Pairing
Logan/Remy. Comicverse.

Summary
"Logan's there when Remy gets back to his hotel room." Sequel to "Parry & Thrust."

Notes
Riposte: an attack made immediately after a parry of the opponent's attack.

Logan's there when Remy gets back to his hotel room. Lounging on the bed in T-shirt and jeans and boots, leather jacket in a pile on the floor. He's got a can of beer in his hand and three more in the ice bucket on the table, and two day's worth of stubble Remy knows is gonna scratch the shit out of him later.

Logan takes a swig, eyes him over the rim of the can.

Remy smirks as he locks the door behind him. "Two weeks." His tie and suitcoat get draped over the desk chair, because the closet seems like too much work.

"Yeah." The TV is on, but Logan's not watching it now.

"I was starting to think I stumped you." Wallet, keys, and playing cards go on the desk.

A scowl flickers across Logan's face. "Xavier. Fucking diplomatic mission bullshit." His eyes zero in on Remy's open shirt collar and then he catches his lower lip between his teeth. He's so full of wanting, and trying so hard not to show it. Failing. Remy loves the way it feels, the way it radiates off him like a hot engine.

"You convince the humans to play nice with the friendly muties?"

He gets only a snort in reply as he kicks off his shoes and opens his belt. Logan watches his fingers work the buckle as Remy watches Logan's fingers tighten on the beer can. The aluminum crumples with a tiny *plink*. Remy knows Logan can barely keep himself on the bed.

He likes him this way.

Logan drains the dented can, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "She's lying, you know. Family money's almost gone," he says as he drops the empty on the floor and reaches for a new one.

Remy nods, not at all surprised Logan knows where he was and who he was with, and begins unbuttoning his shirt, which is shamefully wrinkled and smells like a perfume he doesn't particularly care for. "I know. And the art collection is nothin' but reproductions." He grins, mostly at the way Logan's eyes are locked on his hands as they work the buttons.

Logan nods absently, takes another drink. He shifts his hips slightly, and Remy knows he's uncomfortable in those jeans. He loves this part, when Logan's edging towards desperate. He's often wondered how long he could keep him there, and what would happen if he tried to find out.

His shirt goes in the pile for the drycleaning service, belt on the floor by the shoes, and then he heads for the bathroom, picturing the look on Logan's face at the sound of his fly unzipping.

Shower first, always, when he's been with a woman. He's learned that the hard way.

~*~

Logan's got his boots off and the TV on when Remy comes out of the bathroom in a towel. He's a little insulted his near nudity gets barely a passing glance, but it's Sportscenter. Few things distract Wolverine from Sportscenter. And this is only temporary, he knows. The wanting is still there, like smoke in the air, but Logan knows it's only a matter of time before he gets what he wants, and he's content to wait. For now.

Remy grins. A cold beer, ESPN, and impending sex. Give Logan a cigar right now and he might just do a cartwheel. Or maybe even smile.

He stops next to the bed and Logan looks up at him, wrinkles his brow before he turns back to the TV. But his attention is divided now, curiosity fighting with Sportscenter.

"What?" he asks, eyes still on the television.

"You're happy."

He gets a sideways glance with a raised eyebrow. "And that's a problem?"

There's just something about that eyebrow that makes him want to be fucked senseless. "I'm jealous."

The TV goes off, and Logan bites his lip again. "Lemme see what I can do about that."

~*~

Remy loves Logan's stomach. He likes to pull the sheet down below Logan's navel and run his fingers over it while he sleeps. Logan's used to it now, and doesn't seem to mind fingers tickling over him while he's trying to rest. Mumbles in appreciation while he drowses, even. Sometimes he slips into a deeper sleep, sometimes he wakes up and drills Remy into the mattress. Either one is usually okay with Remy.

It looks like deeper sleep is winning out this time, which doesn't surprise him. Logan looks tired, if you know the signs. Remy wonders how many days he's been awake. How many days he's been on the road, looking for him.

Remy was twenty-two years old when he discovered he could make easy money keeping wealthy women company, despite being an obvious mutant. In fact, in some circles of the monied set having a mutant on your arm is almost fashionable, rather like owning a hairless cat or a dog that could fit in a teacup.

His good looks and good manners allow him to move easily in the world of polo matches and gallery openings, but it is something else entirely that makes him so good at what he does: Remy enjoys the company of women. He enjoys talking to them and flirting with them and opening doors for them, and he especially enjoys bedding them. And they can tell. As much as they like his pretty face, it is his genuine affection for them they respond to most.

And despite his upbringing as a thief, he never steals from them. Not one glittering ring, nor one priceless vase. Not only would that be beyond tacky, it would be stupid.

It's his love of the lifestyle and the women that makes him return to it once or twice a year, when he needs some easy cash, or when he gets bored.

Since Logan has come along, it's taken on a different edge: pursuit and capture. He leaves, Logan follows. Sometimes it only takes a few days for Logan to find him, sometimes it takes longer, depending on how well Remy covers his tracks.

Sometimes he doesn't try all that hard.

Just enough to keep Logan guessing, because if he knows anything about Logan, it's that he craves freedom, and the unknown.

The challenge for Remy is to remain unknown as long as he can.

It's never taken Logan this long to show up, and Remy had been on the verge of admitting to himself that maybe he wouldn't. That maybe this cat and mouse game had lost its appeal.

That maybe *he* had lost his appeal.

Not that Remy hasn't enjoyed himself in the meantime. But he'll have to end it with her tomorrow. Logan's made sure of that: teethmarks, scratches, handprints, suck marks. He can't go back to her bed again. Which is too bad, because she'd been fantastic. The average-looking ones always were.

But all the same, it's a relief Logan's finally here. It's nice to have a big, grumbling bedmate again. And then there's that stomach. He really missed that stomach.

He leans over and nuzzles the hair below Logan's bellybutton, turns his head so he can rub his cheek against it. He's tired, and he knows he should let Logan sleep, but it feels so good. He nuzzles again, then opens his mouth so he can feel it against his tongue.

Logan shifts and mutters something, lets out a long breath. Remy knows he should back off before he wakes him up completely. And he will back off. Right after he rakes his tongue across that soft hair one more time.

Then Logan's hands close on his head, hold him there, and it's too late.

"Sorry," Remy mumbles, even as he licks him again.

A snort-laugh, like he doesn't believe him. "Keep going."

"You're tired."

"I'm hard." One hand moves to the back of his neck while the other pushes the sheet down. Then the hand on the back of his neck pushes his head down where the sheet used to be. Logan is indeed hard.

And still tired. Sleepy, but horny as hell. And Remy is in the perfect position to accommodate both. Funny how it always seems to work out that way for Logan.

"You're a glutton for blowjobs, you know that?" He looks up at Logan, whose eyes are barely open. Just enough to enjoy the view. More than any other man Remy has known, Logan loves to watch.

"Consider it a compliment." Logan lifts his hips a little, impatiently bumps Remy's chin. He really is a glutton.

Remy slides down and over so he can get comfortable. That hand never leaves his neck. "A compliment. Right."

"Yeah."

"You're gonna leave me high an' dry."

"Nah."

He lowers his head a little. Not enough to touch Logan with his mouth, but close enough to tease him with his breath when he speaks, so he can watch Logan's stomach muscles tighten. "I know you. You'll be asleep before I finish swallowing."

"Mmmm. Probably."

"You're shameless."

"You're the one who woke me up."

"Two weeks is a long time." The closest he's willing to come to admitting he was worried.

Logan's eyes open a little more. "Yeah, it is." The fingers on Remy's neck slide up into his hair, and it's almost a caress. Another nudge against his chin. "Keep going."

Remy's having the best dream. Vivid and hot and excruciatingly realistic. Logan is there, making him crazy. Logan is there, making his eyes roll back in his head. Logan is there-

Logan is *here*.

Logan is in Remy's hotel bed, fully-clothed and pressed against his back, jerking him off while he pours a steady stream of off-color words into his ear. He's telling him all kinds of marvelous, inventive things Remy is sure they should probably get started on as soon as he recovers from this surprise handjob.

He comes within seconds of waking, and he's still panting when the leather-encased arm retreats. The bed bounces as Logan stands up. To get naked, Remy thinks. It isn't until he hears Logan shut the door behind him that he realizes he doesn't intend to stay.

Remy goes back to his room earlier than usual the next night. Logan, the bastard, doesn't show.

Three days pass before Logan reappears. Three days in which Remy has almost convinced himself he really did dream the whole thing. But then one day there he is, feet up on the coffee table in Remy's suite in the middle of the afternoon, with a lipstick stain on the neckline of his T-shirt.

That night, Remy gives Logan the longest, slowest, most drawn out blowjob of his entire life, and he doesn't let it end until Logan admits he needed it so badly he couldn't stay away.

Remy wakes up near dawn and sees Logan standing at the open window, letting humid air in and cigar smoke out. The set of his shoulders tells Remy there's going to be hell to pay for that forced confession, and he's spent enough time with him to know why. Logan may be comfortable acting on his urges where Remy's concerned, but he's still a long way from fine with admitting to them.

Logan doesn't come back to bed before he showers and leaves, and Remy thinks about the significance of that over his orange juice the next morning.

Logan is dangerous, and Remy likes danger. But Remy is also a smart man, and he's made his living as a thief and a con man long enough to know not to push Logan too far. He's getting close to that line, and he knows it.

The other thing about Remy?

He never could resist a challenge.

Remy's waiting at a stoplight, absently revving the convertible's engine, when Logan steps over the door and drops into the passenger seat.

He looks around him, taking in the car with a raised eyebrow. "Nice perks this time."

"Repeat customer." A plump widow who once rode him to a mind-blowing climax right here in the driver's seat of this car while they were parked outside the LSU Museum of Art. "You're sitting on my tie."

"She let you go early tonight," Logan says, sliding down a little in his seat so he can lean his head back. And probably crease Remy's tie even more.

The light turns green. "Tennis with her daughters in the morning."

"Ah." A pause as Logan drums his fingers on the top of the door. "How old are these daughters?"

Remy laughs and blows past a limo that's threatening to disgorge an entire wedding party through the sunroof. "Not nearly old enough to handle you."

Logan doesn't say anything else on the way back to the hotel, but he does grope Remy in the elevator, and almost tears his shirt. Remy retaliates by pouring himself a drink before he strips and showers. He sips it slowly and makes it last as Logan smiles nastily from where he waits in the armchair.

When Remy gets out of the shower, Logan is still waiting for him. He's holding Remy's tie, which is indeed horribly creased.

Logan grins.

~*~

Logan is looming over him in the dark when Remy wakes up. His mouth tastes like gin and sweaty sex, he's somehow misplaced his pillow, and it takes him a minute to remember why his wrists hurt.

The pale light bleeding through the curtains reveals only Logan's shoulder, the ladder of his ribs, one arm. His face is hidden in shadow, but Remy knows he's looking at him. In fact, he's suddenly very, very sure he's *admiring* him. Eyeing him in the greedy, this-is-mine way people employ when gazing upon their most expensive cars or jewelry or paintings. Logan is *gloating*.

Or maybe Remy had way too much gin before the sweaty sex.

Remy touches the inside of one wrist, and it stings. He remembers Logan putting his mouth there after he untied him, sliding his tongue wetly across the abraded skin, and it makes him shiver.

Logan nudges him until he rolls onto his side, and produces a pillow from somewhere, or maybe he had it all along. He curls into place along Remy's back, and any hope Remy had that they were going back to sleep evaporates when he feels Logan's erection against his ass.

Logan grabs his hip and grinds against him a little, which prompts a groan from Remy, and not entirely of pleasure. Remy's exhausted. He's been servicing that plump little widow all week, and all that sweaty Logan sex on top of it has about done him in. And his wrists *hurt*, dammit.

He wonders if Logan'll settle for a blowjob. As quickly as he thinks it, he realizes Logan would probably always settle for a blowjob, if Remy'd let him get away with it.

"How much longer we gonna be here?"

Remy thinks about it for a minute. "Three days. Four."

"You have a guy here?" A fence, he means.

"Yes." Remy automatically glances at the velvet-covered box on the table by the window. Gorgeous pair of cufflinks, a gift from the widow. Probably worth five grand, and he figures he'll get about eighteen hundred for them. They're nice, though. He might sell his old ones and keep the new ones. Probably only get twelve hundred for the old ones.

Not bad for a week's work either way, plus he's got a wallet full of cash the widow's been handing out like candy when they're alone, so when they're in public it looks like he's paying for dinners and drinks and valets. She never asks for any of it back, because that would be gauche, and against the unwritten rules.

Logan's hand squirms between their bodies and he slides down a little, slipping his cock between the backs of Remy's thighs.

"Three days," Logan says, making his preference known.

Remy nods. Logan starts thrusting lazily between his legs, and Remy feels the first dull throb of arousal in his groin, but he's not sure he wants to do anything about it.

"Straight home?" Logan asks, sounding just the slightest bit breathless.

"Uh huh. 'Less you wanna stop in Atlantic City."

"Maybe," Logan says, moving a little faster. He does this sometimes, has entire conversations while he's getting off. It's a little weird, and Remy's never known quite how to react to it. Right now he's too tired to be anything other than relieved he doesn't have to actually do anything.

He doesn't really want to stop in Atlantic City. This trip has been fruitful, and he didn't really need the money anyway. He'd left Westchester because he'd needed Logan to follow him.

He'd needed Logan, period. Knowing Logan wants to fuck him when he's right down the hall isn't the same as knowing Logan wants to fuck him badly enough to follow him halfway across the country.

Logan, Remy has realized, is far more dangerous than he ever suspected.

"I can't believe you're drinking that cheap shit," Logan says in his ear. Remy doesn't even twitch, because he knew Logan was here the second he walked through the door.

Then Logan's hand settles on his ass and gives it a squeeze, and Remy *does* twitch, which makes Logan laugh.

Remy turns and backs up a step so they're just two guys standing at the bar. "That was quick," he says. He's only been here two days. This is astonishingly early, a fact he's definitely going to contemplate later.

Logan does nothing but grunt and shrug as he downs half his beer, which is a response Remy notes with interest. Hmm.

"Which one?" Logan asks, nodding toward the group of women at the other end of the bar.

"Guess."

Logan's eyes narrow. He takes another drink and then chews on the inside of his cheek, which is Logan thinking mode. One of the women breaks away from the group and walks over to the jukebox, tossing her hair a little.

"That one," Logan says. "With the nice ass and the hair she keeps flippin' around."

Remy grins. "Bingo."

"Family money?"

"Rich husband. Bored."

"Talk to her yet?"

"Little bit."

Logan nods and pushes away from the bar. "I'll be around," he says, and disappears into the crowd.

Half an hour later, Logan is propping himself up on the bar with one arm. A woman who looks barely old enough to be in the place is crowded into the narrow space between the bar and Logan's body. She has short, almost purple hair, and a navel ring. Remy knows without looking she probably has a tattoo at the small of her back, because girls who look like that always do. When Logan leans away to pick up a fresh beer, her tight T-shirt reveals pierced nipples.

Remy shakes his head. Logan has the weirdest taste in women. In fact, he doesn't seem to actually have any taste at all, just whims.

Remy and Logan both like women, but they like them in different ways.

Remy is a seducer. Logan is a taker. Remy wants them to want him for what he is. Logan wants them to want him in spite of what he is. Remy likes to coax them over a line they never thought they'd cross. Logan grabs them by the throat and yanks them across.

Remy wants to awaken them. Open them like blooming flowers, just for him. Make them feel things they've never felt with anyone but him. Logan wants to break them, make them rut like animals and say all the dirty words, because he won't let them come if they don't.

Remy and Logan both like women. All kinds of women. Remy also likes men, but not all kinds.

Logan only likes one man.

He never asks if it's that charming mutation working on him, but Remy knows he probably thinks about it sometimes, wonders if he was manipulated, if he's acting under artificial influence. Why him? Why now?

But Remy knows mutations had nothing to do with it. Only personalities. Once the two of them met, it was all but inevitable.

Remy seduced Logan into taking what he wanted.

He turns his attention back to the bored housewife, who smiles dazzingly at him and tosses her hair.

~*~

Four days later, Logan turns up, shower-damp and smug, at Remy's breakfast table on the hotel restaurant patio. He's got that fucked-out look Remy's been able to accomplish only a handful of times, practically crippling himself in the process. He wonders just who Logan ran into, and if there was more than one of them.

"You look like you've had a pleasant couple of days," Remy says as Logan pulls up a chair. The patio is crowded, but the waiter is at the table in a split second with a place setting and a menu.

Logan smirks. "Could say that. You?" he says to Remy. "Coffee. Black," he says to the waiter.

"Husband went to Vegas," Remy says, after the waiter leaves. "Long weekend with the boys."

Logan nods and opens his menu. "I'm fucking starving."

He probably means that in the most literal sense, Remy thinks as he butters his toast. He wonders how the other half of the equation is faring. He's spent many a morning wishing he had a healing factor himself.

Logan eats heartily as Remy lingers over his orange juice, and doesn't make a move to pay when the waiter brings the bill. Remy doesn't mind, because the bored housewife gave him a parting gift of a brand new money clip conveniently stocked with hundred dollar bills.

Logan eyes the new money clip as he drains his coffee cup. "You seeing her today?" The way he sounds like he doesn't give two shits makes Remy want to smile.

He shakes his head and tries to look disappointed. "Picking her husband up at the airport."

Logan gets up without a word and heads inside. Remy follows him through the restaurant and up to the room, wondering if Logan'll go easy on him, seeing as how he's obviously just finished some sort of sex marathon.

Remy is wrong.

He wakes up several times during the night, and each time Logan is spooned behind him, face pressed against the back of his neck, solid arm curled around him like it's never going to go away.

Charity dinners are a dead bore, and Remy hates them. They are also, unfortunately, a staple in the life of a lonely heiress, and he's duty-bound to attend them. This heiress, at least, has a tolerable sense of humor, though she tends to drink a little too much, and keeps him busy with trips to the cash bar.

They're seated at a table with a coal mine millionaire and his trophy wife. The trophy wife isn't drinking because she's pregnant and the millionaire's seltzer water gives him away as a Twelve Stepper. When Remy returns to the table again with more drinks for himself and the heiress--hers watered down by the bartender at Remy's request--the other couple has unexpectedly disappeared. Morning sickness, the heiress explains. One look at the army of waiters emerging from the kitchen with the salads was enough to send the trophy wife bolting from the ballroom, husband in tow.

Remy smiles as he slides into his chair, and eases one hand up her dress as he tells her he's not disappointed to have the table all to themselves. She laughs as he nuzzles her ear, and then lightly pushes him away as someone approaches the table.

"Mind if we join you?" asks a voice Remy would recognize anywhere. He last heard it three days ago, when it was asking him if he wanted to be fucked hard.

Remy had said, of course, that yes, he did.

He looks up, fighting to keep the shock from showing on his face. Logan. In a tuxedo. With a woman on his arm. Waiting for an answer to his question.

Remy is struck dumb by this development, but the lonely heiress has been bred, much like a racehorse or a show-dog, to be well-mannered under any conditions. She quickly invites the other couple to join them as she discreetly pushes her dress back down and places Remy's hand in his own lap.

Introductions are made, and Logan smirks as he shakes Remy's hand. He holds on just a little too long, but not long enough for either woman to notice. Remy raises his eyebrow at the watch on Logan's wrist, worth at least seven grand. He almost whistles in smart-ass appreciation, but then he remembers where he is and who he's supposed to be, just in time.

This can't be a coincidence, but how Logan arranged it is beyond him. It's quite impressive.

Logan looks great in a tux. The woman on his arm is tiny and blonde, and can't stop looking at him.

Neither can Remy.

The tiny blonde is a rich widow and knows many of the same people the heiress does, so it isn't long before the ladies are deep in gossip. Logan and Remy, advancing the myth that they have never met before tonight, exchange fictional personal information and anecdotes.

After dinner and before dessert comes the sales pitch for the charity. Remy isn't exactly sure what this charity does, but it doesn't really matter. He devotes his time to watching Logan and the widow while appearing to actually focus all his attention on the heiress.

Even watching them out of the corner of his eye, he can tell exactly what's going on.

They haven't slept together yet, Logan and the widow, but they're going to tonight, and she's nervous about it, trying not to drink too much wine. The way Logan keeps looking at her, casually massaging the back of her neck, is filling her with nervous excitement.

Remy is quite jealous.

He glances at the lonely heiress and is amused to see she's getting a little excited for Logan, too. And like a lot of women, like the widow across the table, she's a little unnerved by her reaction to him, and by Logan's slightly menacing sexuality, which seems to both attract and repel women at the same time.

As he sips his coffee, Remy wonders what Logan's like in bed with a woman. If he's more careful, less demanding, more gentle. More dominant, probably. Playing on a field he's familiar with, he's probably insufferably controlling.

God, he's so jealous.

Once the dessert plates have been cleared away, Remy discreetly follows Logan into the bathroom, but not discreetly enough to escape Logan's notice. A stall door opens and Remy is gracelessly yanked inside.

"Sit," Logan says, the word barely more than a rumble, one hand on Remy's shoulder, pushing him down onto the toilet, while the other is opening his own pants. Remy sits, and decides his tuxedo is going straight to the drycleaner first thing tomorrow morning.

Logan has his cock out in only seconds, stroking himself as he puts a hand to the back of Remy's head and pulls him closer. He moans when Remy's mouth closes on the head and sucks, then impatiently surges forward. He's completely silent after that, except for a low growl when he comes that Remy feels more than hears, a vibration that makes his nose tingle where it's pressed to Logan's belly as he swallows him down.

Logan swears softly as he slips from Remy's mouth, fingers trailing long Remy's jawline and over his wet chin. Remy lifts Logan's shirt and licks his stomach, drawing a slow, slippery line next to his navel while his tongue is still slick from the both of them. Knowing the smell will be on Logan's skin for the rest of the night.

Logan isn't coming.

If he is, he'll arrive too late to meet up with Remy, who is leaving tomorrow.

He's been here for nearly three weeks. An easy three weeks, because the sharp-tongued society matron who's been paying his way only wants someone to fuss over her and dance with her and look good standing next to her in public. No sex. Which is a good thing, because even her fantastic plastic surgery can't entirely hide the fact that she's probably old enough to be Remy's grandmother.

But it's been three weeks of lonely nights in his hotel room. Remy would be relieved to know this is the last time he has to face that empty bed if he didn't suspect what awaits him beyond tonight might be even worse.

Logan didn't come.

He stands in the shower for a very long time, wondering what he's supposed to do now.

~*~

Tomorrow comes and goes, but Remy stays where he is.

He wanders around the city, wastes some time at the Morehead Planetarium, and then stops at Mama Dip's for a late lunch. There he makes the mistake of letting himself brood while he waits for his food.

He can't stay here in Chapel Hill forever. Maybe he'll stop in Atlantic City on the way back, he thinks. If for no other reason than it'll delay his return to Xavier's that much longer.

They've been doing this for over two years, and he supposes it's a miracle it lasted this long. He's always known Logan would eventually lose interest. That eventually he wouldn't feel like chasing Remy across the country for a blowjob.

Even a belly full of barbecue and sweet potato pie doesn't lessen the sting.

When he gets back to the hotel, Remy stops to chat with the concierge, making arrangements for his departure. First Class flight back to New York, though as soon as he says the words he wants to take them back. But there's no use delaying the inevitable.

He kills an hour in the bar with three gin and tonics and two women who are in town to shop while their husbands play golf. He flirts with them and buys their drinks, all with the unspoken understanding that it means nothing, though he suspects the shorter one would be open to more if she were alone.

Eventually the women have to go upstairs and get ready for dinner with their husbands. Remy escorts them to the elevator and gives them each a parting kiss on the hand, leaving them flushed and bright-eyed and slightly giddy. Their husbands, though unaware of his actions, will most likely benefit from them later tonight.

As he slides his key card into the door of his room, Remy realizes that if Logan really has lost interest in him, this is undeniable proof Remy wasn't using his mutation on him at all. That he was not coerced into doing this.

Which Logan may or may not consider welcome news.

And then, just like he has been so many times before, Logan is lounging on the bed in Remy's room when he opens the door.

"Hi," Logan says.

Remy says, "Hi."

This has to be the first time they've ever greeted each other in such a normal way--no smartass remarks, no sarcasm--and it sets off all sorts of alarms.

Remy should be relieved. He should want to throw himself on Logan and tear his clothes off and make him pay for taking so long to get here.

But he doesn't, because Logan doesn't look right. Remy can't exactly figure out in what way. He's just…not right.

He's tired--no, he's *exhausted*. And … agitated. Not an "I-need-you-to-do-something-with-my-cock-right-now" agitated, either.

Remy stands there next to the bed, not sure what to do, until Logan reaches for him, and pulls him down. Remy, letting his feelings run roughshod over his common sense, kisses Logan on the mouth before he does anything else. Also a first.

When Logan sits up and pulls his T-shirt over his head, he has an appallingly large wound in his side. A plate-sized divot of missing flesh and bright red skin that Remy stares at in disbelief. Logan's healing powers are legendary; for an injury to still look like this, it must have been horrific.

Logan doesn't say anything, or even acknowledge that Remy sees it. When he takes off his pants, he has an equally ugly gash on his thigh. Two more bisect his back.

But Logan acts like they aren't there, so Remy does the same. And once they're both naked and moaning, they cease to matter.

The sex is quick and Logan is strangely subdued, though he appears to enjoy himself well enough. Afterwards his strange mood is unchanged, and Remy is at a loss.

If sex hasn't calmed him at all, or made a dent in the black cloud hovering over him, Remy doesn't know what else he can do to help him. And he *does* want to help him. He wants to ask Logan what he needs, but he knows he'll never be able to bring himself to voice the question. Even if he did, Logan wouldn't answer.

Logan sprawls on his back, hogging the bed as usual, and Remy tries to sleep. But Logan keeps moving, half-asleep and restless, and all that tension keeps bleeding over into Remy. Near dawn, he gives up on getting any rest and props himself up on an arm, looking at Logan. He wishes he could figure out what the hell is going on.

Logan's stomach draws his attention, inevitably, and Remy can't resist, even though he thinks he should probably leave him alone. He strokes Logan's belly lightly, where it's familiar and warm, and after a minute or two Logan finally, finally goes still. His arms stop twitching and he mumbles like he always does and the frown lines on his forehead smooth away.

And Remy smiles, and realizes he doesn't have anything to worry about.

Even if he hasn't realized it himself, this is what Logan needed. This.

He was hurting and he was unhappy and as soon as he could, before he was even totally healed, he drove five hundred miles for this.

So he could sleep while Remy touched him.

The End

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