Pairing
Logan/Remy

Summary
"It's weird at first, knowing that Logan is interested in him."

Notes
After I wrote Parry & Thrust, I decided I wanted to write the flipside version, where Gambit is the one inexperienced in the ways of hot man lovin'. If you've read "Parry & Thrust," you'll notice one scene these two stories have in common. It's a version I wrote and rejected for "Parry & Thrust," so I decided to use it here as a nod to the connection between the two stories. And also because I liked it. *g* The title comes from the Fast, Loose & Lovely challenge.

It's no secret, at least not to someone with Gambit´s particular talents.

The first time he feels it, he thinks he's mistaken, because he's never picked up a hint of anything like this from Logan in the past. So he must be mistaken. After all, there are other people nearby, and it's easy to cross signals. It's happened. He picks up stray emotions, and it's not worth a second thought, because they aren't directed at him.

Still, he can't shake the notion that it *is* Logan, and that it *is* directed at him.

The second time, there is no mistaking anything.

He's in the kitchen in the middle of the night, making himself a sandwich. They've been running from emergency to emergency for days on end, and all hope of a sleeping pattern has been lost. It's just him and the dripping faucet, because they can create illusions in the Danger Room that look freakily realistic, but they can't seem to ever fix the plumbing.

He's standing at the little snack counter, minding his own business, smearing peanut butter on a slice of bread, when the feeling hits him smack between the eyes. Just seconds before Logan enters the kitchen.

The knife falls from his hand, leaves a big gob of peanut butter on top of his foot before it hits the floor. He swears, aware that his face is flushed and he's suddenly much too hot and in about three seconds he's going to be the proud owner of an erection his boxer shorts have no hope of hiding.

He grabs a napkin, then bends to wipe his sticky foot. He tries to compose himself as he picks up the knife and cleans up the mess on the floor, but with Logan nearing, that's wishful thinking. He hears scuffing footsteps, the suck-swish of the refrigerator opening and closing, a few more footsteps. But not nearly enough steps to have carried Logan from the kitchen.

When Gambit looks up, Logan is peering down at him from the other side of the counter.

With every fiber of his being, Gambit wishes that Logan will turn around and walk away. So, of course, Logan pulls up a stool and opens his beer with a *pop!*. Takes a good long drink and then just sits there, watching him clean up peanut butter. Gambit runs through a mental battery of every swear word he knows.

By the time he stands up, he's feeling a little more composed, but not much. Logan has apparently reined himself in enough to stop broadcasting so loudly, and there is now nothing emanating from him but his usual grumpiness.

All the same, the tension in the room has taken on the weight of a lead blanket, and the faucet is dripping more quickly now.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Discarding his initial plan to sit at the snack counter and stare out the window while he eats, Gambit grabs his hastily finished sandwich and flees to his room.

He probably just imagines that Logan´s eyes are fixed on his ass as he pads out of the kitchen.

Probably.

It's weird at first, knowing that Logan is interested in him. So weird, in fact, that he can't even figure out how he feels about it, except maybe a little worried that Logan will act on his desires. Wolverine isn't exactly a happy camper to begin with--in fact, he's a downright moody son of a bitch--and Gambit has no desire to irritate him further by rejecting him.

Because that´s what will happen, if Logan pursues him.

Probably.

But Logan does nothing. Which should be a relief, but instead is oddly unsettling. Logan isn't doing things that anyone else seems to find strange or worthy of mention. He isn´t making suggestive comments, or putting his hands where they don't belong. He isn't doing anything at all to imply that he has a carnal interest in him. Isn't saying anything, isn't doing anything.

He's just *there*.

Which is most unsettling of all.

Because whenever Logan is around, Gambit can feel it. That lust. It isn't anywhere near as overwhelming as it was that night in the kitchen, but it's there. Constant, low-grade wanting. It gets so he can tell Logan is there the minute he enters a room, whether he can see him or not. He can feel him, can feel that lust creeping into the air around him, like fingers running through his hair.

After a while, the whole house seems to hum with it, and no matter how hard he works on his mental shields, he just can't block it out. He can't concentrate, can't think of anything but Logan and how much he wants him. It's maddening in its predictability, like Chinese water torture.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Once Gambit gets over being unsettled, Logan's very presence begins to annoy him. The bastard never says anything or does anything. He's just there like he always is, going about his business like he always does, acting like there's nothing going on between them.

Which is true, actually.

And that's the way Gambit wants it.

Probably.

But still.

Why the hell doesn't he *do* something? How can he stand it? How can he feel something so strongly and not act on it? It's inhuman, is what it is.

The more Gambit thinks about it, the more it pisses him off. When he thinks about Logan, and about the way he comes and goes like everything is normal. The way he sits on the couch and watches his stupid hockey games. The way he digs through the refrigerator for his stupid beer, the way he sits on the porch and smokes his stupid cigars.

The whole thing is just stupid, and Logan is just stupid, and the more he thinks about it, the more he wants to rattle the big stupid jerk the way all this lusting has rattled him. Grab him and kiss him hard, wipe that nonchalant look right off his stupid face.

Actually, that isn´t such a bad idea.

Not that he would ever do that.

No. Probably not.

That's the situation as it stands when Gambit finds himself seated across from Wolverine, enjoying the marginal comforts of a post-mission flight home in the Blackbird. He picks idly at the label on his bottle of water, stares into space as the world zips by beneath his feet. Waits for the last of the adrenaline to wear off so he won't have to fight to sit still.

Logan, as usual, is asleep.

The guy can fall asleep anywhere, at the drop of a hat. And be totally awake the second he opens his eyes. And usually tell you everything that happened around him while he was sleeping. It's fucking creepy.

Logan's seat is reclined as far as it can go, arms crossed behind his head, ankles crossed just inches from Gambit´s own boots. Stretched out and relaxed as he is, he could be any average guy snoozing in front of the television.

Except that this guy--250 pounds of adamantium-reinforced flesh, with an attitude to match--is not average at all. He is a mutant. He is an X-Man. He is snoring like a bear.

His uniform is a bloody mess, another post-mission usual. Not that all of it is his blood, by any means. And not that any of his wounds are actively bleeding, or even there at all anymore.

The front of Logan's shirt got burned away at some point, and Gambit can see his tight stomach rising and falling with each breath. The skin there was red and blistered when they took off, but the damage is mostly repaired now. It's smooth and perfect, dark hair already growing back to cover skin that has regained its usual golden color.

And how in the *hell* does he know that anyway?

Everyone knows that Logan is one exceptionally hairy man, but when exactly did he start paying attention to the guy´s *skin tone*? It's one thing to notice the hair. . .

Damn.

All that hair.

Logan's chest and stomach were covered with it, a sleek feathering that narrows into the line that bisects his torso, sweeps down and gets thicker near his navel. Right above his zipper. And then, behind that zipper…

The water bottle jumps from Gambit´s hand and somersaults into the empty seat next to him, where it begins to rapidly purge its contents. As he fumbles with it, tries to get it upright before it's totally empty, Logan cracks one eye open and takes in the scene with an amused smirk.

“Got a problem over there?’

Now that's a loaded question if he´s ever heard one. “No. Go back t´sleep.’ He manages to get the bottle upright while it still has a few inches of water in it.

Logan shuts his eye, but the smirk remains. “You need me to show you how to operate that water bottle, you let me know. Private lessons, free of charge.’

Oh, *Jesus*.

The slippery bottle pops out of his fingers again. He tries to catch it, juggles it, sends it somersaulting through the air. It bounces off his arm and lands in his lap, where it dumps what little water is left in it straight onto his crotch.

Oh, the symbolism.

And who the *hell* decided these seats should face each other? Who designs a plane like that?

He tries to ignore his own discomfort as the big man resumes his nap, mid-snore. He spends the rest of the flight clutching the empty bottle in his hand, listening to his wayward water leak from the sodden seat cushion onto the textured steel floor of the plane.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It's after that mission that, instead of avoiding Logan, he starts finding excuses to be around him. He watches everything the other man does, looking for any indication that he realizes that's he's, well, not exactly receptive, but curious, maybe.

Logan has his appeal, and Gambit's certainly been spending a lot of time contemplating that appeal. It's not a half-bad idea, when he pictures it in his mind. It's just sex, which is an activity he's extremely fond of. Still, he can't get away from the knowledge that it's Penis Sex, as in they'll each have one, instead of just him. And he's still a little iffy on that part.

But he'll never know until he tries it, and it's getting to the point where he's pretty sure he wants to. It's just a penis. No big deal. Okay, it's Logan's Penis, which is normally off-limits, and something he avoids looking at in the locker room, along with all the other mutant penises. Except for that one time he looked at Kurt's, but *everyone's* looked at Kurt's at least once, just to see what the deal is there.

So. Penis Sex. It sounds like it might be a good idea. He has no clue if it will turn out that way, but he's willing to give it a try.

So he waits and watches and waits and watches, and sees. . .

Nothing.

A big fat nothing.

Well, then. If Logan isn´t going to come to him, he'll just have to go to Logan.

It's been a week since Logan left, gone off to do whatever it is he does when he periodically disappears.

Gambit returns from a quick run to the store with a carton of cigarettes, which he paid for, in one hand, and two decks of cards, which he did not, in the other. He freezes in the foyer, tightly clutching the packages as that familiar feeling rushes over his skin like warm water.

Wolverine is home.

A few minutes later, he approaches Logan´s door, and is surprised to find that it is not closed all the way. Which is unusual. Hell, it's unheard of. But it is open, just a crack. Just enough to be Not Closed.

Logan would want him to knock anyway.

He opens the door and goes in.

Logan isn't there.

No, he has to be. He can *feel* him. The room is dim, lit only by the moonlight flowing in through the window, and a small reading lamp on the nightstand. And the yellow stripe of light on the carpet, in front of the bathroom door.

Aha.

He creeps toward the door, still unable to see into the bathroom, but he doesn't need to. Logan is in there, and he is easy to read. Relaxed, but curious. Only a touch of annoyance, which morphs into pleasant surprise when he realizes--sniffs out, probably--who his visitor is.

Well, that's a good sign.

He can smell soap and shaving cream. Logan must be fresh out of the shower.

That's an even better sign.

Gambit pushes the door open and steps in.

Logan is lounging in the bathtub, which is a bit of a surprise. As far as he's always known, Wolverine isn´t exactly a bubblebath kind of guy.

Not that there are actually any bubbles, which is disappointing, because *that* would be something to see. And possibly take a picture of, for bribery reasons. No bubbles, though. Just an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth and some kind of hotrod magazine in his hands. Logan looks at Gambit for a second, no change in the expression on his face, and then goes back to his magazine.

A drop of water falls from the faucet into the bathwater.

Drip.

“You need somethin´?’ Logan asks around the cigar.

Boy, does he ever.

An explanation. A rationalization. An invitation into that tub.

Another drop of water quivers and falls.

Drip.

Gambit decides to ignore that question for the time being. He slides up onto the counter next to the sink. Takes in the towels hanging haphazardly on the bar, the balled up sock in the corner behind the door, the razor on the countertop next to his leg. This bathroom looks almost exactly like his own.

Except.

“That´s a really big bathtub.’ Bigger than the one in his bathroom, that's for sure.

Logan looks at him, grins wolfishly, cigar secure between sharp white teeth. “I´m a big guy.’

Gambit´s eyes can't help it. They automatically slide away from Logan´s face and down his body. Hmmm. Hard to tell with all that water in the way, but there's no reason to doubt the man.

Logan has already gone back to his magazine, seemingly unconcerned with Gambit's presence, and doesn't appear to notice that his gaze has wandered. So he lets it wander some more.

Logan's hair is wet and slicked back, curling behind his ears and along his neck. One glossy clump has peeled forward and is hanging over his forehead like an upside-down question mark. The hair that covers his body is shiny and wet and slicked down, giving him a sleek look, as opposed to his normally fuzzy one. He looks slippery.

Wow.

Penis Sex is looking better by the second.

A drop of water runs over Logan´s shoulder and down his arm, falls from his elbow onto the bathmat.

Drip.

“Never pictured you for the bath type,’ Gambit finally says, when he can make his throat work.

A shrug, a turn of the page. “Four days with no shower, takes a long time to feel clean again.’

Four days with no shower? After they get this matter cleared up, he's going to work on Logan a little about his mysterious solo jaunts.

“Huh. Didn´t know you were so big on hygiene either.’

The mood shift is almost painful. Bitter anger then, words even and clipped. “You go long enough with no way to keep yourself clean, you never forget it.’

Gambit winces. It hasn't taken him long to put his foot in his mouth. He knows exactly what Logan is referring to: Weapon X. He doesn't know everything that went on there, but he knows enough. Caged. Treated like an animal. Access to things everyone else takes for granted--food, clothing, showers--strictly controlled.

“Oh."

There is an awkward silence as nothing comes to him that will provide a segue from this topic to the one he came here to address. Because, really, is there *any* way to get from the lasting effects of mental and physical torture to the chances of them rolling around naked together?

"I guess I'll leave you to clean up, then.’ He slides off the counter and out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He makes it about halfway across the room before the bathroom door opens behind him.

“Hey.’

He turns to see Logan standing in the doorway, holding a towel around his waist. He can hear the water sloshing in the bathtub as it adjusts to its occupant´s sudden departure. The water that didn't stay behind is running down Logan´s naked body; what isn´t absorbed by the towel is plopping onto the carpet around his bare feet.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Logan tilts his head, furrows his brow. “You come here to check out my bathing habits?’ He tucks the edge of the towel snugly against his hip, runs both hands through his wet hair.

Gambit shakes his head. This is his opening. This is a perfect opportunity to say what he came here to say. He opens his mouth. . .and says nothing.

Logan moves closer, rippling muscle under wet skin. Slippery.

The towel is just low enough in the front to hint at the dark hair that flares from the line below his navel. No zipper in the way this time. Gambit feels himself sway on his feet as he thinks about running his fingertips along the edge of that towel, curling them behind the soft cotton, sliding them down to find the flesh beneath.

He's getting hard, just thinking about it.

Logan comes to an abrupt halt just a few feet away, as if he´s run into an invisible wall. His chest rises as he inhales deeply, eyes narrowing as his nostrils flare. He knows. He smells it.

And the look he's giving him. God. The bottom falls out of Gambit's stomach.

All of a sudden, it's too much and he doesn't want this. That look has shown him a hint of the intensity that lurks there, under that perfect skin and behind those glittering eyes. And it's just too much.

Maybe this was why Logan never said anything, never did anything. Maybe he knew this was the response he would get. Logan's never been a man who is unaware of the reaction he provokes in others.

Right now, Gambit's reaction is to immediately reconsider his desire for Penis Sex. Or at least Penis Sex with Logan, because he's pretty sure Logan isn't for beginners. He's more like the guy you work up to, after you've gotten the hang of things on the bunny slopes.

The only problem is that Gambit doesn't want, and hasn't ever wanted, Penis Sex with anyone else.

Quite the quandary. He'll have to go think about it. Somewhere else.

It's an effort, but he gets his feet to work, turns and takes three steps toward the door. Two more steps and he´ll be there. One more step. He reaches for the doorknob.

Logan´s hand shoots over his shoulder, plants itself firmly on the door. Hot cigar breath feathers over his ear, a tantalizing contrast to the rumble of the voice that accompanies it.

“You´re not goin´ anywhere.’

Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God. Why did he think he wanted this? Logan's projecting stronger than ever; the lust is still there, but it's surging and swirling in a sea of aggression and possessiveness. This is like nothing he´s ever known, and, if it's all the same to Logan, he prefers to keep it that way.

Something tells him that Logan is not going to be receptive to that suggestion. Something besides the erection currently poking him in the ass.

He takes a deep breath, doesn't take his hand off the doorknob. “Let me go, Logan.’

Warm, wet flesh presses against his back, soaking his shirt. That erection nudges at him. “Not until you tell me why you´re here.’ Another nudge. “And don´t bother lyin´. I´ll smell it on you.’

“I changed my mind.’ And any minute now, his groin will hear the news and respond appropriately.

The hand on the door slides down and covers his where it's wrapped around the doorknob. Another hand reaches over his shoulder and pushes his face, presses his cheek against Logan´s nose. Both hands are damp and strong. Way too strong.

“I ever tell you how good you smell, Cajun?’ A low whisper with just a touch, Gambit thinks, of menace. Logan breathes in through his nose, nuzzles slightly.

Gambit closes his eyes as goosebumps fan out over his arms. “No.’

Slightly more menace in the whisper this time, with a tinge of amusement. “I know why you came here.’ Something hot and wet touches his cheek. Logan´s tongue. It traces a slow path up his face and back across his cheekbone, to his ear. Gambit jumps as a warm mouth briefly closes on his earlobe. “You gonna leave before you get it?’

“Changed my mind,’ he says again.

An amused snort. “Really?’ The hand on his lifts, finds a new home on the waistband of his jeans, slides lower. *Rubs*. God. “Coulda fooled me.’

Later, he can't even remember exactly what happens next. He knows that he recognized what he thought was his chance, he knows there was a very short struggle. He knows that he brought his fist up and back as he toppled to the floor, felt it connect with something that crunched unpleasantly and made Logan yelp. It happens so fast, though, that when things finally slow down, he's on his back on the floor, and he has no idea where Logan is.

He rolls to a crouch and then freezes, surprised to see Logan on all fours, head hanging, blood running from his shattered nose. It splatters the carpet with bright, crimson blooms.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

He knows that he should get out while he can. This situation has rapidly gone from uncomfortable to dangerous, and he wants to be as far away from it as he can possibly get.

And then Logan looks up at him. And grins.

Wipes at his bloodied face with the back of his hand. “First blood goes to you, kid.’ A glint in those eyes that makes the hair on the back of Gambit's neck stand on end. “My turn now.’

Gambit attempts to make the door, but it's pointless, really. And simply results in being pinned to the floor by Logan, flat on his stomach under that unbelievably dense body.

That voice in his ear again. “You wanna fight or you wanna fuck?’

Hmmm. Gambit weighs his options. Decides that fucking is the more appealing of the two, if for no other reason than his odds of surviving it are slightly better.

"Let me turn over." The weight on him lessens slightly as Logan hovers warily over him, gives him just enough room to flip onto his back. Which brings their bodies into alignment, parts pressing up against other parts, and that's a little weird. Not unpleasant, but a little weird. He figures he'll get over it soon enough.

Logan is still damp from the bath, still grinning at him in a way that makes him wonder if he's going to fuck him or gut him, and the towel. . . well, who knows where the towel is.

It seems like he should put his hands somewhere, but he can't really think of a place. He feels awkward, and a little embarrassed. Logic says that Logan, being the naked one, would be the one at a disadvantage, but that does not appear to be the case. Leave it to Logan to be contrary about everything.

Far from feeling awkward, Logan is evidently ready to jump right in. He slides down, his hands pushing Gambit's shirt up to expose his stomach. Drags his parted mouth across quivering muscle, licking softly, his bloody chin leaving a dark smear in his wake. The stubble feels strange, but oddly arousing.

Gambit's hands finally find a home, tangling in Logan's damp hair, which is now sticking up in all directions. It´s thick and feels good under his fingers, almost as good as the tongue that's laving his belly. Logan's hands continue to push his shirt up, trying to get it off, as his mouth gets more insistent.

Gambit tries to sit up, get his shirt over his head. "Wait, wait. . ."

Logan's mouth latches onto a now-exposed nipple while Gambit's arms and head are trapped in his shirt. "No," Logan mumbles, on his hands and knees now, leaning into him, trying to push him back down.

The shirt comes off, lands somewhere near the door.

"Bed," he manages to say, trying to keep Logan's hands away from his pants long enough to get to his feet. The other man doesn't seem to hear him. "Logan, wait. Let's—"

"Shut up." Okay, so he did hear him.

He ends up scooting backwards on his butt as Logan chases him across the floor. He manages to haul himself up onto the bed, but somehow his pants get left behind. It's all happening so fast, but he isn't sure how to stop it. He isn't even sure he wants to. On the other hand, he isn't sure he doesn't.

Before he can decide, Logan is on him again. Mouth and hands and hard, hairy body. His neediness buzzes in Gambit's brain, urgent and unstoppable, like a bull in heat. Big and surly and still slightly dangerous, but intent on only one thing now.

Logan slides over next to him, tugs on Gambit's hip until he rolls to face him, presses up against him in that way that is so startling at first, but is rapidly becoming one of his favorite things in the whole world. Rubs against him everywhere. It's strange, not being the bigger of the two people in the bed, but then everything about this is different. Sharper teeth, hairier skin, rougher hands.

And the growling. That's definitely a new addition to Gambit's sex life.

Logan's hand closes on his, pulling it down between them. Gambit hesitates, the reality of Penis Sex suddenly right there *in his hand*, and it doesn't go unnoticed. Logan is panting, restrained, trying not to snap at him in his frustration. Gambit wonders if he knows that he can feel it anyway. Logan is practically gritting his teeth, and though he finds that rather funny, Gambit knows that laughing at Logan right now would be a very bad idea.

"You´ve got one, do what feels good," Logan says, with as much feigned patience and concern as he can muster.

Hell, that's easy enough. And it must feel good to Logan, too, because he groans and latches onto Gambit's mouth. Taste of cigar and blood on his tongue, then hot breath on his neck, in his ear. Fingers biting into his hips, Logan groaning and encouraging. And then pulling away.

Gambit tries to follow, and somehow they both end up on their knees, facing each other, and then Logan's head drops down and a wet tongue flicks over the head of Gambit's cock. For a second, all Gambit can think is that a guy with teeth that sharp has no business getting anywhere near parts that sensitive, but then the sucking starts and he decides that he'll bring it up later.

Like, maybe in fifty years or so, on his deathbed.

He grabs Logan's shoulders and hangs on while that mouth tugs on him, lightly at first, then drawing him in deeper and faster, over and over. His hips start to move, which he suspects Logan won't tolerate, but there are a lot of things about Logan that are surprising him right now, and the lack of a negative response to having his mouth fucked is only one of them.

He's about to come, and wondering if he should say something, when Logan's mouth goes away. It's disappointing, but Logan pushes him down onto his back and shoves his legs apart, and he knows what's coming next.

Logan leans down and forces his tongue into Gambit's mouth, and his cock is hot and hard, poking at him. He gropes for the nightstand, fumbling, and mutters into Gambit's mouth, swearing and irritated because he can't find what he wants. Which Gambit thinks is kind of funny.

Who knew sex with Logan would be so amusing?

"Gimme your hand."

Gambit proffers his cupped hand, and Logan fills it with the lube, then guides it to his erection. He watches with hooded eyes as Gambit coats him, then pushes his hand out of the way and upends the bottle, squeezes a ribbon of clear gel onto two fingers. A brush and a prod are all he gets before Logan scoots forward and pushes his legs up and out.

Gambit looks up at him, kneeling there, and wonders what he's in for, then tries not to think about it anymore, because this is *not* a moment when he wants to be tense. Then Logan is pushing into him and he doesn't care. It's very, very good. Surprisingly less uncomfortable than he'd expected. And then. . .wow. . .Logan shifts and makes him see stars. And then grins viciously and does it again. So damn smug, but Gambit thinks that's probably okay, as long as he keeps doing what he's doing.

And he does. Over and over again, and even through all the pleasure, Gambit recognizes the unnerving single-mindedness, the deliberate determination to tear the other man down. Logan fucks just like he fights.

Gambit reaches down and strokes himself to Logan's rhythm, and jerking off has never felt so good as it does with Logan fucking him blind at the same time. He wants it faster and faster and faster, and he tells Logan that, and of course that just makes Logan slow down. Makes him grind against him, slow and hard.

And that just makes Gambit twist on the sheets and beg. Which, as it turns out, is exactly what Logan wants, because then and only then does he give Gambit what *he* wants. Gambit thinks he should remember that later, and make him pay, but as he comes, he has a feeling that mainly he'll remember the way his whole body clamped down on the sensation and made it stronger. The way it felt like it wasn't going to stop, and the way he arched into it so it wouldn't, and the way Logan swore in appreciation.

He regains his vision just in time to watch Logan finish. Logan's eyes are closed, and he doesn't notice that he's being watched, just pounds harder, and Gambit grabs the headboard to brace himself because if he slides up any higher he's gonna hit his head.

Logan's jaw is clenched tight, his breath hissing through his teeth, his hair sticking to his damp forehead. Lunging and straining, and the only thing Gambit can read off him now is pure animal need. Three last thrusts, so fast they're nearly a blur, and then a snarl that makes every hair on Gambit's body stand up.

Logan pulls away, panting and grinning, and that's the first time it really hurts, empty and a little achy. But that's a small inconvenience, and Gambit is still convinced that Logan should be involved in every orgasm he has for the rest of his life, because they're so much better that way.

Then Logan drags him into the bathroom, and a few minutes later he decides the same is true for showers as well.

They finally make it back to the bed, and Logan digs a couple beers out of the mini-fridge he uses as a second beside table. Lube on one side, beer on the other. Logan truly is a man whose life revolves around his hobbies.

Gambit still can't really believe they just did what they did. If it weren't for the fact that they're naked in Logan's bed, this wouldn't seem much different from any other time they've had a few beers and talked about nothing at all important.

Except this time, Logan fucked him in the ass. And then sucked him off in the shower.

Other than that, it's just like old times.

The buzzing in his brain has faded to a pleasant murmur of satisfaction, one that makes him feel slightly drugged, and it's a welcome change. He's warm and drowsy and smells like Logan's soap. In the bathroom, the shower is still dripping, and his eyelids seem to keep drooping in time with it, no matter how hard he fights to keep them open.

Logan yawns noisily, mouthful of teeth, sharp fangs, whiskers. Like a huge, sleepy lion. That thought makes Gambit shiver, and wakes him up a little. Time to go back to his own room.

He swings his legs to the floor and reaches for his pants, which are half under the bed. Before he can get them on, Logan says, “Where you think you´re going?’

Actually, he doesn't really want to go anywhere. And not just because walking seems like a dicey proposition after butt-sex and shower blowjobs and beer.

“Want me to stay?’

“Not if you´re gonna break my nose again.’

He pretends to think about it. “Nah.’ He leaves the pants where they are and starts to crawl back under the sheets.

“Get some sleep," Logan says, and smacks him on his bare ass. "You´re gonna need it.’

Another pleasant shiver. “I already do.’

Logan snorts and rolls over. “Lightweight.’

Logan drops off to sleep with his usual ease, and Gambit notices that he sleeps with the pillow over his head rather than under it. He's sprawled on his stomach, sheet twisted around his hips, and he's not snoring yet, but Gambit figures it's just a matter of time.

Gambit yawns and stretches his aching muscles. Examines the bite mark on his arm. Penis Sex has been accomplished. Logan didn't slice him like a cantaloupe. The lust-fog in his brain has cleared.

Not a bad night, overall.

Just to be on the safe side, they should probably do this again, though. On a regular basis. Just to make sure everyone stays happy and comfortable.

Yeah, that's probably a good idea.

The End

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