"A Reasonable Compromise"

by FyrDrakken

FyrDrakken@juno.com

Rating: R/NC17 for naughty language and semi-graphic sex

**WARNING**: I cannot stress this enough — this story is Rogue/Gambit Logan/Gambit Logan/Rogue. That means m/m slash is a *major* part of this story. If this squicks you, read no further! If you’re curious, read on...

Archive: WR fanfic archive and X-Men Movie Fanfic archive, anyone else ask — answer will no doubt be yes, but I do like knowing where my stuff goes! :-)

Classification: Eventual L/R smut, but that’s *not* how it starts out...

Series: No way in hell does this relate in any way to anything else I’ve done or am currently working on. One of the vicious jackalope/smut bunny hybrids native to this area got me by the leg and *wouldn’t let me go!*

Disclaimer: Marvel owns much, Bryan Singer kicks ass, Hugh Jackman is eminently lickable, the story is bloody well my own.

Feedback: Questions, comments and snide remarks directed to FyrDrakken@juno.com will receive guaranteed responses. As an Elitist Fic Bitch in good standing, I welcome constructive criticism -- if there's a problem in something I've written I *really* want to know about it so I can fix it!

Author’s Note: I’ve read enough of the comics to know that Remy LeBeau is a New Orleans native who readily admits he can barely speak French, and I have enough dealings with my Cajun cousins not to be able to give him the Parisian accent the comic writers have mistakenly foisted on him. That’s why I’ve written his dialogue the way I have...

Inspiration/Blame: Jenn was not only the one who sent me on to Jane St. Clair’s "All the Animals" (a fabulous read and if you’re interested go check it out —- it has L/S and managed to convert me to the slashable view of Logan without ruining my take on his essential character), but she was the one who brought me into the Musical Beds revolving-door X-Smut anthology, and she was the one who kept demanding more and more of this via AIM. She also volunteered for human shield duty... ;-D

Dedication: To the women I overheard during my lunchbreak at work the day I began writing this, complaining about a lesbian subplot being introduced on ER and expressing their beliefs as to the damnatory consequences of such activities...

Note:
[ ] = Thoughts
* * = Emphasis
/ / = Rogue reliving a bit of borrowed memory



"A Reasonable Compromise"
by FyrDrakken


"Won't you come a bit closer,
close enough so I can smell you.
I need you to feel this,
I can't stand to burn too long.
Released in this sodomy.
For one sweet moment I am whole."
— "Prison Sex," by Tool


It all came to a head on the day Logan was passing by Remy’s room just as he was coming out. The kid reeked of sweat, of Marie and of fulfilled desires. Logan halted, the mingled scents hitting him in the deepest instinctive reptile centers of his brain with all the subtlety of a battleaxe.

Remy turned to look at him over one shoulder. "Got a problem, Wolvie?"

Wolverine growled, the pain and frustration boiling over and emerging as a guttural feral warning. His fists clenched, as Logan kept just enough control to keep from attacking the punk. [Let it go, kid. Turn and walk away, *right now*...]

Unfortunately, telepathy seemed to be one power that Remy definitely did *not* have. Leaning against the wall with one shoulder, he stuck his hands in his pockets. "I don’ know what your deal is, man. Can’t even say hello without growlin’ at me, and I *know* it ain’t just that you don’t got a nice word for anyone cause I see you with other people gettin’ on okay."

Wolverine tensed. This rat bastard son-of-a-bitch prettyboy as good as had a sign on him saying, "I just fucked the girl who *should* have been yours — and she liked it, too," and here he was trying to start a fucking *conversation*? Could he really be *that* clueless as to who he was fucking around with here? Right now the only thing keeping this punk in one piece was the lingering knowledge that Marie would *not* be pleased if he gutted her boyfriend — and that little fact was getting awfully hard to keep in the forefront of his mind...

Throwing in a pouty look, Remy added, "I’m beginnin’ to think that maybe you don’ *like* me that much. Be nice if you at least told me *why*..."

It was the pout that did it. The sulky little James Dean-wannabe pose didn’t hurt, nor did the fact that he was entirely too damned pretty — but it was that eminently biteable little lip thrusting forward at him that really tipped him over the edge.

Logan had always had a thing for redheads.

He was entirely too close to be able to read the look on Remy’s face when he slammed him against the door — but he felt the kid’s hands pressing against his shoulders. In startlement only, not seriously trying to push him away, as in another moment his hands were coming up, his arms around Logan, his lips parting under his. Logan only vaguely noticed the signs of cooperation — he was more interested in the taste of Marie lingering on the kid’s mouth — and jaw — and throat...

Tangling one hand in the unruly auburn tumble, he pulled Remy’s head back, exposing his throat. He followed the intoxicating scent across and down, trying to find every last bit of Marie left on the aggravatingly attractive punk currently pressed against him. Remy fumbled behind him, finding the doorknob and turning it, and then Logan stumbled forward as the door they had been leaning against opened inward.

The kid managed to get the door closed behind them, and then he was pressed against it again, from the inside this time. Still following the lingering traces of Marie, Logan started opening Remy’s shirt impatiently. Right now the thought uppermost in his mind was removing every last bit of Marie from his rival’s skin. He started scrubbing at Remy’s throat with his tongue, and the younger man murmured happily and tangled his hands in Logan’s hair. Buttons gave as the shirt was yanked farther open and the scent trail was followed down an almost hairless chest.

Rather than protesting at the treatment of his wardrobe, Remy pushed away from the door and began urging his companion towards the bed. The Wolverine was happy enough to comply, since rendering the opponent horizontal made him that much more helpless. Enthusiastically pushing the kid back onto the bed, he followed him down and knelt astride him, continuing to follow that scent ever southward. Remy put his hands on the older man’s head again, and Logan had enough coherent thought left to him at that point to muse that he wasn’t at all surprised — Gumbo was *way* too pretty to be entirely straight.

It wasn’t until he was undoing Remy’s jeans that the thought occurred to him that Marie might not approve of what he was doing. Logan paused for the briefest of instants — The Wolverine almost quivering with impatience to finish subduing his opponent by whatever means necessary — before concluding that Marie would *probably* rather he fuck her boyfriend than kill him, since he couldn’t refrain from doing both. Besides, the kid hadn’t protested even once — he wasn’t exactly proving himself a model of fidelity to his beloved, so if he would no doubt be cheating on her *anyway*...

All doubts were forgotten when Logan got Remy’s zipper undone and tugged his jeans and briefs down. Not only did he positively reek of Marie, but it was those bits of Marie that were the most interestingly obsessed over. Wolverine started enthusiastically running his tongue over the regions that had been the most intimately in contact with the object of his affections, saving the best for last.

Remy moaned when Logan started scrubbing his tongue along the shaft of his penis, and when the older man actually took him in his mouth he began trying to move his hips. Wolverine growled and put his forearms across the kid’s upper thighs, using his weight to pin him to the bed. Accepting the unspoken command to hold still, Remy gasped and moaned enthusiastically, tensing the muscles in his legs and quivering slightly.

When he came, Logan pulled away. Taking advantage of the kid’s sudden total relaxation, he grabbed him by the hips and flipped him over, positioning him on the edge of the bed. Remy didn’t protest the treatment, nor the sound of a zipper going down behind him. He bucked a little when the Wolverine took him, a bit harder and faster than he liked and with no lubrication involved, but the hard-muscled forearms pressing his shoulders to the bed brooked little argument. Knotting his hands in the comforter, Remy submitted with only minor gasps and shivers of protest.

Finishing with a final shudder and pulling free, Logan paused for another of those brief moments of clarity. Staring at the bent shoulders before him, noting the hands tensely gripping the bedclothes, he wondered, [What the hell did I just do?] Rising from his knees to his feet in a single fluid motion, he pressed one hand briefly to Remy’s head, silently telling him to stay where he was.

Ducking into the bathroom, he got himself cleaned off while feeling his heart rate slow to something approaching normalcy. Zipping up, he came back out to find the kid half-sitting, half-kneeling by the bed, still leaning against the mattress. Turning half-dazed eyes up to him, Remy started to murmur something about how amazing that had been, how unexpected.

Logan’s lips tightened. Walking past the kid without sparing him another look, he headed for the door and let himself out.

Closing the door behind him, he belatedly thought to check the hall for potential witnesses. None — he had been lucky. And with such a notedly temperamental lover as Rogue, Remy would be the absolute last to talk about what had just happened. So this afternoon could remain their little secret. Which was a blessing, to say the absolute least.

Leaving the scene of the crime with rapid strides, Logan slowed to a more thoughtful pace as he neared the kitchen. What he really wanted right now was a beer or three — not just to get the taste of Remy out of his mouth (and more importantly, off his breath), but so that he could have a nice quiet hour or three to stare into his bottle and ponder the ramifications of what — and who — he had just done.

* * *

Logan’s eventual conclusions on the matter were that it had been another of his periodic lapses of sanity, notable only in the uncharacteristic lack of bloodshed or fatalities, and that he had better not do it again. His resolve was only strengthened by Remy’s reaction. Aside from a private attempt to initiate a repeat session a few days later (which Logan refused with a snarl), the little pest had begun acting differently around him in public.

Remy had always refused to show what the Wolverine considered to be only the proper respect due to an individual who could carve a person limb from limb between one breath and the next. But in the past the kid had at least displayed the minimal degree of caution one shows around those of uncertain temper. Following the Incident, however, Remy seemed to have reclassified Logan into the category of "not so bad once you get to know them," and began reacting to his characteristic displays of hostility with not-so-hidden amusement.

Worse yet, Gambit now seemed to be under the impression that the two of them were, God forbid, *lovers* or something. There was one alarming episode in which Remy became almost overtly flirtatious — in front of the ever-observant Storm and the mindreading Betsy, no less — but Logan managed to glare the little punk into circumspection after the incautious smirk and wink. At least he was quick enough on the uptake to obviously conclude that Logan wasn’t keen on having any hint of their "relationship" to become public knowledge — but it made Logan wince on Marie’s behalf to see how unworried Remy seemed to be about her hearing of him flirting with someone else.

It was a tricky position to be in, no mistake. On the one hand, he loathed the little prick and wanted him *gone* — from Marie’s bed, from the X-Mansion, from the planet even — but on the other hand he wanted Marie to be happy...

And right now what made her happy was that Cajun dickhead. So Gumbo got to make her squeal while Logan had only his nightmares for company.

Which was where matters stood about a week and a half later, when Logan once again passed Remy in the hall with that irresistible aroma of sex and Marie wafting about him.

It wasn’t just the smell, Logan mused in a distant still-thinking segment of his mind while the Wolverine grabbed the punk by the "Louisiana State University" sweatshirt and shoved him back against the wall. [It’s that damned cocky *look* on his face, like he knows that he’s got the best-looking girl in the whole damned place, and she’s *still* not enough to keep him satisfied...]

And satisfied with Rogue he clearly wasn’t, as he happily responded to the mouth hungrily covering his. Logan regained control enough to pull away and check the hall — nope, no witnesses, and Remy’s room was *that* way...

Gambit happily followed the grip on his upper arm, letting the two of them into his room. Logan began stripping the kid as soon as the door was closed behind them, and Remy not only cooperated but began working on removing Logan’s clothes as well. Wolverine tolerated the removal of his shirts before hustling Gumbo to the bed. Remy insisted on pulling the covers back before allowing himself to be pushed down onto the sheets, which — dear lord! — also smelled of Marie. Pressing his rival to the mattress and once again running his tongue over the Marie-scented skin, Logan absently allowed the kid to fumble with his belt and open his jeans.

When Remy began stroking him through his boxers, and then reached inside to rub his already-sizeable erection, it was enough to make the Wolverine change gears. Halting his path across the kid’s chest at one tautened nipple, he peeled off his own jeans and undies and then rolled Remy onto his side.

"Wait," Remy panted, "In the nightstand, there’s some — "

"Shut up," Logan told him brusquely, grabbing him by the narrow hips and penetrating him without further preamble. The kid whimpered low in his throat but didn’t fight, putting his hands atop the older man’s and gripping tightly.

Logan wasn’t gentle with him, but he wasn’t deliberately rough, either. When he finished, he remained clinging to Remy’s hips for a panting moment before rolling him back over. Resuming the work of erasing Marie’s scent from that smooth young skin, he scrubbed deliberately but almost gently with his tongue. Remy relaxed under the attentions, and Logan took his time, once again leaving his penis for last. As he started at the base and gradually worked his way up to the tip, now working on one side and now another, Remy worked his fingers into Logan’s hair, breathing rapidly.

Once he finally took the kid into his mouth, he lasted about a minute. Logan took his mouth away when he felt Remy going limp and leaned his face against his lower belly for a moment, noting how the ever-maddening feminine scent had been eradicated by his and Remy’s own.

Pulling away with a sigh, he collected his own clothes from the tangle on the floor and headed for the bathroom, leaving the younger man where he lay. Getting himself cleaned and dressed — and remembering to rinse his mouth out this time while he was at it — he considered matters. [Shit. This is getting complicated...]

When he came back into the main room, Remy hadn’t bothered to find his own clothing, or even to pull a sheet over himself. Lying draped across the bed in a decent imitation of statuary of the Classical Greek variety, he raked a hand through his ruddy hair while blinking lazily. "Leavin’ so soon?" he murmured in a seductively disappointed tone.

"Yes," Logan said shortly, heading for the door. This time he had enough foresight to pause and listen for nearby footsteps, breathing, heartbeats, before letting himself out into the hall.

* * *

"Who’s winning?" Kurt asked while helping himself to a beer.

Logan allowed it — Nightcrawler being one of the few he liked well enough to share his alcohol with. "Penguins, of course. How the hell Arizona got a team in the first place is beyond me — no one plays hockey in the damn desert..."

Kurt settled himself into a crouch on the back of the couch — normal seats weren’t designed to accommodate tails comfortably. "Obviously someone must, or Phoenix couldn’t have home games."

A wordless grumble at the essential truth of the statement was interrupted. "What’s the score?" Rogue asked, walking around the couch to snag another of the rapidly-disappearing beers. "Scootch," she told Kurt, who politely edged over a couple of feet to allow her to sit next to Wolverine. Aside from other side effects of Logan-absorption, Marie had been left with tastes for beer and certain televised sports.

"Coyotes are getting their asses kicked four to nothing." Wolverine sniffed suddenly and gave Rogue a look out of the corner of his eye. Smelled like she’d just had a little liaison with Gumbo. Logan took another swig of beer to hide his sigh. Right now what he wanted most in the world was to push Marie back down on the couch and start erasing that little asswipe’s scent from her body, replacing it with his own. Kurt’s presence be damned — hell, he could watch if he wanted to. Probably be educational for him.

"Somethin’ wrong?" Marie asked, glancing from the screen to Logan.

"Nothing."

"You sure, friend Logan?" Kurt asked from the other side of Rogue.

"Nothin’ I want to talk about," he said brusquely. [Nothing, just that I’ve been fucking your boyfriend, Marie, and I may be doing it again later this afternoon if he’s around me before he has a shower. Nothing that needs to concern you and oh, God, but I want to go over every inch of your body with my tongue...]

"All right." Marie seemed a bit miffed, but she returned her attention to the game. Kurt, not a particular hockey fan, spent another minute or so eyeing Logan thoughtfully, who caught him staring in his peripheral vision but chose to ignore him.

"And we’re watchin’ hockey today, are we?"

[Oh, hell, not *him*, not *now*...] Unfortunately, it was indeed Remy — and Logan could smell Marie on him even from across the room. [Go away, don’t decide you need to come bond right now, go find something else to do...]

After impishly eyeing the small amount of space between Logan and Rogue — Logan could just *see* him considering the idea of squeezing himself in between them — Remy sat on the couch on the other side of Rogue from Wolverine. Kurt moved over, resuming his gargoyle pose in the space between Logan and Marie, neatly sparing Logan an unobstructed view of Marie leaning into her lover’s arm.

Logan managed to stand it for about ten minutes — until Gambit, a non-hockey-fan, became bored with the game and began whispering love talk into Rogue’s ear. Wolverine was unfortunately able to hear every word, as Remy began suggesting that they leave the other two to their viewing and head back upstairs for another round.

"Well, *I’ve* seen enough," he announced, getting up and grabbing his remaining couple of beers.

Marie looked confused. "But there’s still a full quarter left to the game."

"Hey, don’t I get a beer?" Remy asked, spotting them for the first time when Logan picked them up.

"No," Logan replied shortly while walking out.

Rogue and Gambit exchanged confused glances. "Why don’t I go follow him, see what’s wrong," Nightcrawler volunteered, hopping down off the couch.

He caught up with Wolverine in the kitchen, working on another beer while inspecting the contents of the fridge. "You’re quite sure it’s ‘nothing you want to talk about’?"

Logan debated the possible responses. "Nothing."

"You quit watching the game for ‘nothing’?"

"I just don’t want to have to hang out with Gumbo while I watch." Deciding he really wasn’t hungry after all — at least, not for food — he closed the door.

"Ah."

"I really don’t like that guy."

"Ah." A blink of unsettlingly yellow eyes.

"I really don’t know what she sees in him."

"Perhaps he makes her happy."

A sigh. "She can do better than him, though. She can do a *lot* better..."

Kurt had no reply, and when Logan headed back up to his room he went back into the rec room.

Remy, disappointed both in his campaign to lure Rogue back upstairs and in his attempt to get her to change the channel, offered to go chase down Wolverine, but the other two weren’t impressed with the idea.

"It’s worth a shot. Besides, hockey ain’t my game." So saying, Gambit rose from the couch after giving Marie a parting kiss, and headed out.

"Are you sure we should let him?" Kurt asked apprehensively.

"Aah, Logan’ll gripe at him and chase him off. At least it gets him out of here so we can watch the game in peace."

Upstairs, Remy knocked at the door of Logan’s room.

No response.

He knocked again, then opened the door — unlocked as usual, since Logan had no worries of people wandering in during his absence and could scent them out if anyone did — and discovered the room was empty.

Shrugging disappointedly, he wandered back down the hall and up the stairs to his own room.

He found Wolverine waiting for him there as soon as he opened the door.

* * *

It had been something like the meeting from hell. Logan had a larger chip on his shoulder than usual, Remy for whatever unknown suicidal reason was teasing the Wolverine and making him even more snappish, and Rogue seemed too preoccupied with thoughts of her own to notice that her best friend and boyfriend were apparently on the verge of calling each other out. To make matters worse, even Storm the eternal peacemaker was in a less than temperate mood.

Jean let most of the X-Men leave without comment when the discussion — such as it was — finally, thankfully, ended, but she collared Remy and asked for a private word with him in her office afterwards. Gambit, being the eternal flirt that he was, agreed happily.

"Remy, just what do you think you’re doing with Logan?"

"What?" He actually looked slightly alarmed at the question. Evidently not a topic he had been expecting.

"He’s got the worst temper of any of us, he’s even more unpredictable than *Rogue*, and he’s been noted in the past for killing large numbers of people who irritated him for various reasons. If you’re deliberately trying to start a fight with him to see which of you could take the other, I would advise you to stop it right now. He is *not* a man to play games with."

Remy looked unaccountably amused. "I’m not playin’ any games with him." A reflective pause, and a murmured, "At least, none that he ain’t playin’ back."

"Remy, Logan doesn’t *play* games with people. Not that kind of games, anyway. And I really don’t think he *likes* you."

If anything, Gambit’s little smirk widened. "I used to think that, too."

Jean gave him an exasperated look. "What made you think otherwise?"

Remy gave her a naughty look. "I don’ know if I should say..." At her firm unwavering stare, he coyly added, "Might get me in trouble with Roguey..."

"*Remy*...," she warned. "This is serious."

"Promise you won’t tell?"

"Won’t tell *who*?"

"Anybody."

"That depends on what it is."

"All right, then don’t tell Rogue or anybody who might tell her."

"I... *might* be able to do that." He crossed his arms and set his jaw obstinately. "All *right*, I won’t tell Rogue or anybody who might tell her. Now what *is* it?"

Remy relaxed and the smirk reappeared. "I know what Wolvie-boy’s *real* problem is." A significant pause that she refused to interrupt with a demand for further information. "His whole problem is that he can’t handle that he’s swingin’ from the other side of the fence, so he’s gotta do this whole macho thing to keep anyone from guessin’."

Jean blinked. He couldn’t *possibly* be saying what it sounded like he was saying... "Guessing?"

Remy chuckled wickedly. "Logan’s gay."

"No he isn’t!" The protest boiled up from a sense of outraged pride. After the continual passes he had made at her — which admittedly had dried up of late...

"Oh yes he is! Believe me, I *know*! And he likes me, all right — he *likes* me, and that’s what’s really buggin’ him."

"And how would you ‘know’?" she demanded, crossing her arms defensively. He *couldn’t* be right — it had to be a symptom of Remy’s own out-of-control ego. Maybe *he* was gay, or rather bi, and letting his own fantasies run away with him...

Remy coughed into one fist, playfully reticent. "I’d rather not say — but believe me, I *know*! First hand..."

Jean let him leave and watched the tall Cajun saunter out, shaking her head slightly. She *couldn’t* believe his claims — but there was someone else to ask. And right now she was annoyed enough to go straight to the source — and let Remy take the resulting fallout if — *when* — he was proven to be mistaken, or worse yet lying...

* * *

"Logan, got a minute?"

"For you, Red, anytime," he answered in the Wolverine version of cheerful — meaning, not actively snarling. Pulling the door further open, he stepped back and let her into his room.

She signaled to him to close the door behind him, and he complied. Leaning back against the wood, he gave her a wicked grin and said, "Alone in my room with me. Don’t tell me you finally came to your senses about Cyke?"

Watching and listening with new suspicions, Jean was dismayed to note the absence of genuine lechery in the smile, the habitual nature of the comment. Pausing to look around his room, she spotted something alarming. Walking to the dresser with sharp, nervous strides, she lifted the bit of lavender fabric contrasting oddly with the more masculine odds and ends. "What...?" she asked, not daring to phrase the question more precisely.

"Rogue’s. Left it here the other day." He followed the forgotten scarf with his eyes, silently begging to Jean to put it down and leave it, rather than walking off with it or insisting on returning it on her way out. Marie’s scent hadn’t quite been rubbed out of it yet, despite his having slept with it on his pillow for the past several nights...

With an effort, Jean forced herself to put it down. "I, ah... I just heard something... interesting... from Remy."

Logan went from merely unmoving to utterly still. Jean had the horrible suspicion that he realized what she was about to say.

"He, ah, well, he claimed that... that you... ah, were having a problem with him because you, ah... found him... attractive."

Logan closed his eyes and sighed. Jean felt a dismayed sinking in her midsection, and feared she knew what his next words would be.

She was wrong.

"Have you ever found yourself so mad at someone that you had to either fuck them or kill them?"

Blink. "What?" Blink.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She read sadness, frustration, and more than a little shame in his eyes. "Sometimes it can go both ways — and I knew Rogue wouldn’t want me to kill her boyfriend."

Beginning to get an inkling of the nature of Remy’s mistake, she asked, "What happened?"

He sighed. "I couldn’t stand him. I stayed away for so long, waiting for Marie to grow up — and when I came back for her, she hadn’t waited for me — and her guy was such an utter *prick*. An obnoxious son-of-a-whore who isn’t satisfied with having the most incredible woman imaginable — he’s still gotta be chasing around after anything that moves. Male *or* female. And yet she stays with him. Says he makes her happy." Another sigh. "I wanted to carve him up so badly, but I knew she’d hate that, so I couldn’t. But I couldn’t just let him walk by and do *nothing* — and he’d just gotten out of bed with her, I could still smell her all over him — and he’s really *way* too pretty..."

Jean found herself sitting on the bed. Somewhere during Logan’s mind-numbing recitation her legs had given out. The two most relevant facts to her way of thinking were chasing themselves around in her head. "So you’re really in love with — Marie."

"Rogue. Her name is Marie." An odd smile, sweet around the mouth and silent agony around the eyes. "I don’t think she’s ever even told *him* her real name..."

"And what you told me...? About... your heart belonging to someone else...?"

Logan looked startled, as though he hadn’t even considered that she might be slightly jealous to learn that she didn’t hold first claim on his affections. "At her age, I couldn’t exactly go around saying I wanted her bad and had to skip the country quick before I tried doing something illegal. You were there, you were handy, and it really pissed off Cyke." A pause, while he belatedly realized why this might be upsetting to her. "And you’re beautiful, and wonderful, and Scooter’s really unbelievably lucky to have you." Pause. "But he *does* have you — and Gumbo has Rogue..."

"And evidently he has *you*, too."

Logan growled dismissively. "He seems to think that, doesn’t he? Really, I just grab him two or three times a week when it all gets too much for me and bang the shit out of him... I really *do* hate him."

"He, ah, seemed to think that you were upset because you found him attractive."

Logan shrugged. "Oh, that. I *mostly* like women — I’m just willing to be flexible every now and then. Doesn’t bother me any."

"You never said anything about it *before*."

"Nobody asked."

Jean found herself starting to relax slightly. The numbness was by no means wearing off, but somehow she was beginning to accept this as a new facet of Logan’s character, fitting with the parts she already knew without making them in any way false. Her brain finally escaped its vapor-lock enough to move on to another question. "And what about Rogue? Doesn’t the fact that you’re, well, cheating on her bother you?"

Logan sighed again. The pained look returned to his face, before being replaced by the bittersweet smile. "Say you were in her shoes — say I’d really been so into you that I couldn’t deal with having Cyke walk past me smelling like you and sex all at once." Pause. "What would *you* rather I did — fuck him every so often or kill him, just once?"

An image leaped unbidden to Jean’s mind, of Logan grabbing Scott by the shoulders, dragging him into a savage kiss, ripping his shirt away, pressing him down onto their shared bed... Hastily banishing the treacherous thoughts, she caught Logan giving her a knowing smile and wondered whether the direction of her thoughts had been betrayed by her face or her scent. [No, I will *not* be telling Scott about this. *Any* of this!] she decided instantly.

"Just — how long were you expecting this to go on? Sooner or later, either this has to end or Rogue’s going to find out."

A wince. "That’s *not* a talk I’m looking forward to having with her. If I could think of another way not to kill him, I would. I keep hoping that she’ll break up with him and that’ll be the end of it."

"And if that doesn’t happen?"

"I don’t know, but sooner or later something’s got to give..."

* * *

The next day, Jean watched three of her fellow X-Men with an unhappy new awareness of the emotional undercurrents swirling about them. As Rogue watched a CNN report detailing a few unfortunately well-witnessed conflicts between mutants (including the X-Men themselves in a couple of incidents), Remy came in, settled on the couch next to her, and started trying to wheedle her into changing the channel to ESPN. Wandering in from a training session in the Danger Room with a few of the younger team members, Logan took up a stance behind the couch.

For such an apolitical sportsfan to defend the choice of bad mutant PR over college football, there had to be other factors involved. As Remy teased Logan that he was becoming as bad as Scott and Xavier for worrying over the news, Jean was alarmed to see Wolverine respond by tapping warningly on Remy’s shoulder.

With his knuckles.

Logan never made a fist as a friendly gesture — and never, *never* touched anyone with his knuckles except as a direct act of violence or an explicit threat. It was roughly the equivalent of tapping someone with the barrel of a loaded gun.

And the really frightening thing was that Remy didn’t seem to realize that he was the tensing of a few extensor muscles away from having nine inches of adamantium buried in his chest cavity.

"Remy! Could I see you in my office for a moment?"

The three of them glanced up. Remy lost the playful, "You know you love me," grin and got up off the couch. Before turning to leave the room, Jean saw Logan jump clear over the back of the couch to take the vacated place next to Rogue.

Closing her office door behind them, Jean turned to face the younger man. "Remy, I had a talk with Logan yesterday."

He had the sense to look alarmed. "You *what*?!"

"After what you told me, I had to. And he... well... he cleared a few things up." Pause, while Remy digested this. "Logan doesn’t *have* issues with his sexuality."

The kid looked injured. "You didn’t believe me, so you went to him for the ‘truth’."

"No — or rather, I thought you must be mistaken. Until he told me about your, ah... relationship. Which he admitted to as soon as I asked him about it." Taking in Remy’s stunned look, she repeated herself. "Logan doesn’t *have* issues with his sexuality. He has issues with you seeing Rogue."

"What?!"

"I didn’t know this either until yesterday, but when he left her here right after they both came here, it was to wait for her to grow up. He’s... apparently he’s in love with her, but she was too young to be legal when they met. And when he came back for her, you and she were..."

Remy frowned, clearly turning things over in his mind, reassessing them in this new light. Then he gave her a disbelieving look. "He wants my girl, and so he jumps on *me* and rips *my* clothes off? I don’t buy it, chere."

"He said it was the only way he could keep from killing you. I don’t understand it either, but Logan’s mind works in unusual ways. He said... he said it was because you smelled like her, and like sex."

Remy looked a bit pale. Jean was relieved to see the disbelief leave his face. "Explains why he’s never interested when Rogue’s been out of town, or not in the mood..." His mouth quirked as some of the humor of the situation occurred to him. "Pretty inconvenient — I’m either getting it twice, or not at all."

"Remy, please — be careful. Don’t — don’t push Logan too far."

"‘Don’t push *Logan* too far.’ That’s great, just great. And here I was worryin’ about *Rogue* catching me runnin’ around behind her back..."


"My heart is broken
But when I look at you you're forgiven
You're forgiven
I know my ex-boyfriend lies
Oh he does it every time
It's just his permanent disguise
Yeah yeah but he's drop dead gorgeous..."
— "Drop Dead Gorgeous," by Republica


Rogue dreamingly ran her hands down her lover’s back, still quivering with the aftershocks from her orgasm. When Remy gently disentangled himself from her and settled himself on his side next to her, she contentedly snuggled into him, pillowing her head on his shoulder. [Don’t go to sleep, now,] she reminded herself as he drowsily toyed with a strand of her hair.

After a polite interval, she pulled away from him and sat up. "Leavin’ already?" he murmured?

"Mmm, I’m too comfortable. If I stay here too long, I’m gonna fall asleep."

Having long since exhausted the debate on whether Rogue should risk her lover’s life on her control of her power while sleeping, Remy didn’t bother trying to talk her into staying this time. Instead, he rolled over and turned on the lamp, giving her the light to dress by.

Looking back at him, Marie caught his arm and shoulder illuminated by the light before he pulled away from the lamp. Had she not turned just then, she probably wouldn’t have seen the mark on his shoulder — they had undressed in the dark for once, and in another day or two it would have healed towards unrecognizability.

Right now, though, the bruising pattern still clearly delineated a bite mark — one that she *knew* she hadn’t given him.

Turning quickly away so that he wouldn’t see the look on her face, Rogue collected her scattered clothing and began dressing while she fought to control her expression. [How the hell did he get a bite back *there*?] she wondered, before the question triggered another one of those alien flashes of recall, a resurgence of borrowed memory.

/A tangle of limbs in one of her (his) usually scuzzy motel beds, after a typical rough night in a bar in North Dakota of all places, when the prettiest eyes in the place hadn’t belonged to a female, but that was fine with her (him)... Wrapping brawny arms around a slender form, pulling it back against her (his) body, nuzzling into the corner of neck and shoulder and gripping with strong teeth, leaving a mark as a token of her (his) temporary possession.../

Absorbed in the intensely detailed sensory information characteristic of Logan’s memories, Marie was able to temporarily push the matter of Remy’s infidelity to a mental back burner. He was a real player, and she had privately considered it only a matter of time before he ran into a problem keeping his zipper up around some other pretty face. It hurt, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t been waiting for it to happen. The fact that she had been expecting her eventual, inevitable competition to be female was only an incidental detail.

Much more interesting — and far less painful — was the unexpected revelation from Logan’s past. Marie loved it when lingering traces of Wolverine surfaced, especially when they concerned the type of bedroom safaris only too apt to occur to someone with such an overactive sex drive and so few inhibitions as Logan. She turned the newly unearthed memory over and over in her mind as she finished adjusting her clothing. She was even able to keep a pleasant expression on her face as she gave Remy a goodnight kiss and turned to leave.

The smile lasted only until the door closed behind her.

* * *

"Somethin’ wrong?" Coming down to the kitchen for a late-night beer or three, Logan had discovered Marie, sitting at the table staring meditatively into a cooling mug of appleish something-or-other.

"Nothin’ I want to talk about."

Logan half-smiled, acknowledging his own dismissal flung back at him, before folding his arms across his bare chest and leaning back against a counter. "You don’t *look* like it’s nothing."

Marie thoughtfully stirred her drink.

Softening his voice to a slightly more confidential tone, "You sure you don’t want to talk about it?" He took a few steps towards her and stopped, the disturbingly familiar paired odors of Remy and sex making further approach uncomfortable.

She sipped absently at her cooling drink, considered confiding in him.

He let her think about the matter, taking a swig of his beer and waiting.

"Remy’s cheating on me."

He counted himself incredibly lucky that his shocked look was *also* appropriate for a friend learning unpleasant and unexpected news. "What makes you say that?"

She stirred her drink again. "Spotted a bitemark on the back of his shoulder tonight. I didn’t put it there, someone else did."

Managing to shift his expression to concern — rather than the guilty lines his face was trying to settle into — he asked, "You’re sure he didn’t just — get into a fight, or something like that?"

"It was on the back of his shoulder." Noting his blank look — carefully crafted, that — and raised eyebrow, she smirked. "Don’t play dumb — I figured out what *that* meant from one of *your* memories."

He lucked out again — she misinterpreted his poleaxed and half-embarrassed expression as a reaction to cute lil’ innocent Marie having accessed *that* type of memory. She giggled absently at the look on his face, sipped from her mug, frowned at the taste of the cooled drink and then sighed.

"Funny, I was almost expecting him to run around on me — but I pretty much thought I would only have to worry about other women."

Logan relaxed slightly. Improbable as it seemed, at the moment he seemed to be off the hook. Greatly daring, he asked, "What are you planning to do about it?"

Stirring. "Nothing."

[*What*?!] "Nothing?!"

"What do you *expect* me to do?" She left the drink alone for the moment and gave him an inquiring look.

[Oh, shit. She’s handing you the rope — for fuck’s sake don’t wind up hanging yourself with it. Anything along the lines of "Find out who he’s been with" is a Bad Idea, and if she confronts him it could lead to him naming names...] "I think you should break up with the son-of-a-bitch."

"Mmm. It’s that black-and-white to you, huh?" Toying with her spoon.

"Why would you *want* to stay with him, if he’s cheating on you?"

A diffident shrug. "He makes me happy. When he’s with me, at least he manages to make me feel like I’m the only person on his mind, the only one he wants." Staring thoughtfully into her mug, "And he’s the first man not to be afraid of winding up in a coma for loving me."

[Oh, baby, not the first. Never the first. Don’t ever say that, don’t even *think* that...] "You can do so much better than him..."

"Who?" The bitterness had an edge to it, a blade, cutting another small piece off the ragged edges of his own tattered and non-healing soul.

He couldn’t even offer himself as the answer to her question — because he was absolutely no better than Remy. He was actually worse — because at least the Cajun was honest about what he was. A smooth talker with an eye for the ladies who hadn’t stopped looking just because he had the most beautiful woman in the whole frickin’ state on his arm. As opposed to the utterly worthless creature standing in the kitchen advising the woman he loved to give up the man who made her feel special for having complied with the infidelity he had initiated...

He downed the last of his beer in a desperate attempt to wash the taste of hypocrisy from his mouth.

"He’s such a smooth talker I don’t care what the truth is, because I’d rather believe what he’s telling me. I’m not gonna let myself be bothered by what he’s doing when I’m not around." She set her jaw, clearly preparing herself to stand by her decision.

Making a move as if to touch her, he suddenly noted her bare arms and recalled his own shirtless state. The absolute *last* thing he could afford right now was to have her inadvertently absorb the slightest hint of his true thoughts. Awkwardly dropping his arm back to his side, he caught the flicker of hurt in her eyes at the apparent rejection, and damned himself.

Muttering something even he couldn’t make out, he dropped the empty bottle in the trash on the way out of the kitchen. There was only one place he could go after a conversation like that.

* * *

Logan let himself into Remy’s room without knocking, the even breathing from within letting him know that the occupant was asleep. Leaving his jeans and underwear on the floor midway between the door and the bed, he climbed between the heavily Marie-scented sheets and slid up behind Remy. The suppressed panic and burning frustration caused by the talk in the kitchen overwhelmed him for a moment, and he wrapped his arms suddenly around the younger man and pulled him close.

"Hmmrph?" came the sleepy mumble as Remy awakened with a little twitch. Eyes supernally keen in the dark, Logan was able to study the telltale bruise at close range, and silently wonder what the hell had been behind the impulse that led him to mark the other man like that. Had he been deliberately *trying* to give the game away to Marie?

He sighed and ran his tongue over the bite. Remy murmured a little, then turned his head a bit back towards Logan. "Maybe not a good idea for you to go leaving me marked up like that? Been a lot of fun, tryin’ to keep Rogue from seeing it."

Logan sighed again. [Don’t worry about hiding it, kid — she’s already seen it and she don’t care.] "Won’t do it again," was the closest he would ever come to an apology.

Remy wriggled a little in his arms, turned to face him, kissed him. Warm, cuddly, and tasting of Marie. Not half bad. Logan pulled the kid closer, started licking along his jawline, and was interrupted when Remy shifted position and started licking *him*.

Startled but not really displeased, Logan put his hands in the younger man’s hair and let him work his way down a stubbled throat to his chest, and even further downward. When Remy took him into his mouth, it did a lot to make his frustrations recede. In the few seconds of coherent thought he was able to manage, he noted what a wondrous thing it was to get a little head from someone who knew what it felt like himself and so knew how to do it *right*.

Swallowing and pulling away, Remy crawled back up to the pillow and curled up next to Logan, waiting patiently for him to get his breath back. It hadn’t taken a genius to recognize the desperate unhappiness that had driven the other man into his bed at this time of night, and he had rightly concluded that his evening would go a lot better if he took steps to soothe Wolverine before he decided to do something rough and uncomfortable.

Logan sighed deeply, reaching for the younger man and pulling him close. Wrapping his arms around the kid, he gave him a deep kiss, finding the mingled tastes of himself and Marie comforting in a perversely inappropriate way. Rolling Remy onto his back, he began giving him the expected once-over with his tongue — cheek, jawline, throat, earlobe, shoulder, collarbone, chest, nipple, belly...

Remy laced his fingers together though Logan’s hair, passively allowing him to do pretty much whatever he wanted. (His more-or-less standard policy since Jean’s little FYI.) Eyes closed, breathing beginning to roughen, he absently wondered if he were imagining things or if the Wolverine was being uncharacteristically — well, almost gentle with him. [Probably just the blow job calmed him down a little,] he thought vaguely, before thought became impossible.

The taste of Marie having been replaced by the taste of Remy in his mouth, and her scent having been thoroughly overlain with his own, Logan absently debated whether or not the kid really needed fucking at this point. Crawling off of the now-limp Remy, he propped himself up on one elbow and opened the drawer of the nightstand. [Let’s see if there’s anything interesting in here... Hmm, rubbers — no surprise — women’s undies? In *satin*? I really *hope* these are Marie’s, and not *his*... A can of — Reddi-Whip?] Rattling it curiously... [Empty. Damn.]

Remy roused enough to ask, "What are you — oh. Try the lower drawer."

As directed, Logan closed the upper drawer and tried the second. The first thing he found was, [A book? Anything kinky?] Lifting it out of the drawer to catch the faint moonlight coming from the window, Logan’s night vision was good enough to read the title. [Harry Potter? Remy, you wuss.] Dropping it back and digging some more, he mused, [At least it wasn’t that Mars/Venus crap, or The Bridges of Madison County — I’m sure Cyke’s got parts of *that* one by heart... Massage oil — "Sensuous Strawberry"? Whatever happened to chocolate? Or plain old unscented baby oil? Could work, though... What the — ?]

Logan lifted a pair of handcuffs out of the drawer, giving them an eloquently raised eyebrow. [More than one set, too...] He craned his neck around, curiously checking the nearest bedpost for signs of having been used to anchor restraints. Not finding any obvious scratches in the wood finish, he whuffed a single gruff chuckle and dropped the cuffs back, then resumed digging. [What? No whips to go with the chains?] Finding a tube of KY hiding in a back corner of the drawer, he considered for a moment before grabbing the massage oil instead. [What the hell, let’s see if it *really* smells like strawberries...]

Bottle in hand, he turned back to Remy. The other yawned and stretched, a luxuriant full-body extension that managed to neatly display the effects of the physical fitness program that was mandatory for the full teammembers. Not as well-sculpted as Logan by any means, but defined in a more slender gymnast’s build.

Reaching for Logan’s selection, Remy was surprised to discover a bottle rather than a tube. "What — oh, good choice," as he recognized it by touch. "Here, let me," he added, smoothly taking the bottle from the other man and pouring a fair amount into his right hand. The Wolverine growled softly, low in his chest, as the kid starting putting the oil where he felt it would do the most good. Given that the erection in Remy’s hand had gone from partial to full, he (correctly) chose to interpret the sound as indicative of arousal rather than anger, and kept rubbing until Logan caught his wrist and stopped him.

Logan briefly debated finding out if Remy was flexible enough to try a little something face-to-face, before annoyedly dismissing the idea as being touchy-feely sensitive crap. Using his grip on the younger man’s wrist, he pulled up and then around in a slow-motion horizontal version of a judo-style flip, rolling Remy to his back and then to his other side, facing away. Still holding the kid’s wrist, Logan used the arm that he now had around his midsection to pull him closer.

Remy leaned himself back against Logan cooperatively. Releasing his wrist, Logan found a thigh beneath the covers that wasn’t his own and thoughtfully traced it back up to Remy’s hip. Nudging a knee between Remy’s, he found an angle that he liked and penetrated the younger man.

Exhaling in a sigh, Remy put his own hands atop the pair gripping his own hips, forgetting the fragrant oil still on the fingers of his right hand. Logan ignored the slickness of the touch, concentrating on the warmth and the gripping, gliding friction. With a noise somewhere between another growl and a grunt thrumming low in his throat, he finished and slipped free.

Sliding his hands back up around Remy, he pulled the younger man back into an embrace. Letting his eyes drift shut, Logan leaned one bewhiskered cheek against the back of the kid’s neck. Drowsily he nuzzled at Remy’s shoulder, then gave the warm skin a gentle swipe with his tongue. [Tastes good...]

About to give Remy another lick or two, Logan suddenly tensed, eyes wide with shock. [What the *fuck* is going on here?! I’m about to fall asleep draped across this guy — I don’t even *like* him! He’s fucking Marie — I *hate* him! What the hell am I *doing*?]

Pulling back and away from the man in his arms, Logan eyed the tousled auburn hair and wide but fine-boned shoulders warily.

It didn’t *feel* like hatred. Not anymore.

Slipping from between the sheets, Logan noticed the slickness on his fingers just in time to use his left hand to grab his jeans and briefs from the floor. Escaping into the bathroom and closing the door firmly behind him, he turned on the light and glared at himself in the mirror. He took his time about getting cleaned up and redressed, silently berating himself.

Slipping back out into the still-darkened bedroom, he moved for the door as quickly as total silence would allow. "Sure you won’t stay the night?" Remy asked diffidently from the bed as Logan paused at the door to listen for potential witnesses.

Logan allowed himself a subdued bark of laughter. "Hadn’t you heard? I get some pretty good nightmares. People wind up shish-kebabed if I wake up wrong..." [Just ask Marie...]

Remy sighed a little, but didn’t argue. Angry with himself at the urge to peel his jeans back off and go curl up next to the kid, Logan let himself out into the hall and barely kept himself from slamming the door behind him. (Which would no doubt have woken half the hall and earned him far more witnesses than he would care to have seeing him leaving Remy’s room at this time of night.)

Midway between Remy’s bed and his own, the glare had been replaced by a wry look. [It’s not a fine line between love and hate — they’re really two sides of the same coin. And coins are made to be flipped...]

Lifting his eyes to the ceiling and the heavens beyond, he ironically directed his next thought to the Creator he couldn’t remember ever having really believed in. [My life isn’t complicated enough right now. Could you throw in a few more little twists and turns to keep things from getting boring?]

The challenge to an unresponsive Fate raised his spirits enough for a genuine chuckle by the time he reached his own door.

Later, of course, he would recall that Fate works at its own pace.



Part 2

"whenever i'm alone with you
you make me feel
like i am free again whenever i'm alone with
you you make me feel like i am clean again

however far away i will always love you however
long i stay i will always love you whatever
words i say i will always love you i will always
love you"
— Snake River Conspiracy, covering "lovesong" by The Cure


"Ready to go?" Logan’s room being almost as familiar territory to her as Remy’s or her own, Rogue opened the door and walked in after only a token knock. Remy being out picking up a new student, with Cyke of all people, Marie was free to spend the evening shooting pool with Logan at their favorite local dive.

"Just about," Logan said, putting his wallet into his back pocket.

While he turned to the closet to get his jacket, she took another couple of steps into the room, bringing her around the end of the bed — and stopped. The comforter on the bed hung most of the way to the floor at the corner — but a bit of contrasting fabric could be seen underneath one edge. Contrasting fabric in a familiar pattern.

Bending to lift the edge of the comforter, Rogue reached underneath and pulled out a pair of boxers in an eye-glaringly obnoxious turquoise-and-purple paisley. They looked absolutely identical to one of a set she had bought Remy the previous summer as a joke. The major difference between these and the more familiar pair were the triple slices down the front of these underpants, reaching from the waistband completely down to the legholes...

Turning to face Logan, she asked disbelievingly, "Are these — these aren’t...?" His sudden shocked pallor and guilty look were all the reply she needed. "Oh my God," she whispered numbly, letting the boxers fall to her side forgotten. "What...?"

"Marie, wait..."

"How — how long have these been here? How *long* have you been...?"

"Marie — "

"Don’t you ‘Marie’ me!" she snapped, shock giving way to anger. "What the hell have you been *doing* — as if I couldn’t guess?"

"But you — you said you didn’t care, when I asked. That you weren’t going to let it bother — "

"How *dare* you?! Just where the fuck do you get off? HOW COULD YOU TELL ME TO DUMP REMY FOR CHEATING ON ME WHEN **YOU** WERE THE ONE FUCKING HIM?!"

Logan winced. When she made a move for the door, he managed to get there first. Leaning against it to keep her from leaving, he begged, "Marie, wait, listen to me..."

"Logan, if you don’t get away from that fucking door I swear to God I’ll send you to the Medlab for a solid fucking *month*..."

"Fine, then touch me if that’s what it takes. Or hear me out..." She froze in shock, and he took advantage of the respite. "Marie, I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t think what else to do, I knew you wouldn’t want me to kill him and I couldn’t deal with him any other way."

"What...?"

"...Marie, I hate his guts. Utterly. I wanted him dead. But I didn’t want to hurt you — and you wanted him. And whenever he’d come around me smelling like you, I just couldn’t think straight, but I knew you wouldn’t want me to kill him, and it was the only other thing I could do..."

"What...?"

"...I just had to grab him and try to get every last bit of your scent off him. And he didn’t fight much, and he liked most of it, and it made him *so* much easier to deal with being around — well, once he figured out not to flirt with me in public, and when you said you knew and you didn’t care I thought it was going to be all right — sort of..."

"...Logan, are you saying...? Why...?"

"...Marie, I love you. I have since I met you, and you were too young — I’m probably old enough to be your *grandfather*, for Chrissakes — and I went away to let you grow up before I tried to do something illegal with a teenaged girl, and when I came back you had *him*, and I wanted to kill him so *bad*..."

"...What...?"

"...I love you, and I can’t stand seeing you with him, or being around him, but I wasn’t ready to just pack up and leave and not see you anymore, and it was tearing me up inside, and this was the only thing that was keeping me from doing something *really* bad to him..."

"...You love me...?"

"Yes... Touch me and see for yourself." He held a hand out to her pleadingly.

It was that more than anything else that convinced her. Hadn’t Remy made her promise never to use her power on him to look at his thoughts, ever? Yet here was Logan volunteering to show her anything and everything she wanted to know from him.

She crossed the few steps separating her from him in a dream, taking his hand and moving even closer, pressing him against the door.

She didn’t use her power until her lips met his, and his arms wonderingly rose around her. He had never felt her gift after she had gained control, so he hadn’t expected it to be so painless. Merely taking thought and memory was so much easier than taking the power or life energy from a person, being the things that leaked through first if she got a bit careless.

After a moment, she stopped and pulled her lips away. Thoughtfully resting her forehead against his cheek, she stopped to let the newly-absorbed memories swirl and settle. Little flickers of recall danced up for review and were replaced by others.

/Remy, reeking of Marie (herself) and of desire, blissfully tangling his fingers in her (Logan’s) hair as she (he) desperately chased down each lingering trace of maddening scent/

/Marie (herself) sitting next to her (Logan) on the couch in the rec room, unbearably burning untouchable attraction within an arm’s reach that couldn’t be bridged/

/Jean, wide eyes and scent loudly proclaiming shock and disbelief, "He, ah, seemed to think that you were upset because you found him attractive"/

/Opening her (his) bedroom door at the sound of a passing footstep, catching the familiar swirl of mingled scents and yanking Remy inside because she (he) needed to do something desperate and violent *right now*/

Logan held her close while she examined the new perspective gained, and as she assimilated the newly-borrowed knowledge she gradually became aware of the pounding heartbeat she was pressed closely enough to feel, and his roughened breathing. She opened her eyes and lifted her head, noticing his closed eyes and furrowed brow. Her new awareness suggested to her that being so close to her was probably serving as a form of erotic torment, and when she shifted position slightly she could feel the beginnings of an erection pressed against her.

"So," she murmured softly. He opened his eyes slowly and turned his head to meet her gaze. The new insight helped her to identify the roil of emotions lurking in the hazel eyes — pain, guilt. Lust, anger, lingering panic. Love. "So. You love me..."

Faint spark of humor, flicker of hope. "Yes."

"And you think I could do better than Remy."

Strengthening hope, beginnings of a smile quirking one corner of his mouth. "Yes."

Lifting a hand, tracing one finger along one lower lip before brushing lightly over one sideburn. "Care to show me *how* much better?"

She had only a fraction of a second to catch the blaze that kindled to life in his eyes before he ducked his head forward and kissed her. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, pressing herself into the solid-muscled body against hers. When he ran his tongue along her lower lip, she willingly parted her lips and let him turn the kiss into something hot and exploratory.

Running her hands up under his shirt, she examined the contrast between the furry muscularity under her fingers and the slimmer hairlessness her hands were used to. He growled low in his throat, wrapping his arms around her even more tightly if that was possible. Shifting his attentions from her lips, he began working his way down her jawline to one ear, hot breath tickling as he nuzzled earnestly at her earlobe. She whimpered as he ran his tongue along the corner of her jaw, and tugged upward at his shirt, suddenly needing bare flesh.

He complied willingly enough and started unbuttoning her blouse as soon as his shirt was removed. Peeling it off of her, he kissed her throat, upper chest, and between her breasts before reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. She shrugged out of it eagerly, pressing herself against him for the new sensation of hair tickling at her sensitive breasts.

He groaned softly, reaching one hand up to cup around a smooth breast while holding her close with the other arm. Stroking the nipple with his thumb, he bent forward for another kiss. She happily reached into his mouth with her tongue, stroking it along his lower lip before setting up a suggestive back-and-forth rhythm against his own tongue.

He whimpered desperately and ducked his head to her breasts. While he began licking — delicately at first but then more urgently — all around the nipple of the breast he wasn’t already holding, she combed her fingers through his dark hair. Clinging to him for balance, she kicked off her shoes and managed to remove her socks with her toes before pulling back and leading him in the direction of the bed.

Willingly taking the hint, he pulled the bedclothes back and swept her off her feet, depositing her on the mattress. He paused long enough to deal with his own shoes, and when he turned back to the bed she was stripping off her pleather trousers. When she made a move to do the same with her panties, he stopped her. "Let me get those," he growled seductively in her ear, sitting on the bed beside her. She gave him an impish grin, and he leaned down for another kiss before standing back up long enough to peel off his own jeans. He left his own boxers on and lay down beside her.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down for another kiss, hooking one leg around his. He began kissing his way down her throat, back to her breasts, and then down her belly. At her navel he paused, met her eyes, and with a wicked look hooked two fingers into the waistband of her panties. Slowly, reveling in every little bit uncovered, he slipped them down her legs, then tossed them aside and ran his hands over her thighs.

Parting them gently, he shifted position and after a good, hard, dizzying sniff he began kissing and licking the areas in between. Marie gasped and tangled her hands in his hair. He growled happily at the scent, the taste, the way her legs were tensing to either side of him, the unselfconscious noises she was making. "Oh, Logan... Oh, God... My God... LOGAN!" He gave her one good hard back-to-front lick and began working on her clitoris, alternating sucking with hard tongue rubs. When she cried out and arched her back, he grinned to himself and kept nuzzling.

A few minutes after her first orgasm she was whimpering again. Ready for a change in tactics, Logan pulled away and raised himself to his knees. Opening her eyes when he stopped and raising herself to her elbows, Marie saw him reaching for the waistband of his boxers. "Here, let me," she purred as she sat up. Slowly easing them down his legs and leaving them around his knees, she reached happily for the items thus revealed. Logan growled low in his throat as she began rubbing his penis, circling the head of it with her thumb while using her other hand to gently caress his testicles. Reaching back down between her thighs with one hand, he found her still damp and quivering. Massaging her clit with two fingers, he told her, "Lie back."

She accepted the suggestion, and as he moved to his knees and elbows above her, she once again reached for his penis. Guiding him to the right spot, she moaned low in her throat as he sank deeply into her. Marie pressed her thighs against his, feet tucked around his calves, and wrapped her arms around him as though never to let him go. Logan growled softly, eyes closed and face pressed to her neck, taking a moment to enjoy the scent and feel of being unbelievably intertwined with the woman he loved, before beginning to move.

Marie took a moment to pick up his rhythm before begin to nudge her hips upward to meet his thrusts. "Oh... Logan... Oh... yes... Logan... Oh... God...," she whispered. He lifted his head and opened his eyes, wanting to watch her face mirroring the growing tension, delight, and eventual release. When she dug her nails into his back he groaned low in his throat and increased his pace, and when he felt her tensing beneath him and heard her cry his name in his ear he whimpered, but it was feeling the rhythmic spasms deep within her when she came that pushed him over the edge.

"OHGODMARIE!" he dimly heard himself cry. Her face blurred for an instant as his nervous system overloaded with orgasm, and when his vision cleared her eyes had opened and she was studying him tenderly.

Reaching one hand up to ruffle his hair and tease along one sideburn, she murmured, "That was a pretty good demonstration."

He grinned. "It ain’t over yet, baby..." Beginning to move his hips against hers again, she felt him restiffening within her. Marie gave him a startled look, then smiled appreciatively.

With a shove of heel and elbow against the mattress, she was able to roll him over, winding up on top. Shifting her thighs, she settled into a comfortable position kneeling astride him. Logan raked her with an appreciative up-and-down glance before giving her a lecherous grin and sliding his hands from her waist down to her thighs.

As she began thoughtfully rubbing her pelvis against his in a back-and-forth motion, he gripped her hips encouragingly before reaching for the breasts bobbing so enticingly in front of his face. Marie sighed happily, beginning to move a bit more quickly, as he put a hand on each breast. Kneading gently, he briefly allowed himself to be lost in adolescent delight at finally getting to lay hands on the woman who had taken up such a starring role in his fantasy life in the years since his meeting her.

As he circled and teased her nipples with his thumbs, she murmured in the back of her throat, throwing her head back and pressing herself more firmly forward into his hands. Logan slid his right hand from her breast, tracing his fingers lightly down her rib cage and belly until he reached the triangular patch of hair currently being rocked so delightfully against him. Slipping a pair of fingers between the two of them, he found her clitoris again and began massaging it.

She yipped in surprise and delight when he first touched it, then increased her pace. Logan managed to keep time with her thrusts. Sliding his left hand from her other breast up to the back of her neck, he murmured, "That’s it, baby, just a little more. Just a little more...," until she arched and shuddered convulsively.

The sight (of Marie, delightfully gloriously unbelievably naked and transported by ecstasy) — the scent (of passion and the release thereof) — the sound (of her mindless gasps and cries, with the breathless murmur of his name mingled in at the end) — were almost enough to send him over the edge by themselves. When added to the feel of her internal muscles quivering around him, release was inevitable. He bucked his hips upwards against hers, once, twice, before collapsing back against the mattress with a hoarsely murmured, "Oh, *Marie*..."

Opening his eyes, he found her regarding him with a tender sleepy-eyed smile. Returning the smile without consciously deciding to do so, he reached up to her and pulled her down to the bed at his side, leaving her limbs loosely draped over his. She nestled comfortably against him, settling her head on his shoulder.

Logan let out a sound midway between a snort and a chuckle. "And to think, the most excitement we had planned for tonight was shooting pool..."

* * *

Storm found Jean in the kitchen thoughtfully nursing a late-evening coffee after a long day in the Medlab. Checking the pot, she was pleased to find enough left for a cup for herself.

After dumping an unhealthful amount of sugar into her coffee (but no cream), Ororo settled herself next to her friend at the table with a nod of greeting.

"Quiet night," Jean noted absently, mind still on the experiment she had just set up to run overnight.

"Depends on what part of the building you’re in," Storm noted.

"Hmm?"

"A few hours ago I heard Rogue shouting at someone. From three floors above. I suspect the people on that floor heard a great deal more." Ro serenely drank her coffee.

"Oh dear. Any idea who it was?"

"I am not sure, but whoever it was is apparently having an affair with Remy." Ororo managed to keep her expression completely deadpan.

Jean’s spit-take was everything she could have hoped for in a reaction. "Damn. Oh, damn."

Storm handed her some paper towels to clean up the coffee sprayed across the table. "I take it this doesn’t come as a complete surprise to you?"

"I knew what was going on — we were just hoping things would work themselves out *before* Rogue learned about it."

"Things?" Ro raised a delicately arched eyebrow, silently inviting confession.

Jean considered for a moment. Ah, hell, the cat was well and truly out of the bag. Time for a good gossip session...

An hour or so later, Ororo was leaning her chin on one hand, so fascinated by Jean’s story that her coffee had cooled to a forgotten sugary sludge in the bottom of her mug. "And this has been going on for *how* long?"

"A few months, I don’t know exactly."

"Forgive me, but I’m still having a hard time believing all of this."

"So did I, and Remy and Logan were the ones telling me."

"I just can’t picture Logan...," Ro let the sentence trail off.

"I know, I couldn’t at first either. It took me a few weeks of watching the three of them together after he told me before I could really credit it. Explains a lot, though."

"Does it?"

"Well, it explains why he hasn’t assaulted Remy yet, at least."

"True." Storm thoughtfully replayed the last few mission briefings and team meetings in her head, absently sipping the toxic waste lurking in the bottom of her mug. "I still have a hard time thinking of Logan as being anything but completely straight, though."

"Especially with him and Rogue shagging like rabbits upstairs right now." The two at the table spun to face the door in perfectly synchronized surprise as Betsy entered the room and the conversation simultaneously.

Jean’s jaw dropped in disbelief. "You’re kidding!"

"Am not. They’ve been at it for the past three hours."

Jean and Ro exchanged glances. "Interesting response on her part," Storm commented neutrally, not wanting to complete the sentence in case Betsy didn’t know about Logan and Remy.

"What, you mean to learning he was doing her boyfriend on the side? Oh, he did some bloody fast talking after she quit screaming at him. Didn’t quite catch what he said to convince her, but it must have been good."

"And now they’re...," Jean raised an eyebrow.

"For the past three hours. You don’t believe me, head upstairs and you’ll hear them. Me, I’m staying down here. I’ve heard *more* than enough. For three *solid* HOURS."

Another exchange of glances. "You’re quite sure that’s what the two of them are doing? Not — fighting, or anything like that?" Jean asked cautiously.

"Well, aside from the creaking bed and the growling, there’s the way she keeps screaming, ‘Oh, God, LOGAN!!’ at periodic intervals. It certainly doesn’t sound like they’re playing Monopoly in there..."

Storm thoughtfully laced her fingers together, resting her hands on the table in front of her. "The situation seems to be getting interesting."

"‘Getting’?" Betsy suspiciously inspected the teabags in the cupboard. "Hmmph. What I wouldn’t give for a good packet of PG Tips... As if it hadn’t been interesting enough with Wolverine and Gambit sneaking around behind Rogue’s back."

"You knew?" Jean raised an eyebrow at Psylocke.

"Don’t go giving me that Look, Jean. I live next door to Logan, remember? I don’t *have* to eavesdrop psychically when his bed’s just a wall away from mine. A very *thin* wall. Which is why I’m down here now."

"Oh?" Ro gave her Enigmatic Gaze #3, as carefully practiced in the mirror — nothing so vulgar as "curious," but nevertheless subtly encouraging the sharing of confidences.

"It’s half-twelve and they’re still at it. When I tried pounding on the wall and asking them to keep it down, Wolverine actually told me to," little cough, "‘Get some fucking earplugs!’"

Jean looked thoughtful. "Have you tried putting some music on to drown them out?"

"I thought of that, but then I was afraid that I might wind up hearing Logan’s bed creaking in time with the rhythm, or worse yet one of them might start singing along. And I didn’t fancy trying to sleep in headphones."

"There *is* music that it’s almost inherently possible to — ah, maintain a romantic mood while listening to. Try borrowing a few of Bobby’s Weird Al Yankovic CDs...," Jean recommended.

Betsy and Ororo both winced. "A cure almost worse than the problem," Storm noted dryly.

"No thanks," Psylocke agreed. "Which is why I’m coming down here to sleep on the couch in the rec room or some such. Unless, that is, they’ve shut down for the night after I’ve done with my tea."

"If this turns out to be a continuing problem, we can see about soundproofing your bedroom wall," Jean suggested sympathetically.

While Betsy nodded philosophically, Ro was struck by a new issue. "So who gives the bad news to Remy?"

The three women exchanged glances.

"I think he’d better hear it from Rogue," Jean said reluctantly.

"Maybe, but I can’t say I want him to come home and walk in on the two of them without the slightest forewarning." Betsy frowned. She wasn’t a particular fan of Gambit and thought that under the circumstances he pretty much deserved to find out that his girlfriend and boyfriend had decided to cut out the middleman — but all three parties involved in the matter were noted for quick tempers and occasional rash behavior. "Given a choice, I would rather be forced to listen to overenthusiastic lovemaking next door than a full-fledged mutant battle..."

"Hmm...," Ororo conceded the wisdom of the statement.

"Mmm...," was Jean’s contribution.

"Well...," Psylocke added.

"I think...," Jean paused, then reluctantly continued, "I think that it’s really Rogue’s place to talk to Remy about it. We shouldn’t go blurting out the news as soon as he gets home, before he has a chance to speak to her."

"Unless they’re still at it when he gets back, of course," Betsy noted wryly.

"Mmm..."

"Ahh..."

"Well, then..."

"We’ll just have to keep watch, until Remy and Scott return," Ororo decided.

"And if we have to, go pound on the door and tell them to put some bloody clothes on because they’re about to get caught," Betsy added.

"Hmm..." Caught up in imagining the possible and probable consequences of Remy catching Rogue and Logan in bed together, Jean was too preoccupied to respond.

"Poor Remy," Storm mused, having long had a soft spot for the not-so-ex-thief.

"Hah! Serves the little tosser right," Betsy replied.

* * *

Unpacking his bag and putting his things away, Remy was waiting for a knock at the door. He had been gone for a few days, and Rogue should be glad to see him — which should lead to *Wolvie* being glad to see him a few hours afterward...

Gambit smiled to himself. Sometimes, Fate dealt a hand that was too good to be believed. On the one side, he had Rogue. Lovely, tender, passionate, unpredictable — desirable in and of herself, and doubly so for him because of the challenge she had presented. Temperamental and standoffish, still not trusting her own hard-won control over her power, she had kept those around her at arms-length.

He had pursued her tirelessly for months. It wasn’t until she finally removed the dogtag around her neck (only occasionally glimpsed, usually kept hidden beneath her clothing) that Remy had realized that he had been not just fighting her insecurities but competing with the memory of another man as well. Having belatedly recognized her loyalty for what it was, he had mentally congratulated her for having the sense to drop this "Wolverine" character for himself. Even had this joker possessed the sense not to leave Rogue, clearly there was no way he could *possibly* compare to Remy LeBeau.

When he finally met Logan, he thanked every deity he had ever heard of that he had kept his mouth shut on the matter — and thanked them again when Logan seemed more interested in hitting on Jean Grey-Summers than in Rogue. Having learned the truth, he now gave thanks on a near-daily basis that, for whatever unknowable reason, Wolverine was refraining from actively trying to steal Rogue away from him.

The fact that Logan was dragging him into bed on a semi-regular basis was an added bonus, as far as Remy was concerned. He wasn’t immune to raw animal magnetism — let alone to being licked up one side and down the other...

Yes, life was good.

At the knock at the door, he smiled and called, "Come in."

The smile flickered when he caught Rogue’s expression. Not the inviting welcome he had hoped for on his return — but at least she didn’t look angry, either.

The smile died at her words. "Remy, we need to talk." [Nothing good ever follows that sentence...]

"Well, then, talk." He waited for her to give him some clue of what this was about, so he would know which way to jump.

She hesitated for a second, then raised her hand. "These, I believe, are yours," she said, tossing him the item she had been holding wadded up in her hand unnoticed.

Remy paled as he recognized the paisley boxers that Logan had been in such an alarming hurry to remove the week before. "Where — where did you get these?" he asked, calculating rapidly. All hope might not be lost — if he could keep his wits about him, maybe he could talk his way out of this...

"In Logan’s room, beside his bed."

[Damn. Have I got a chance to claim he stole them, planted them there to frame me somehow?] "Did he say what they were doing there?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?" [God dammit, first that bite mark and now this. Has he been *trying* to get us caught, or does he just have *severe* self-control issues?]

"I can’t remember — not all of it, anyway."

[This is bad, this is very bad. She’s too damned calm. Either there’s an explosion coming, and it’ll be a *big* one...] "You don’t *remember*?" [...or she doesn’t *care*, and I *know* she’s the jealous type. For her not to *care*...]

"I kind of zoned out after he told me he loved me."

Remy’s blood turned to ice at that. [Oh, damn. Oh, shit. Oh, *fuck*.] "And you *believed* him?" he asked, desperately. [She still loves him, doesn’t she. And he finally got to her, and I wasn’t here to do anything about it...]

"Remy, he let me touch him."

It took a minute for him to get that. [She used her powers on him. Oh, great.] "And what did you find out, then?" [How about the way he came back to New York just for *her*, or the way he still has a pair of her gloves that went "missing" hidden under his pillow, or the way her scent acts as a Wolvie-specific aphrodisiac, or the way Mr. Macho Snarling Testosterone God lets her order him around and tease him mercilessly with impunity, or the way...]

"Everything that mattered."

Hope died, twitching and whimpering. "So that’s it, then? You’re leaving me for him?" Needing to hear it, needing it right out in the open between them. "Two years between us, and you’re dropping me like a used kleenex because he finally decides to make a play for you?"

Rogue hesitated, not wanting to confirm the statement when framed in such harsh terms.

Remy pressed on, letting his hurt burn into anger. "Did you ever really love me, or were you just killing time because you weren’t with *him*?"

Giving her own temper free reign, Rogue snapped, "Dammit, Remy, you were cheating on me!"

"Yes! With *him*! And you’re willing to forgive *him*, but not *me*?!"

Icily calm now, "*He* was never cheating on anyone because he didn’t have anyone to cheat *on*, and he never would have even *looked* at you if it hadn’t been for me."

*That* hurt, the reminder that he didn’t get licked like an ice-cream cone by the lovely snarly muscular beast-man unless he smelled like the woman they both loved. The pain silenced Remy for a moment, unable to respond.

When he could speak again, what came out was more plaintive than he would have liked. "So this is it, then? No more? I just come back from out of town and it’s all been settled while I was away?"

Rogue sighed, anger gone. "Remy, I’m sorry..."

"No goodbye?"

"What? Goodbye? Are you leaving?"

"That wasn’t what I meant..." Moving towards her, he reached for her, putting his hands gently to her cheeks and leaning down for a kiss.

Realizing what he was asking for, Rogue froze. Logan was the very definition of "homicidally jealous," and now that his claim on her had been established she feared that his tolerance of Remy would have decreased dramatically. On the other hand...

On the other hand, she and Remy *had* shared almost two years with each other. And she *had* loved him, hadn’t she? She just couldn’t trust him...

Just one time. One last time. She would go to Logan afterwards and explain it to him, make damned sure that he understood that it was just a goodbye and that he didn’t do anything violent about it. She would make him promise not to do anything to Remy, and she wouldn’t do it again...

Rogue reached for Remy’s shirt, allowing him to slip his hands up under her blouse. Removing each other’s clothing as they went, they moved towards the bed...



"Never plan an act of violence, Cindy. Just let it happen natural."
— Jesse Custer, PREACHER, "Custer's Law," by Garth Ennis



Logan had been lurking in the rec room with a twelve-pack in front of ESPN, cooling his heels until Marie was done having her little talk with Remy. The Wolverine was rarely if ever a gracious winner, but Logan was a little too conscious of how it felt to see Marie with another man *not* to empathize slightly with the kid and his loss.

Not that Logan would do anything ridiculous like bow out to clear the field for Remy — but he really felt for the guy. Marie having been *his* for a blissful (and sex-filled) forty hours or so, the unprecedented benevolence to the universe at large he was currently enjoying allowed him to concede that the punk kid presumably had his good points.

For one thing, he had the sense to detect the rare and wondrous qualities that made Marie such a prize. And he had the taste to own a Harley.

Pretty good in bed, too.

Logan coughed a little, nearly choking on his beer. [All right, enough about Gumbo. I’m not writing his eulogy or nominating him for a damned lifetime achievement award — he’s had his fun and now it’s time for him to move on. Greener pastures, and all that...] Finishing his last beer, he tossed the empty in the trash and headed upstairs.

He was on the stairs between the second and third floors when he heard a moan that he would have recognized anywhere.

Even had he not been so familiar with Marie’s voice, two nights and a day had given him ample material for study of the sounds she tended to make in bed. He didn’t really have to listen for the voice of her companion — there was only one person it could logically be...

[Looks like Remy’s gonna need that eulogy after all...,] he thought grimly while continuing up the stairs and out into the hallway toward’s Gambit’s room. Stalking towards the door, he paused on the verge of flinging the door open and embarking upon a little recreational bloodletting. [Dammit, Marie will *not* like it if you carve up her boyfriend, ex or otherwise!] He stopped, hand on the doorknob, and concentrated on just breathing until he felt marginally calmer.

It didn’t happen, of course — not when he could hear every little moan, sigh and brush of flesh against flesh from the other side of the door. [All right, then. Not calming down and not supposed to assault Gumbo. What else to do...?]

Wolverine briefly flashed his teeth in an expression not even remotely related to a smile, before turning the knob and silently letting himself into the room.

The pair on the bed didn’t notice his entrance until they heard the click of him locking the door behind himself. Turning from the door, he met two pairs of wide eyes in the soft light of the bedside lamp.

Putting his hands behind him and leaning back against the door — the better to keep from popping claws and disemboweling you, my dear — he refrained from speaking, concentrating on keeping his expression impassive.

Recovering first, Marie half-sat up, nudging Remy aside (no doubt in case she had to get up *fast*). "He wanted a good-bye, and I thought after two years together he deserved one. Don’t get upset, sugar..." She watched him nervously, waiting for his response. Remy seemed frozen with indecision, no doubt debating whether his righteous anger at having been so callously tossed aside was worth risking high-speed decapitation.

Logan let the pair of them stew for a minute while he considered this. Then he kicked off his shoes.

Marie looked puzzled, but Remy sighed and rested his head on her shoulder for a moment, boneless with sudden relief. "Here, move over," he said, pulling her towards him to make room on the side of the bed closest to the door.

Startled to the point of forgetting to keep her eyes on the mutant maniac by the door, Marie turned her attention to Remy, who had apparently gone demented with fear. In so doing she missed seeing Logan leaving a trail of clothing from the door to the bed, until she felt him lifting the covers on that side of the bed and sliding in beside her.

Then the penny dropped. Of *course* Remy recognized Logan’s reaction instantly — hadn’t he been on the receiving end of it for the past several months?

She relaxed and put her arm around Logan, putting the other around Remy to encourage him closer. Logan lowered his head into a deep kiss with Marie. Easing her control just enough for a trickle of thought, she caught that he was still severely pissed at finding the two of them together this way — but that he was planning to have fun nonetheless. And that he didn’t blame her that much for being a soft touch with her (former) lover. [Who had damned well better *stay* ‘former’ after this, though...]

Then he lifted his lips from hers, put a hand on the back of Remy’s neck, and pulled the younger man into a kiss. Marie watched with some astonishment — somehow, having Logan’s memories of doing this sort of thing was nothing like actually watching him *do* it mere inches from her nose.

It was a rough kiss. Possibly leaving bruises. Her arm still around Logan, Marie caught that he was well beyond angry with Remy at the moment. Ever-mindful of her promise to Remy, Marie wasn’t absorbing anything from him — but she noticed that he had gone very still, doing nothing to resist or otherwise provoke Wolverine.

Rogue ran her hand down Logan’s back soothingly. Reminded of her presence, he pulled away from Gambit and kissed her again. Remy sighed deeply, then edged closer and oh-so-cautiously kissed the side of her neck, her jaw, her ear. Logan, starting to put his other arm around her, bumped into the other man instead. He lifted his head, glaring for a moment at the kid on the other side of Marie, before pulling away a bit and setting his hand deliberately on Remy’s side.

Rogue realized that Remy — not having her particular insights into Logan’s current train of thought — would need a bit more guidance. She put her hand on the back of his head and pulled him down into a kiss. He was tense at first, but when Logan responded by ducking back down to nuzzle at Marie’s earlobe, he relaxed. At which point Wolverine shifted attention, giving Remy a not-particularly-gentle nip at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Gambit murmured in half-hearted protest, but didn’t seem to object that strongly.

Arm still around Logan, Marie caught his next thought, and was ready to slide over when he grabbed Remy abruptly around the waist and pulled him closer, dropping the younger man to the bed between the pair of them. Gambit emitted an undignified squeak of surprise, before Marie pressed herself to him. Grinning impishly, she wrapped a leg around his, reaching down between the pair of them and guiding his penis back into her without further preamble.

Remy was well and truly startled for a moment, then heard the sounds of Logan rummaging through the infamous bedside table behind him and caught on. [Looks like I really *will* be getting fucked backwards and forwards in a minute... Well, hell, this could be *fun*...] Ignoring Wolverine until he should choose to remind them of his presence again, Remy concentrated on moving with Rogue. When he felt hands sliding onto his hips and hot breath against the back of his neck he paused, letting Logan work one knee between his.

Marie opened her eyes when he lost the rhythm, and hooked her ankle behind Logan’s legs as well as Remy’s. "Easy," she warned Wolverine, who growled in a tone so low it was felt in the chest more than heard in the ears. Gambit closed his eyes and unconsciously tightened his arms around Rogue, silently thanking Logan for at least having found some sort of lube first — *especially* given that the Wolverine was clearly not in a particularly kind mood at the moment.

"You all right?" Marie asked.

"Mmph," was the best reply Remy could come up with at that point, trying to adjust to sensations never before found in combination.

"O-ka-ay-y-y, um — how do we do this?" with a nervous giggle from Marie.

Logan was actually the one to respond, wordlessly putting a hand on her hip and pulling her into a slow back-and-forth motion. Once she began following the rhythm on her own, he began to echo it, shifting his hand back to the younger man’s hip. Caught in the middle, Remy gasped and moaned helplessly. It wasn’t just the pairing of the internal and external friction, or even the thought that he was caught in the middle of a high-class porno scene that was doing it for him, so much as the fact that he was currently sandwiched between what had to be the two most desirable members of either sex under the roof of the X-Mansion.

Unfortunately for his ego, he came before Marie did. She didn’t stop moving, though, until Wolverine rumbled low in his throat and thrust hard into him. Marie paused to let Logan disentangle himself, then rolled Remy onto his back.

Logan, it turned out, had just pulled away long enough to divest himself of the used condom. Sliding back over to his lovers, he took Marie around the waist and pulled her down onto the bed beside Remy before ducking between her thighs. Rogue happily plunged her fingers into his hair as he indulged in his fantasy of clearing every bit of *Remy’s* scent off of *her* with his tongue.

By the time she reached her climax, Logan was ready for another round, crawling up her body and pressing her firmly to the mattress with his own weight. She wrapped her arms and thighs around him, bucking upward eagerly when he penetrated her. Things were progressing well when he suddenly froze, lifted his head and snarled warningly. Remy jumped back, alarmed, and Marie got the picture. Having recovered sufficiently from having been made into a Gambit Sandwich, Remy had decided to see if Logan was interested in getting the same treatment. The answer was a decided, "No Way In Hell."

She bumped her pelvis upward insistently against Logan as a reminder. He began moving his hips again, still keeping a wary eye on Remy for a minute or so before returning his full attention to Marie. When he looked away from the younger man, she slid her nearer hand to Remy’s belly, then downward, rubbing firmly over his erection while continuing to occupy Wolverine’s full attention.

She kept just enough sense to let go of his penis when she came, not wanting to hurt him when every muscle in her body tensed. Logan followed her into orgasm almost immediately, and she stroked her hands down his back happily as he panted for breath, expecting him to move aside in a moment and make room for Remy.

He moved, all right — but surprised her by slipping down besides Remy and nuzzling along down the younger man’s belly. As Marie watched with astonishment — and, it must be admitted, a certain degree of interest — Logan pressed Remy down on the mattress and started going over his more intimate regions with his tongue, completely unabashed at having an audience. She wasn’t especially sure how to react — what *was* the correct etiquette when watching one of your lovers performing oral sex upon the other? — but then Remy remembered her presence and opened his eyes. He looked about as unsure at the situation as she felt, which made her feel better. [Embarrassment shared is embarrassment halved?]

Deciding to trust her impulses for the moment, she leaned over and kissed Remy. He took one of his hands out of Logan’s hair and reached for her own. Squeezing his hand gently, she happily alternated between watching Logan, kissing Remy, and watching Remy’s face — unsurprisingly, she hadn’t been able to really watch his face at close range during a blow job before, being otherwise occupied, at the wrong angle, and usually hidden behind a curtain of hair besides.

By the time Remy gasped, arched and tightened his grip on hers almost painfully, Marie was quite frankly turned on again. Logan did not miss this, shifting position from draped across Remy’s legs to curled between Marie’s thighs almost without missing a beat. Coming back to himself, Gambit opened his eyes, chuckled softly, and kissed the back of Marie’s hand, settling down to watch — and wondering to himself if Logan’s tongue was tired yet.

Other parts of Logan certainly weren’t, as became obvious once Rogue cried his name and dug her nails into the back of Remy’s hand. When Logan started to position himself atop her again, Remy caught him and rolled him over onto the bed between Marie and himself. Wolverine growled in protest — a sound that turned into something completely different when Gambit started to return the favor with his own tongue. Logan cupped a hand around the back of Remy’s head, and when Marie kissed him he returned it enthusiastically before wrapping a solid arm around her and holding her close. She rested her head on his shoulder and listened to the running stream of moans and growls, until he whimpered on a rising note and fell abruptly silent.

A moment later Remy crawled over her legs and up towards the head of the bed, plopping himself next to her with a smug look on his face. Marie shifted a little as Remy pressed close to her, leaving her nestled comfortably between her two men. [Mmm, this is something I could definitely get used to.]

Then Logan and Remy simultaneously tried to put an arm around her waist, ran into each other’s hands, and halted. Although she couldn’t see either of their faces, she *knew* Logan had to be glaring at the other man, and suspected Remy of being mildly irked as well. "Mmm, we’re so *comfortable* right now — let’s not fight..." She heard Remy chuckle, and felt Logan’s barely-audible sigh. Remy’s arm went around her, high under her breasts, while Logan rested his hand lower, on her rear, giving her a little squeeze.

Remy yawned. "Can we shut off the light now, or are you both going to abandon me again?"

Surprisingly, it was Logan who said, "Turn it off." After Remy had done so and resumed his position spooned behind Marie, Logan remarked in a calm and measured voice, "I don’t mind this happening *once* — but not again."

"Of course not," Gambit agreed in the tone that Rogue had learned from long experience meant, "I’m agreeing with you just to get you off your guard, but I’m damned sure going to try to get around you the first chance I get..." Marie giggled silently in the dark.

Logan, feeling her little quivers of amusement, frowned at her — which she sensed, without actually seeing. "Right, Marie?"

"Of course," she agreed, in the tone that Logan had not yet realized meant, "No Way In Hell, but we won’t argue that point till we actually come to it." She felt Remy suppressing merriment behind her. Logan grumbled a little, suspiciously, but in the face of their supposed agreement he had little to complain of. "Go to sleep, sugar," she murmured sweetly.

He’d learn soon enough.



THE END