Work Text:
Logan rolled off of Remy, breathless and covered in a thin layer of sweat. Remy reached up and brushed his own hair away from his face, ignoring the tangles and the damp feel it had. He could shower later. Right now, he still had to at least get his heart beating at a normal pace again.
There was a small space between them. Neither of them made a move closer to one another, nor did they shift apart. Remy spared a brief look at Logan, whose eyes were closed in an expression of content (though his frown was still there; Remy figured it was permanently etched on his features at this point). Slowly licking his lips, he propped himself on one elbow, smirking down at him with one eyebrow raised. Logan cracked one eye open, already appearing a little annoyed.
“Remy wore you out, didn’ he?” His voice rang with pride, but Logan’s grunt was dismissive.
“Take it as you will, kid.” Logan relaxed in the bed again, his breathing becoming steadier now. Remy watched his face quietly with a grin, fighting the urge to lean over and kiss him again. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was about Logan that always made him want more. He shook it off though, trying not to overthink it.
After a few minutes, Remy forced himself to get out of bed. Resisting his longing for Logan was probably for the best. He didn’t want to seem clingy. Pulling on some boxers, he walked towards the adjoining kitchenette, figuring something to eat couldn’t hurt. He fished through the fridge and pulled out two beers and a half eaten sandwich from the day before, unwrapping the sandwich for himself and opening the beers. He took a large bite of the sandwich and took one beer in each hand, walking over to the bedroom – only to be stopped halfway when he saw Logan half-dressed, jeans slung low on his hips, his wifebeater in his hand. Remy fought back the twist of pain in his gut. There was no room pitying himself. What did he expect Logan to do? Stay?
He quickly lifted one of the beers towards Logan, allowing a small smile when he took it. Logan muttered a low ‘thanks’, taking a long swig before handing it back to pull the wifebeater over his head. He took the beer again and walked past him into the kitchen. Remy couldn’t help laughing when Logan found the sandwich he’d left out for himself. “Ever occur to you dat de sandwich may’ve been Remy’s?”
Logan didn’t even hesitate to eat it. “Yeah,” he said, mouth half-full of food. “Then I realized that I was still hungry, and this was sitting here just waitin’ for me.” As if to prove his point, he took another bite.
Remy rolled his eyes, taking a long drink of the beer. He leaned against the doorway that led into the bedroom, watching him. Logan must have felt his eyes on him, because he set the sandwich down, glanced out the window, and quickly finished off the beer. Remy knew it was time for him to leave.
“Remy’ll be seein’ you again soon, non?” He let Logan brush past him again and fetch his jacket.
“Maybe,” was all he got in reply. When Logan walked past him again, his jacket was over his shoulders, he had his motorcycle keys in one hand and his boots pulled on haphazardly.
Remy watched him walk out the door, his smile fading as his eyes drifted to the floor, the silence bearing heavily on his own shoulders.
--------------------
The moonlight was still shining through the windows when Logan pulled on his jacket again. It was a little worn, one sleeve bearing new marks on them that Remy didn’t quite remember from last time. “Leavin’ so soon, cher?”
Logan didn’t turn to face him. “Can’t stay.”
“A nap won’ kill you, mon ami.”
“No,” he said quietly, sitting back down on the bed to grab his shoes. “Not me.”
Remy let the words sink in, but he didn’t ask, laying back in the bed, one hand thrown back on the pillow above his head, the other resting over his abdomen. He stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles and idly noticing the cracks in a few of them. Out of curiosity, he craned his neck and looked behind him, a smirk gracing his features when he saw one sharp crack from where the headboard had rammed into the wall.
“So, Remy gon’ see you again?”
Logan looked back at him, his eyes briefly drifting over his form, spending an extra second or two on where the blanket was loosely draped over his hips. “Maybe,” he said, standing and straightening his jacket out. Remy watched, the smile long since gone, as Logan left, his footfalls echoing through the motel room.
Remy’s fingers prodded at one particularly red scratch over one hip, the pain dull by now.
--------------------
Sometimes, Remy was in the strangest places. Logan used to be able to find him in New Orleans – which if he remembered right, he was exiled from a long time ago – but now he started branching out to neighboring states, one time finding him deep in Nevada. Remy always had a way of finding tourist spots with a load of easy suckers who carried more money than they ought to be responsible for.
Still, he found him one way or another. Asked around, kept his nose up, listened carefully. Remy didn’t leave clues, but sometimes there was always a sign just for Logan, a way he knew where Remy would be. There were even times Remy simply sent a letter to the Xavier Mansion, depicting only an address and a date on a piece of paper, and Logan heeded the call like a trained dog. He never questioned it. He never thought twice. Sometimes that bothered him, how he always turned to Remy and no one else, but the prospect of seeing him again took his mind off of it just long enough to make the ride there and get to the next motel where Remy was staying. He didn’t want to think about being attached to the Cajun in any way.
He knocked just twice, and no matter what time it was, Remy answered within moments, pulling him inside and starting everything all over again.
--------------------
“You gon’ come back to Remy one day, cher?” This time Remy slid a leg over Logan, straddling him, his hands splayed over his chest, eyes drawn to whatever imaginary patterns he was drawing. Remy swallowed when Logan’s hand slide up his thighs and shivered when he dragged his nails back down as he pulled his hands back again.
“Maybe.” Logan didn’t meet Remy’s gaze. His eyes were fixed on a set of faded scars on the inside of his thighs.
“Perhaps Remy can convince you to stay a while longer,” he purred, and soon he was rolling his hips over Logan’s, making him growl and moan, sending his mind over the edge and letting him lose himself in everything that was Remy. Logan flipped them over and ground his hips roughly against Remy’s, eliciting a sharp gasp from him. Still, Remy wasn’t one to give in easily, and maybe that’s what he liked so much about him. The way he fought, the way he didn’t give in. Remy and Logan had worked together on missions before, and something about them just clicked. Both of them had a ferocity in battle that would always keep them going and a connection that made them compatible, knowing what the other was thinking, able to predict what the other would do. They were set into place, two pieces of a puzzle that fit beautifully. Logan saw the fight in Remy’s eyes when he was in battle, and none of that changed here.
Remy rolled them again, one hand stroking them quickly while the other braced again Logan’s strong shoulder, using him as leverage. Logan reached for the discarded tube beside them but Remy knocked it out of his hands, saying that he was ready, that he didn’t need more from their first round. Logan felt himself hesitate, but he knew that Remy was aware of his limits. He licked his lips and watched as Remy lowered himself onto him, his moan long and low, both hands reaching out for the headboard. He adjusted much faster than the first time, lifting his hips and sliding down again, building a fast pace.
Remy rode him hard, muttering in French between long moans and quiet gasps. Logan couldn’t understand him – he told himself he’d try to get some basic French down for these short meetings – but he was certain he got the basic idea. He reached for Remy’s neglected length and stroked him, clutching at the sheets with his free hand as he drew closer to release. He bucked his hips up sharply with a groan as he came inside of him, watching as Remy finished himself off with a cry of his name, the wood of the headboard slightly splintering under his powerful grip.
Unexpectedly, Remy collapsed over him, his hair cascading over his back (it’s shorter than Logan remembers, and now he can’t help but miss the long length of copper-red hair), which rose sharply with each breath he took. Logan didn’t know what to do with his arms, wasn’t sure if he should leave them at his sides or maybe wrap them around Remy. He’d never been conflicted like this, never felt this kind of urge before. As soon as it showed, Logan realized he was in dangerous waters.
Remy apologized and forced himself up on shaking arms, withdrawing from him and rolling onto the open space to the left of Logan. He spared a glance over to Remy, whose eyes were closed with an expression of concentration mixed with… sadness, of some sort. Pain. Logan looked away. Guilt was swelling deep inside of him.
Exhaustion nearly won him over, but right before he drifted into sleep, he forced himself to sit up, rubbing his face tiredly to try and shake his need for rest. He’d had longer nights, and this wouldn’t be something new. After all, he couldn’t do that to Remy. He couldn’t risk him like that. He stretched towards the ceiling and stood, lazily grabbing his boxers and his jeans, pulling them on tiredly.
“You not gon’ sleep for a bit?”
“No,” he said, maybe a little too quickly.
“Never seen you sleep, Logan,” Remy said slowly, and Logan felt his eyes on his back. “Always running out befo’ you even get proper shuteye.”
“So?” he asked, and maybe he snapped a little more than he meant to. Remy couldn’t get that close. He couldn’t let that happen. People got hurt when they got too close, and Remy wouldn’t be the next name he added to that list.
Remy took the hint, sitting up slowly and shrugging, more to himself since Logan was still turned around. “Nevermind. Remy knows you’ve got places to be.”
They both knew it was a lie, but they didn’t say another word to each other on the manner.
All Remy knew was that Logan wouldn’t be back for a while, and he sure as hell wouldn’t stay longer than he meant to.
--------------------
It was a long time before Logan came by again.
When he did though, Remy could tell – he knew enough about Logan by now – that he was making up for it. When Logan knocked on the door, two sharp knocks as usual, he stood there for a moment when the door opened, unwilling to look Remy in the eye. Remy wasn’t expecting change, he wasn’t expecting an apology, but even in the silence he could sense that Logan felt remorse. Remy didn’t pull him in, however. This time, he allowed Logan to lead him.
He was guided to the bed and pushed back onto the mattress. He crawled backwards until he was comfortable on the pillows. As soon as he was settled, Logan leaned down over him, pressed a firm kiss to his lips and rested his forehead against Remy’s. A low sigh escaped him and his eyes closed, a hand cradling the back of Remy’s neck gently.
He left at dawn, never once falling asleep.
--------------------
When they next met, it wasn’t in a motel; Logan was in Georgia, filling up at the only gas station he could find along the deserted road. His leather jacket was slung over the back of his bike, his shoulders had a dark tan from the heat of the sun, and – as Remy noted with amusement – he was sweating profusely through his tank top. As Remy pulled up in a bike of his own, he was grinning at the sad sight. Canadian through and through, he thought.
“You gon’ die of heat stroke down here, mon ami,” Remy said with a smirk, approaching him, parking his bike at the gas pump opposite of Logan’s.
Logan raised an eyebrow at him. “You followin’ me or somethin’, kid?” Of course it was all in good humor.
He rolled his eyes. “Remy’s yo’ friend, cher, but he ain’ yo’ fanboy.”
Logan laughed, and it made Remy smile. He turned and started to fill his own bike, busying himself by pulling out the change he needed. Logan was done before he was, and he paid with what little he had and pocketed his wallet, wiping his brow. Stowing his leather jacket away in the compartment on the bike, he decided he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, so he took a seat on his own bike, watching Remy.
“Business o’ pleasure?” Remy called, eyes glinting with amusement. If he were honest with himself, he’d say that he was just trying to go back to how things were, before the last time Logan had seen him… How strange the silence was between them, how Logan didn’t even do so much as remove Remy’s clothes until he’d been there at least an hour. All they did was exchange kisses and soft touches. It wasn’t the rough treatment Remy was used to. It wasn’t the fast and needy encounter he’d become accustomed too.
Of course, that didn’t mean he was averse to change.
Logan laughed through his nose, then shrugged. “Xavier’s got me seekin’ out a few mutants down here.”
“So, yo’ makin’ a road trip out o’ it?”
“If it means I don’t gotta fly,” he said with a shrug, and it made Remy smile yet again. Maybe he wouldn’t be taking Logan in his plane for a while, then.
Remy filled up his tank, paid, and rounded the bike to sit on his bike seat, facing Logan. He stretched his legs out and crossed his arms, a smirk still set in place.
It only took a minute or so before Logan asked, “How the hell haven’t you gone into heat stroke wearing that damned trench coat?”
Remy shrugged this time. “Get used to de heat. Anyone who spotted you in a tank would know dat you ain’ from aroun’ here. It ain’ even dat hot!”
“Says you,” Logan said, though it was bitter playfulness, something Remy was grateful for.
Silence fell over them, and Logan stood finally, making Remy stand quickly after him.
“I’d better get goin’,” he said, and Remy felt regret building inside of him. Don’t let him go, not yet, but Remy couldn’t bring himself to say anything to make him stay. He couldn’t get attached like this. They fooled around once in a while, did a mission together here and there, but that was it. Finally, he nodded. “I’m headin’ west,” Logan added, and Remy blinked, realizing that maybe it was some sort of invitation to ride with him. Remy paused, unsure how to react. His mind raced, knowing what he wanted to do, but also what he had to do.
“Nort’.”
Logan’s eyes fell to the ground as he nodded, and he gave him one last look before straddling his motorcycle, starting the engine, and pulling out of the gas station. Remy watched him leave, anger flooding through him as he paced around his bike, turning to the first solid object and sending his fist right through it, the kinetic energy in his hand sending the gas meter flying back, the hose for the gas simply dangling from above. He mounted his bike quickly and sped off, leaving skid marks behind.
He didn’t realize that Logan had slowed down as he’d gone further down the road and witnessed the entire thing through the mirror.
--------------------
Three months.
That was how long it had been. No letters with addresses from Remy meant something had happened. What that something was, Logan didn’t know. He had good senses, but he wasn’t some goddamn mind-reader.
Logan never before asked Charles to seek Remy out, mostly because he never had to, and Logan had enough patience to where a few meetings here and there over the span of a few weeks didn’t concern him. As soon as the three-month mark passed since running into Remy at the gas station, he knocked on Xavier’s door, asking if he could help locate the Cajun.
Charles didn’t have much to say on Remy. They’d seen each other maybe once or twice, but that was all. He confided that Remy’s mind was unique, and his mutation made it nearly impossible to locate and contact him. Logan forced back a biting retort that his answer simply wasn’t good enough, that there had to be a way to find him. As much as he wanted to help, Charles had nothing to offer. Frustrated with himself and feeling regret for not following after Remy that day, Charles intervened on his thoughts and left him with a few words as he escorted him out: Let him come to you. He will when he’s ready.
--------------------
Four months, twenty days, and nineteen hours.
Logan still paced the mansion, checked the mail every day, even walked the outer perimeters of the campus, hoping he’d find something Remy left behind. He asked the students to turn in anything suspicious or odd that they found to him, but nothing showed up.
Ororo noticed his anxiety as of late, but didn’t ask what it was about. Simply put a hand on his shoulder and told him to wait. Things take time.
Logan shook his head. Not like this.
--------------------
Five months, twenty-one days, and thirteen hours.
Remy pulled up to the mansion on his bike. It was late at night, but there was a single light on, and it took no genius to know who it was, so restless in the night like he always was.
Remy let himself in and took a left, heading into the kitchen. The light was considerably bright on his eyes, but it only took a few seconds to adjust. He glanced over at Logan who was smoking a cigar, his eyes fixed towards the window.
“Where’ve ya been, kid?”
Remy crossed his arms. “Aroun’.”
Logan wanted to punch something, throw something, take Remy by his goddamn shoulders and demand to know where he’s been for nearly six fucking months, but all he did was clench his fists, tightly, restraining himself. “Hadn’t heard from you in a while,” he said, his voice tight. He took a long drag from his cigar. “Wasn’t sure if I’d hear back again.”
“Got caught up in a few t’ings.” He passed a sympathetic look towards Logan, whose eyes were now cast downward into the ashtray he had set out. “Time flew by.”
Remy knew what Logan was doing, and Logan knew what Remy was doing. They both knew, both understood how dangerous it was. Getting so close, allowing emotions to guide their decisions.
It doesn’t stop Logan from asking, “Need a place to stay tonight?”
--------------------
When Remy awoke the next morning, Logan wasn’t there.
It didn’t bother him so much, since technically they were at Logan’s ‘home’. He faintly recalled falling asleep before Logan did, and he had no doubt that Logan didn’t join him in rest. He sat upright and stretched his arms out, yawning and rubbing his face tiredly. He leaned back on his hands, and that was when he felt it.
Three punctures, equally spaced, through the sheets and into the mattress.
Remy turned, pulling the comforter away, his hands searching before revealing another set. This time it was more of a slash, the cuts in the bed roughly four inches long. Another slash wasn’t father away; shorter, but still there. Feeling around towards the edges of the bed, he found one last one a few inches from the right side. The set of cuts had to have been a foot and a half long. Why the hell was Logan attacking his bed?
Only one way to find out, he figured.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood – another stab from the claws found, making it five so far – and grabbed a shirt from Logan’s dresser, pulling it on and letting it hang over his significantly-thinner frame. It didn’t take long before he found Logan in the Danger Room, practicing against simulations that were pre-loaded into the system. Remy watched through the observation room, eyes transfixed on Logan, watching him move, ferocious in the midst of battle. It made his heart race just at the exhilaration of it all. Logan was nearly done with his training sequence, so Remy made his way back to the entryway and stood in wait until he was allowed in.
The door opened and Logan was still inside, leaning down to grab a rag he’d left beside one wall, using it to wipe his brow. He spared a glance at Remy as he walked in, looking amused. “I was wonderin’ if you’d ever wake up.”
Remy rolled his eyes, cutting right to the chase. “I’d have been here a lot sooner if dere weren’ so many holes in de bed.”
Logan’s smile faded and he stopped what he was doing, his eyes on Remy’s.
“Remy never asked, but you never were one to stay de night.” He took a few steps towards Logan, tilting his head when Logan looked away. “And if Remy ain’ making too much o’ an assumption, he don’ take you to be one to attack yo’ bed to let out some o’ yo’ anger.” He gestured to the room around them. “Dat’s what you’ve got dis fo’, non?”
Logan didn’t speak for a while. Remy waited, and it was only when Remy opened his mouth that Logan spoke up. “I don’t think it’s any of your concern.”
“When you got Remy sleepin’ on a bed wit’ an abyss in it, den you can bet it is.”
“It ain’t any of your business, alright?” He snapped, his voice echoing off the walls. “I don’t know what the hell you think this is, but you aren’t my counselor, you aren’t some therapist, you don’t have any given right to know about it!”
Remy was silent, frowning, taking in his words. “Nevermind, den…” He backed up one step. “S’pose Remy should be headin’ out den. Wouldn’ wanna take advantage of yo’ hospitality.” He turned on his heel, stopping before the door. “Remy won’ be seeing you fo’ a while.”
Logan clenched his jaw. “Yeah.”
The door closed, and Logan didn’t last a whole minute before let out a loud roar, slamming his fist into the wall.
--------------------
Logan didn’t count this time.
He saw Remy in New Orleans, in a bar, dealing out cards to the poor suckers who thought they had a chance of winning. The game didn’t even last five minutes. Remy beat them with ease, taking their money, lining his pockets with what would become his income for the next few weeks. Remy had always said that despite being notorious for being a cheat and a fraud in his own hometown, it was the easiest place to get cash.
Logan downed the rest of his drink, set the empty glass and a bill on the counter, and left.
------------------
Call him impersonal or maybe just a flaunt, but any threat to Remy’s family was a threat to him, and he always responded in kind. It was why he didn’t hesitate to pull out his Bo staff and swing it into the man’s head when he pulled a gun on Logan when he was faced the other way. Logan would’ve survived the shot, he always did, but seeing him go down on the floor would have been horrifying enough. The sense of loss would have sent Remy’s mind over the edge and to a place of pure hysteria, and he wasn’t about to lose it with his mutation in a crowded bar like this one. After all, the last time something like that happened, a boy was killed, and Remy had been sent away from his own home. It was an accident, yet here he was, protecting the last thing he could consider his own. In life or in death, Remy wouldn’t be without Logan. He’d always make sure of that.
Logan hadn’t even seen Remy in the bar, though in his defense it was crowded, and the mixed scents made it hard to tell who was who and where a certain person was. He had also been a bit preoccupied when one patron accused him on hitting on his girl – Remy couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at that; he felt confident that Logan would choose him over her in terms of looks – and all his buddies decided to pull guns and knives and launch at him one at a time. Logan handled the first two guys alright, but Remy intervened as soon as the gun was aimed at Logan’s head. He hadn’t thought, just shoved people aside and acted, twirling the staff and injecting some of his kinetic energy into it, sending one man flying into a table and chairs, and another hurtling over the bar itself, breaking a few bottles behind the counter. As Logan was led out of the bar, thrown out onto the street and locked out, Remy was there behind him, offering a hand as Logan wiped beer from his face.
“Remy just had to go an let you loose, didn’ he… got yo’self kicked out o’ anot’er bar…” Remy tsk’ed him under his breath, brushing off his leather jacket. He frowned at a particular cut in the jacket, a faint sheen of blood where the knife had cut deep.
“What the hell were you doing there?!”
“Dat’s an odd way to say ‘t’ank you’, but Remy’ll take it.” He stowed his staff away in his coat, brushing himself off. “Remy jus’ came to stop by. Can’ arrest a man fo’ wantin’ a drink, non? He’d been dere fo’ a while…” It’s wasn’t true, and Remy wasn’t quite sure why he’d bothered lying. He was driving through town, intent on passing through, but he could spot Logan’s motorcycle a mile away.
“I don’t need help, y’know.” Logan turned and started walking away, but the conversation clearly wasn’t over. Remy knew he wanted him to follow.
“O’ course, Remy ain’ stupid. Just tryin’ to be nice. You oughta let people try and do dat fo’ you once in a while.”
Logan only growled in response, and Remy smirked; if there was a scoreboard, it would currently be two for Remy, zero for Logan. Not a bad start for the night.
Logan led them to a motel nearby, muttering about needing a shower. It was true, his clothes were a disaster and his smell wasn’t all that appealing, but Remy didn’t comment, just let him go where he wanted. All he did was follow along. Remy paid for the room and gave Logan the key; better to let him in first to get his stomping over with sooner.
He was in the shower within minutes, stripping right in the middle of the hotel room and leaving a pile of clothes in the middle of the floor. Remy folded them to kill time, removing his own coat and draping it over a chair. He wasn’t sure why he was here; after their last confrontation, he was certain Logan would have at least punched him in the face or kicked him where it hurt upon sight. However here they were, back to square one, sat in another motel. Oh, how times changed.
As Logan emerged from the shower, a towel around his waist with his hair a bit of a mess, Remy smiled to himself. “You look tired, mon cher.”
He grunted, as Remy expected, and sat down beside him on the bed. Stubborn as always.
“What if you slept, and Remy sat right over dere?” He gestured to the chair in the corner.
Logan drew his brows together. “Why?”
“Well, you won’ sleep wit’ Remy while he’s sleepin’, so what if Remy just sat righ’ over dere and jus’ minded his own business?”
He shook his head. “No. No, I can’t…” He sighed. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not easy to explain.”
“Y’know, if yo’ afraid o’ hurtin’ Remy, you shouldn’ be. He don’ need help eit’er.” He stood from the bed pulled up on Logan’s arm. “C’mon, you need sleep.” He rounded the bed and pulled back the covers, gesturing to the sheets. “Don’ even try to tell Remy ot’erwise. You in need of it.” He quickly grabbed Logan his jeans, letting him pull them on. Then he pushed on his shoulders to urge him into bed, and where he expected more protest, Logan complied and slid beneath the sheets while allowing Remy tuck him in.
It took only a few minutes for Logan to fall asleep. Remy watched him from the chair, wondering what he dreamt about. He knew quite a bit about Logan, but his past was quite a mystery. He didn’t ask such personal questions. All their time together had only included brief talks, things about their mannerisms, things that annoyed them, and maybe a few personal details here and there. Remy silently wished Logan would trust him more, be more open with him. But again, maybe that was just too close. A little too complicated for the relationship they had.
When Logan started muttering incoherently, turning around in the bed about an hour after he’d fallen asleep, Remy was immediately on the alert. He stood, watching him, torn between keeping his distance and moving to comfort him and send the nightmare away. He took a step closer, noticing how Logan’s eyes moved rapidly behind his eyelids. Another step, and Logan was saying words – “No, no, don’t do this” or “Save yourself, just go” – and clutching at the comforter that rested over him. A final step, and Logan shouted, crying out as if he’d just launched into a battle, and apparently he just did: his claws came out and he sat up, eyes wide open but not quite aware. Remy stepped in as Logan lurched forward, one arm swinging claws right at Remy, but his agility kicked in and he dodged the metal, barely.
“Stop! Wake up!” He dodged another swipe and managed to catch one of his wrists. Logan used it to his advantage, moving in close and bringing his free arm around, shoving Remy down onto the bed. He coughed at the force, straining beneath him, writhing as hard as he could. He scratched at Logan, shouting for him to wake up over and over. Logan was straddling him seconds later, not registering a single word he said, choking him with his arm. He jerked his once-trapped hand away and poised his claws at Remy’s face. Remy was filled with terror, his heart pounding. Realizing that this could be his last moment, he swallowed, taking Logan’s face in his hands, wheezing out his name and closing his eyes, waiting for darkness to engulf him.
He heard the sound of metal moving, as if pulling back, and the pressure over his throat was suddenly gone. He took a deep breath and cracked one eye open to watch as Logan sheathed his claws into his hands again, eyes wide with horror. Hands still cradling Logan’s face, he stroked his thumbs over his cheeks, murmuring, “Logan…?”
Logan couldn’t move. He was frozen on the spot, petrified. Here was Remy, beneath him, and in the face of death – from Logan himself – he only held him and accepted it. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, to tell Remy to go, to do something that got him away from him, but Remy didn’t seem like he was going anywhere.
“You returned to me yet, mon cher…?” He searched his eyes, now sliding one of his hands into Logan’s hair.
Logan closed his eyes, let out a sharp breath not unlike a sob, and buried his face into Remy’s shoulder.
--------------------
The following morning, Remy donned his coat, brushed through his hair with his fingers, and pulled on his boots. He checked his reflection in the mirror and smiled softly. He didn’t look so tired now. He glanced over at the bed.
Neither did Logan.
He had comforted him throughout the night, willing away his nightmares and forcing him to think only on the happier times in his life. According to him, they were few, but being held by Remy somehow managed to bring them back. Currently he was sleeping comfortably, though Remy was no fool to believe his nightmares were gone for good.
When he stepped out into the main room again, Logan stirred, yawning and rubbing his face tiredly. “Guessin’ dis is de first time in a while where you slept til de mornin’, cher.”
Logan let out a short laugh after a moment. “Yeah, guess so…”
“Got some t’ings fo’ you also, while you were sleepin’,” Remy said, and pointed over to a small table. There was a plastic bag that contained an assortment of clothes for Logan to take with him. “Ain’ no chance in hell Remy’s jus’ gon’ let you walk out dere smellin’ like stale beer an’ blood.”
Logan smiled and let out a short laugh. “Thanks.”
Remy knew his work was done. He made sure he had everything he needed before he left, checking his pockets and marking off his mental checklist. He didn’t hear Logan when he first spoke, only looking up when he heard a sharp “hey!”
“What’s dat, cher?”
Logan rolled his eyes. “I said, am I gonna be seein’ you again?”
Remy smiled, even grinned, and walked around the bed to where Logan was laying. He leant down and kissed Logan sweetly, ruffling his hair when he pulled back. Logan waved him off, but Remy didn’t miss how he caught his coat in his hand, letting it slide through his fingers as Remy walked out. “You sure will, mon amour.”