hard, neat little snaps.

"Dieu," Remy pleaded. He was hitting his prostate unerringly and he was beginning to see colors and to feel that exquisite pressure building up inside him. His whole body was tingling from the friction and perfectly paced impacts, and Remy found himself leaning into Victor, arms wrapped around his shoulders and cheek pressed firmly against the giant's neck. Remy hated him the week before�even the NIGHT before�so how was it he clung to him this morning?

He reminded himself that it was just a fuck. Again, granted, a memorable, amazing one made better by the fact that it was shared, but still, they weren't clearing any hurdles. Remy knew that this didn't change anything, that Victor was, for the most part, still a stranger, even a poacher.

He prodded himself not to overthink it. He wanted to enjoy it, and Victor was making it impossible not to, especially with his lover reaching between them and groping him in pleasing strokes, no longer teasing him. Remy leaked a thin dribble of slick precum that Logan dragged his thumb through, spreading it around the silky head. Remy lifted his head from Victor's shoulder long enough to lean back for Logan to kiss him. He dominated Remy's mouth, feeding Remy his heat, and Remy moaned desperately, nearly purring over how good it was. Victor grunted, almost envious until Logan gave Remy one more quick peck, right before he came around to the men's sides. Logan hooked his arm around Victor's neck and took his mouth, and this time Victor "mmphed" in agreement, that this was what he craved. The kiss was again dominant and sloppy, and Logan only let him up for breath long enough to turn back to Remy. Each time one of them would recover from one of those drugging kisses, it was the other one's turn. In the back of his mind, Victor realized why it was easy for Remy to let Logan have control; he was thorough about it and focused on him. The guy wasn't up there thinking about baseball scores or remembering that they were out of beer or toilet paper.

Remy looked confused and pissed off when Victor clamped Remy's hips in place, holding him still on his lap. "Turn around," Victor rasped.

"What de fuck?"

"C'mon. Get up a sec. Turn around." He kissed him gently this time and gave his lower lip a light nip. "I want yer man here ta be able ta see ya. I love seein' yer face, Pretty Boy, but I liked takin' this sweet ass of yers from behind, too." He kissed him again, coaxing him to consider it. "C'mon. It'll be just as good."

Remy pondered it, and he realized that Logan had to feel at least a little left out. The night before offered the variable of being able to please him, being at an angle to go down on him. Remy didn't want to be selfish, even though he knew that Logan would do anything for him, but Victor was right.

Remy decided to give Logan some "face time." He gingerly lifted himself off; his thighs were already developing a slight Charlie horse, but he'd weather it. He reversed himself and eased back onto Victor's lap, feeling his arms wrap around him greedily. Victor stroked Remy's flat, muscular abdomen. "Ya feel damned sexy, baby," he muttered. "Gotta watch out fer this one, Shorty."

"I know." Victor just took a moment to caress him, rubbing the head of his cock against Remy provocatively, teasing him with an encore. He kissed Remy's shoulder tenderly, then bit it. Logan closed in on him, looming over him and stroking his hair back from his neck. He twisted it around his fists again and kissed Remy hard.

"I like watchin' ya enjoy it," he murmured to him. "So just enjoy it, fer fuck's sake." It was as if he'd read Remy's mind. Victor chuckled.

"Listen to him, kid." Victor penetrated him again with a low grunt, then groaned at how good it felt to immerse himself once more. If anything, the change in angle made it sweeter, and he liked how Remy's long legs splayed wide open, gracefully taut when they flexed when he pressed the balls of his feet against the floor. Remy rode Vic in clean, even ripples of his hips, chest arched outward, and he tipped his head back onto Victor's shoulder. His arm came up to grip his long blond mane. Victor guided Remy's hips and occasionally touched him, stroking his nipples and belly.

"Get down there," Victor told Logan. "Suck him. Give it to him good, Shorty." Logan was already kneeling, claiming a space for himself between Remy's tapered, muscular thighs.

"Don't hafta tell me twice." He leaned in and breathed over Remy's cock, giving it teasing nibbles to make it bob, twitch and dance.

"Shit," Remy hissed. "Killin' me, chere."

"Ya love it when I do this," Logan insisted as he lapped at him, swiveling around the head with the tip of his tongue. Remy tasted so good, and he was riding Victor for all he was worth, taking everything he had to dish out. Victor slammed up into him, and Remy met the impact with smooth counter-thrusts that made his legs burn and his ass smart, but it was worth it for the high. His climax was close, so close, made even more luscious by the wet swallow of Logan's mouth drawing him all the way inside. Logan closed his eyes and sighed in contentment; thanks to the shift in position, he could taste Remy almost completely unhindered and reach all of him to touch and knead him. He pinched those appealing little nipples and gripped Remy's legs to brace them open. Remy's hand that wasn't tangled in Victor's hair plowed through Logan's this time, guiding him to bob his head faster, shunting in shorter jerks over him. His grip was rough and insistent, and Logan thought it was a turn-on.

He toyed with his own sex, jerking it to ease some of the tension and neglect, but it didn't help when he craved being inside Remy again, even if it was just his mouth. His thoughts flickered back to the week before, with Victor giving it to him for all he was worth. Logan had been sore for two days, and there was the uncertainty of whether he wanted to risk it again. He knew it could be better, if he let it happen again with no surprises, if he let himself go�

He closed himself against the thought. Nah. They'd take turns, if Remy even wanted to continue this�whatever this was, with Vic. But it just seemed�off.

That didn't work for him, either. Remy wasn't a piece of pie. Here, I'll take as many bites as I want, and you have the rest? No. Hell, no. It was so�primitive. Remy deserved better, but Logan was at a loss. Logan sighed, and Remy interpreted the sensation of his voice as intentional, moaning for him to do it again. Fine, then. Logan hummed around him, pleased with his taste and the silky feel of him in his mouth.

He tasted his saltiness and the first musky jet of Remy's essence, feeling his cock jerk and swell against his palate. When Remy released, his balls slapped Logan's chin and he nearly bucked him off. Victor was pistoning so fast, so hard, that Remy's brain felt rattled, but it was incredible, feeling him fill him and work him so hard�

Victor practically roared as he came, his shouts low and guttural, straining his already gruff voice. He spasmed, jerking Remy into his bulk, slamming up into his ass those final few strokes until he drained himself of every drop. Logan made desperate sounds as he tried to swallow the last taste of Remy, holding him still while he cleaned him. Remy panted, chest rising and falling harshly as he tried to suck in enough air to sustain himself. Victor was in better shape, breathing raggedly in great, heaving breaths.

"Fuck," he gasped. "That was some great shit. Fuck," he repeated. Logan nodded, lips still wrapped around Remy's cock. Remy flinched at the little vibration that caused around his still-sensitive flesh, even though he was slowly deflating. He felt marvelously limp all over.

*

Logan was the first one to make it back to the shower, being the only man in the house who could still walk straight. His erection was flagging but still had some life in it. He sighed; blue balls sucked, but Rems was worn out. Vic game him the eye on his way out, but Logan needed a cool-down.

In the light of day, Logan noticed that the bathroom could stand a little freshening. He knew it wasn't polite to knock his host's housekeeping; they were there to visit Vic, not his furniture. But he'd grown so used to Remy's fastidious habits, and Remy had spent so much time "civilizing" him when they got together. Logan knew by rote that the cinnamon went next to the coriander and cumin in the spice rack by now, not next to the oregano or left out on the counter.

That was another detail that was nagging him. They'd been to Victor's home twice. Technically, that meant he called the shots, didn't it? Logan sighed as he lathered himself up with a hard-won squirt of Victor's shower gel. He was almost out. His hard-on was gone by the time the foam reached his toes, and now Logan could spare a coherent thought. Many of them, in fact. What did a person even do with a second boyfriend? Sure, people cheated everyday, but not with the same person. Did you still call it cheating when it was consensual? Better yet, were Logan and Remy each "consenting" to be with Vic, or giving up on each other if they added a third? A pang of dread hit him again.

"Fuck," Logan hissed into the spray. "Now what?" He was overthinking it again. It was inevitable.

"Whaddya mean, `now what'? Ya talkin' ta yerself in here?" Victor accused as he barged inside, yanking aside the curtain to let himself in the tub. Logan snorted and went back to rinsing his hair.

"Rems gettin' dressed?"

"Nah. He climbed on back into bed. He's out like a light."

"Shit," Logan mused. They'd used the poor guy up. Or technically, Vic had. Logan tried not to feel resentful or envious, but it was humbling to see Victor bring him off like that, not only because Logan wished it were him inside him, but because Remy's response was so vivid. Logan's train of thought was derailed when Victor's beefy hands grasped his traps and kneaded them, rolling and manipulating the muscles to un-knot them. Logan didn't realize how much tension he was carrying in his neck until Victor showed it to him. He relaxed and let out a low groan of satisfaction.

"Why the fuck are ya so tight? What's a guy gotta do ta loosen ya up, Shorty?"

"Maybe quit callin' me Shorty."

"All the kids are callin' their sweethearts that these days."

"I ain't a kid, unless it escaped ya, bub."

"Good. I like `em when they've been around the block, darlin'," Victor told him, tugging him back against him, letting his chest graze Logan's broad, hard back. He rubbed the kinks from Logan's neck, applying pressure with his thumbs. Logan exhaled to blow out the tension, gasping slightly when Vic hit a spot that hurt, but he felt an adhesion release with Vic's efforts. "That help?"

"*Nnngh*... smarts."

"That's `cause ya've been carryin' this around fer a while. When's the last time anyone rubbed ya out?" Logan suppressed a chuckle. "Get yer mind outta the gutter."

"Ya asked when the last time was."

"Seriously. Ya gotta take care of yerself."

"I am," Logan argued. "Been busy at work."

"What's `work?'"

"I work at a garage." Victor brightened.

"No shit. Nice. I'm fuckin' a mechanic." Logan chuckled. "Know where I'm gonna go ta change my fan belt next time."

"Don't come around expectin' a discount, bub."

"Bullshit. Ya know I want a deal. I'll sweeten it a little." Victor's hands were making use of the last of the shower gel, slicking Logan's skin to allow his fingers to smooth and work out a knot over his scapula. Logan groaned again, closing his eyes in relief, and eventually making low sounds of pleasure. He leaned his head into the spray, letting his hands prop him against the wall of the shower.

Victor took his time with his other guest, wanting to see to his immediate needs. The trouble with Shorty and the ones like him, namely the strong, silent type, was that they held too much in and denied everything, including themselves. Vic mapped out Logan's back, finding all of the bunched muscles and kinked tendons one at a time, coaxing them into submission with the pads of his thumbs, heels of his palms and his burly, thickened knuckles. Logan's skin felt so firm and supple. In daylight, Victor had the chance to look him over, and he enjoyed what he saw. Logan was built like a brick house, not fat at all, just delightfully sturdy and broad with muscle. His skin was a deep olive; Victor wondered if he had a little Native American or Italian in him, or even a little Portuguese. When his face was in repose, relaxed and eyes drifting shut like they were, there was something vulnerable there that appealed to Victor and that made him want to reach for him. For one wistful moment, Victor wanted to know all of his secrets.

When Logan reached down to adjust himself briefly, Victor found out that he'd just learned one.

"Bet yer nice an' loose now, darlin'," Victor purred into Logan's neck. Logan felt the jut of Victor's cock against his ass and stiffened.

"Don't go gettin' any funny ideas, pal."

"Ain't nothin' funny about it. I ain't plannin' any funny business. Just noticed that ya had another little problem there that needs takin' care of." Victor's hands descended to Logan's waist and he nuzzled his ear, nipping the tender, plump lobe with his teeth. Logan hissed at the playful contact and felt the sensation zero in on his crotch. Fuck. He was hard again. Damn Vic! Victor was closing in on him, his brawny arms snaking around his waist and pressing Logan back against his firm chest. "Ya feel good, Shorty."

"Damn it," Logan scolded. "What the fuck are ya doin'? Ya just got some a few minutes ago!"

"Not from you," Victor shrugged innocently. He stroked Logan's chest and belly, caressing him and tracing the crest of his ear with the tip of his tongue. "Don't want ya ta feel left out or get lonely over here." The water was cooling, and Logan paused long enough to turn up the hot tap a notch. Victor smiled into his hair; he was wearing him down. Shorty was planning to stay in the shower a little longer�

Victor's hands and mouth were getting to him. Logan handed him the shampoo bottle from the caddy hanging over the shower neck. "Ya don't wanna get washed?"

"I'll get us plenty clean," Victor promised mischievously. The rough edge to his voice made Logan's nipples tingle, heightening the sensation when Vic's fingers grazed them. Victor explored his body like he was unwrapping a present, and Logan felt his hard cock, upright and grinding against his crease with each press of Victor's hips. Logan shivered; he was perilously close to letting Victor take him again.

"Vic... "

"What?"

"Shit. I don't know if I can-"

"Shhhhh... that's fine. Ya don't hafta do anything. Not this time." He was already taking liberties, assuming there was going to be a next time, but Vic was nothing if not an optimist. "Ya can't get hung up on it, babe. Ya gotta let go. Ya might like it. Hurts more when ya fight it." Vic's hand, slick with shampoo foam, pumped his hardness, coddling it. Logan's hips worked to push himself deeper into that grip, just how he liked it. "Gotta learn ta relax."

"I ain't used to it," Logan admitted. Victor felt him closing up and didn't want that.

"Lotta folks aren't. Yer used ta takin' the lead. Ya've never let Pretty Boy take a turn at bat?" Victor tugged them back from the spray so that the shampoo suds wouldn't keep getting rinsed away. He soaped Logan's balls, enjoying the slide of soap through his dark thatch of hair. Logan was straining back against him, groans of pleasure rumbling up through his chest. Victor's cock was still pressing against him, and part of him was paranoid that Victor would "let it slip" and take him again. Victor sensed his tension and mentally shrugged.

"Never happened up til now," Logan confessed. Vic appreciated his honesty and decided not to pry.

"Then how `bout we just play? Hm? Just let ol' Vic have some fun instead?" He traced the side of his neck with kisses before turning Logan around to face him. "Whaddya say? Ain't always gotta be about takin' ya for a ride. Don't mean I don't WANNA ride ya, `cuz yer fuckin' hot."

"This ain't junior high. It ain't like ya hafta play Journey in the tape deck, break out the rum an' Cokes, and we play `roamin' hands'," Logan huffed. Vic snickered as he leaned down to kiss that irresistible mouth.

"Nah. All ya gotta do is stand there and spread those legs, Shorty."

"Still sounds like... junior... high," Logan insisted, but all thought and the ability to make his lips form words took a hike when Victor knelt and went down on him. Logan's pelvis rutted instinctively in response; his cock loved his heat, and Logan loved how slick Victor's blond hair felt in his grip as he tangled his fingers in it. Victor hummed around him and he was lost, pushing up on his toes and arching his chest up, shoulders pressed back against the cold shower tile.

The water cooled considerably as they took from each other. Logan didn't object when Victor's fingers probed him, making use of the last of the shower gel. His first digit slipped inside, corkscrewing and thrusting inside him and finding a sensitive little knot of nerves. Logan's voice was strained and his grip on Victor's hair tightened perilously when he gave him too much, too soon. Victor backed off slightly, coddling his dick in his mouth in apology. Logan's hand relaxed and he leaned back to let him work. Victor's head bobbed as he took him in and out, pushing him closer to his limit.

Something about going at it with Remy resting in the next room unnerved him, but Victor was persistent, and forceful, making it clear how much he wanted him, and that he wanted him to come back for more. Victor's second finger eased up into his sheathe, and the stretch deepened, enhancing the feel of Victor's mouth around him as he began to drain him. Logan's precum spurted over Victor's tongue, and he sighed over his taste. He probed and teased that sweet ass, enjoying the clench of Logan's muscles and the way his whole body stiffened with his thrusts. He was squirming, pressing back and letting out those little sounds that drove him nuts, but this wasn't about Vic. He wanted Logan to want it, eventually. Victor already had his daily dose, so he was set.

But this guy�he was stubborn.

He found Logan's prostate and kneaded it, making Logan's eyes snap open wide. "Fuckfuckfuck!"

"Mmmmmmmm�"

"Vic...fuck�" He was losing coherence and control as Victor continued to swallow him down, one salty drop at a time.

He added a third finger.

Logan's fist pounded back against the shower wall. Toomuctoomuchtoomuchtoomuch�fuck. Fuck. FUCK. He was taking him deep, all the way down his throat, lips protectively guarding his vulnerable flesh from his teeth, sucking him for all he was worth� Victor's hand was nearly fisted inside him, up deep enough to stimulate his prostate and coax him over the edge.

Colors. He saw fucking colors before he exploded in Victor's mouth. The water in the shower was ice-cold, but he hardly felt it. He couldn't stop spasming and jerking, practically jack-knifed over Victor's body as he came, and came, and came again. His breathing was choppy, bursting out in sharp pants. Despite the water cascading into the tub, his skin broke out in a tingling rash of sweat. He was flush in the aftermath of his climax, and Logan went almost completely limp. Victor's fingers slipped from him gently and he cleaned away the last of his seed with slow, lazy licks. Victor backed away while he was still on his knees, then reached around to slap off the shower knob. The abrupt stop of the spray startled Logan, not realizing how much of a hypnotic effect the sound of the shower had on him in concert with Victor's seduction. He stumbled from the tub, hissing in annoyance when Victor had to catch his arm to prop him up.

"Ooh... sorry, Shorty."

"Geez... "

"C'mere." Victor whipped a towel from the rack and began to rub him down. He loved the feel of his thick, unruly locks as he tousled it with the terry cloth. "Clean as a whistle."

"I'm ready ta collapse."

"I was just about ta kick ya out," Victor deadpanned. Logan scowled at his reflection in the mirror. Victor's lips twisted.

"Just fuckin' with ya. Get back in bed."

Logan couldn't tell how long they'd napped. Remy hardly budged when he crept under the covers and spooned against him, and Logan was so drowsy that his impression of Victor cuddling at his back was hazy at best. He fell asleep with his boyfriend's hair tickling his nose and solid, cozy warmth wrapped around him. They hadn't even been out on as much of a bender as the weekend before; this time Victor took the "blame" for wearing them both out.

It was decadent to waste time and just loll around the sheets. Saturdays were usually just an extension of Friday for Remy and Logan, full of errands, chores, trips to the gym, and getting caught up on things they didn't finish during the week. Once in a while, they broke up their routine with a road trip, but their weekends were anything but.

The cheek that was pressed into Logan's neck shifted, allowing a light kiss to land on his shoulder. "You hungry?"

"Yeah... �shit. What time is it?"

"Noon." Remy squinted and scowled, resembling a pissed-off kitten.

"What de hell?"

"Whatsamatter? Got somewhere t'be?" Victor looked incredulous as Remy began to struggle up from Logan's chest and tossed aside the covers.

"Could've," Remy muttered. Logan sighed.

"Ya never said ya had any plans," Logan reminded him.

"Don' mean I didn' have shit t'do," Remy retorted.

"Don't hafta get all huffy about it," Vic snorted. "Listen ta this guy," he said, giving Logan a poke. Logan made a face and shook his head. "Chill the fuck out. C'mon. Eat. I brought home food."

"Didn' hafta do dat," Remy tossed over his shoulder as he began to look for his clothes. He found his boxers and had one foot into them before Victor reached for him. One brawny arm snaked out and caught Remy around the waist, yanking him back. "What de� - c'mon, mec, lemme up!"

"Ya think ya got plans, huh?"

"M'serious, homme, c'mon! Leggo!" Remy was annoyed, but it was hard to resist the playful smirk spreading across Victor's lips, or the amusement that twisted Logan's. His lover wasn't any help as he backed up to the other side of the bed, making room for Vic to wrestle him back down to the mattress. Remy's scowling brows battled with the chuckles that escaped his lips in fits and starts as Victor mercilessly tickled him.

"Fucker!" Remy hissed. Victor's long, thick fingers jabbed and nipped at him, digging into his vulnerable sides and scrabbling over his taut belly. "Stop `im, cher!" he accused as he attempted to duck into Logan's chest, but Victor caught his wrists, eventually anchoring them over his head. Remy's eyes widened at Victor's gall, and his feet kicked out frantically as he tried to free himself. Logan chuckles weren't helping any, and Remy promised himself he'd make him pay, somehow, once they were back under their own roof.

"Damn, Rem, dontcha ever get enough? What's this?" Victor bowed his head, not caring about Remy's struggles, and he breathed over his nipple, which was already so stiff it ached. Remy groaned and whimpered in frustration.

"Damn it, quit it!" he warned, but he arched into Victor's mouth, even as he wanted to shrink back from his torturous digits. Remy yelped as Logan reached over and poked him in the armpit.

"Sorry, darlin'. It was right there, wide open. Couldn't leave it alone."

"Gon' hafta leave it all alone, mec. Ain' lettin' ya touch me fo' a week, y'hear?"

"Awwww," Victor complained, eyes glinting up at Remy as he took hold of his nipple again, lightly scraping it with his teeth. Arousal shot straight to Remy's groin again, and he felt the burgeoning hardness of Logan's sex against the side of his thigh. "Gotta quit bein' a stick in the mud."

"I ain't - �aw, merde�" Remy hissed as Logan joined him in tickling him, but his fingers were gentler, more teasing, and he tasted his skin with his flattened tongue.

They'd meant to let Remy up after they were done messing around with him, just to get his goat, but the pull of the bed's firm, bouncy mattress and rumpled, soft sheets was too strong to ignore, and all three men felt too indolent and content to bother with clothes yet. Neither Logan nor Victor could resist the siren call of Remy's graceful, sculpted body, bedroom eyes or tousled hair that begged them to tangle their hands in it.

They abandoned their assault of their victim and just played. Logan caressed him, taking his time to just enjoy his smooth, warm skin and his low moans of approval, a complete turnaround from their almost frantic joinings earlier. Victor just watched him, rapt, intrigued with his responses to his touches and the way he seemed to lean and arch into each one, addicted to them. Remy opened his eyes and was surprised to see Victor staring into his face.

"What?"

"Nuthin'," he shrugged. Victor fingertip tilted Remy's chin up for a more tender kiss than he thought him capable of. Remy sighed into it, confused but giving in to it. Victor released one of his hands, and Remy automatically threaded his fingers through Victor's locks.

His pleasure was cut short when Victor caught his hand again, hauled it up, and attacked his side again. "MERDE! FUCK!"

"Gotcha!" Victor snickered. "Kiddin'. Sorry. Couldn't help it."

"You can try," Remy snapped.

"We ain't bein' fair to him, Vic," Logan murmured as he stroked Remy's belly and toyed with the soft nest of hair surrounding his sex.

"Yer right. That was mean." He nuzzled Remy's neck. "Hm? I was bein' bad?"

"Hmmph." Remy glared at him, but he leaned his head back to give Victor more room.

"Hm? Gonna forgive me?"

"No." But Remy didn't fight it when Logan's leg tangled with his or when Victor's tongue traced the curve of his ear. Slowly he surrendered as they took him again, this time bringing him off with just their mouths. Logan pulled him away from Victor and tried to roll him beneath him, but Victor was stubborn, reaching between them for Remy's cock. Remy bucked up into his knowing grip, and Logan was torn, watching his lover's pleasure but wanting to give it to him himself. He kissed Remy and then descended his body, nipping and teasing him on the way down. Victor had already beaten him to the punch, cock disappearing in long, deep shunts down his throat. But Logan wouldn't be denied or left on the sidelines, and he closed his fist around Remy's throbbing flesh, blocking Victor's swallows.

"Make room for me," Logan ordered. Victor smirked, then nodded, and Remy laid back, confused until he felt one mouth steadfastly lapping at his sac, while the other suckled the plump, rosy head. He let his thighs drop open wide for their attentions, letting them spoil him a bit longer. Logan and Victor's low, smothered growls and grunts of satisfaction of how he tasted were a turn-on.

Logan finally had his way, nudging Victor out of the way as he shifted his body and monopolized Remy's sex, bring himself back along Remy's body, but this time so that his head faced Remy's crotch. "I see how ya are," Victor muttered, but he sounded amused. Remy took the hint and grasped Logan's hips, rolling him so that Logan lay atop him, cock dangling over his lips. He imbibed him without another word, and the room was filled with their groans of pleasure. Victor was jealous, but they left him an opportunity, wide open. Logan's hips were thrusting into the rhythm Remy set, pushing his flesh more deeply into his hungry mouth.

They rolled, and Remy insinuated himself on top of him this time, but they never broke their connection, leaving Victor with a perfect, greedy view of Remy's ass. Remy grunted in surprise as something warm and slick slithered over his sensitive pucker, and then began to thrust into him in concert with Logan's mouth. Both men drove him to a fever pitch again, and every sound he made vibrated through Logan's flesh, humming around his cock and driving him wild. His hands gripped Logan's thighs apart, fingers digging into his vulnerable skin as he sucked, and sucked, and pulled on him, lips fastened around him firmly, tongue leaving him hot and slick as he grew harder. Remy felt Logan's sex cramp and twitch against his palate, indicating that he was close. Victor's broad palm stroked Remy's back while he took him, but his other hand held him just still enough, just enough of a willing captive to let Logan dictate the pace from his position.

Remy shattered. In the back of his mind, a voice from his subconscious demanded "Haven't these two gotten enough?" He felt Logan cleaning him, gently nudging him to roll him to his back as Remy let him slip out of his mouth, albeit reluctantly. His heart was still pounding from the rush and his limbs felt deliciously limp. His face was drowsy with bliss as he collapsed back against the pillows.

"I think we killed him," Victor muttered. He looked pleased. Logan stroked Remy's knee fondly.

"Still in there, Rem?"

"Nnngh�"

"Kinda," Logan decided for him. He eyed the clock guiltily. "Okay, this time, we've really gotta get moving."

"What about you?" Victor pouted.

"I'm good." Logan cupped himself in his hand protectively so that Vic didn't get any�... well, anymore ideas. Victor shrugged.

"Even if ya don't wanna eat here, take something with you. It's more than I planned to have by myself." He leapt up from the bed and strode toward his bureau, where he retrieved a clean pair of boxers. Remy stared in silent dismay at the state of the bedroom. The obsessive-compulsive side of him longed to neaten the empty hangers sticking up from the rack in the closet and to dust the neglected dresser top before they left, but he knew it would be presumptuous.

He settled for making the bed while Logan found their respective clothing and while Victor headed off to the bathroom. "Hey, Rem, look at this."

"Look at what?"

"This picture." Logan wandered over to the side table and picked up a five-by-seven photo in a plain black frame. "It's Vic." Remy peered down into it and chuckled under his breath.

"Damn. He's younger an' skinnier in dis one." "Skinny" was still a relative term to use for him, but the picture looked like it had been taken nearly a decade ago, perhaps when Victor was barely a year out of high school. He stood next to a friend, both of them wearing nearly identical boxing gear and long, shiny red satin shorts. Both of them had training gloves on and were striking hammy muscle poses for the camera.

"That's a riot. Wonder if he still competes."

"Ask `im before we take off." Logan was about to set the picture back down, but Remy took it from him first; he blew away the dust clouding the glass and wiped the top of the frame off with his fingers.

They were already dressed by the time they heard Victor's electric razor from the corridor and smelled his body spray and toothpaste. Victor cracked the door open as they were about to walk past, then grinned at them.

"Two of ya look like hell warmed over."

"Wonder why," Remy mused, flipping him the bird. He resented how fresh he looked, when he was worn out, but he wasn't sorry. "Lemme use yer brush?"

"Ain't into the natural look, Pretty Boy?" Victor tossed it to him and smirked, then thought better of it. It would've been nice to have had Remy in the shower, too, just to wash that long hair. Victor liked simple luxuries, even though he'd never say so out loud. Remy whipped it through the tangles and pulled it back into some semblance of a ponytail, good enough for the moment. Vic didn't mind kissing a spare elastic goodbye.

Remy sorted through the plastic bags on the kitchen table and poured himself a cup of the abandoned coffee, chagrined that it tasted slightly burnt. They were lucky their little "distraction" hadn't set the kitchen on fire. Remy searched through the fridge and found only nonfat milk that was two winks shy of its expiration, but it would have to do. The coffee could still strip paint from a barn even after he lightened it, but he downed half his cup before he continued rooting through the groceries. Victor had purchased a random assortment of goodies, such as bagged salad, a Costco-sized drum of whey protein shake mix, a loaf of Roman Pride bread, bananas, apple juice concentrate, honey nut Cheerios, more meat (no surprise), and a box of donuts. Automatically he began to put the groceries away, mentally tsking at the dishes that were still in the sink from the night before.

"Don't stand there doin' yer best June Cleaver act, bub. Sit. Eat."

"Sooner we do it, sooner it's outta de way, mec." Victor looked amused as the tall Cajun rooted through his pantry, shaking cereal boxes and tasting a few flakes of each to check for staleness. He pulled out the kitchen trash can from beneath the cabinet and wrinkled his nose. "Somet'in' smells a lil' ripe."

"I told ya, my dishwasher's on the fritz." Remy nodded, remembering the detail. He opened up the fridge and rummaged through it, finding sweating produce that hadn't been eaten on time or disposable Tupperware containers that still cultured "science projects" that made him shudder.

"Don' spend a lotta time at home, huh."

"You talkin' smack about my place?"

"Non." Remy whistled cheerfully to himself as he continued to clean out the fridge.

"Hope ya weren't plannin' ta kick us out too soon," Logan murmured. "Kid's runnin' on autopilot."

"He always this fussy?"

"Is the Blue Men Troupe blue?" Logan patted Victor's ass sympathetically and poured himself a cup of the burnt coffee. Remy moved about the kitchen, bagging up the trash so they could take it out to the curb on their way to the car. He retrieved a couple of clean plates and opened the donut box, then selected the old-fashioned one for Logan.

"Ya don't hafta do that."

"Rule in our place is, whoever don' make de breakfast, does de dishes," Remy explained simply. "You brought home de breakfast." Victor sighed, then shook his head.

"Yer just tryin' t'be nice an' act like ya don't think my place is a sty."

"Remy didn' say dat." He already had a sponge soaped and the few clean dishes in the rack put away to make room for more. He paused and crossed the kitchen, joining Victor where he leaned back against the counter with his coffee. Remy insinuated himself in his personal space, hooking his fingers through Vic's belt loops. Victor moved his cup out of the way to let Remy lean up and claim his mouth in a contrite, thorough kiss.

"Hey, that's enough of that," Logan nagged from the table, but he was smirking. Remy would get his way, one way or another; Victor would have to learn to deal with it. Remy let him up for air, patted Victor's chest, did an about-face, and went back to the dishes. Victor tsked, then chuckled. Minutes later, the food was put away, the counter was wiped, the refrigerator shelves were spotless, and the silverware was arranged in all of the correct slots in the drawer.

"You can start de car if ya want," Remy told him as he finished his coffee. He washed his cup instantly and reached for a donut, wrapping it up in a paper towel.

"Just gonna clean an' run?" Victor inquired dryly.

"Errands," Remy shrugged. Logan didn't want to add that they were exhausted, and that they needed a nap in their own bed, eventually. Overstaying their welcome was tempting, but he felt the way he had as a kid when a sleepover lasted too long into the next day. You and your friends got bored, and you got tired of not being able to play with your own stuff and follow your own parents' rules, or sleep in your own bed.

Remy champed at the bit to go, too, even though he'd enjoyed himself. He needed time to mull it over, and if they didn't stop him, he was likely to find something else to clean. Helping out a little was one thing, but overdoing it would hurt their new fling's feelings. It was ironic to him that it even mattered in the light of day, when he wanted Vic to kiss off the night before. Logan grabbed the garbage bags while Victor took the keys off the hook next to the phone.

The sunlight almost hurt Remy's eyes as they stepped outside. Victor looked pleased; Logan still found it odd that someone who had a night job like his could still be such a morning person. They piled into the car, and Remy ended up with shotgun; Logan deferred to his long legs this time. The ride home was relatively subdued, and even Victor was quieter this time.

The blond mulled over his options. It was easy enough to give them his number the last time. He decided to take a different tack. He pulled into their lot and simply watched them as they unbuckled their seat belts. Remy stared back at him and his brows drew together. "What, mec?"

"It was fun," Victor shrugged. "Ya gonna tell me yer grass is still greener, Pretty Boy?" Remy stiffened.

"Dat what ya wanna hear?"

"We'll get goin'." Logan was nonplussed and tired, and his body craved fresh clothes and his toothbrush. He got out of the car and came around to the driver side window. He waited for Vic to roll it down for him, and he gave him a perfunctory peck. Remy decided to make his way inside already, and he slapped the door shut without any further comment.

"Bye, babe." Remy waved without looking back. Logan sighed.

"Don't fuck with him."

"It's fun." Victor grinned up at him as he removed his foot from the brake. "Get in there. Ya look like hell, Shorty." Logan made a sound of disgust and backed off as Victor pulled out of the lot.

The thought occurred to him that he didn't know if that was Victor's idea of a see you later, or a goodbye. It burned him.