Title: A Shared Peace

Author: Rocky-cat

Disclaimer: Wolverine and Gambit belong to Marvel. I’d really like to borrow them for a while, nice big hot tub, someplace private…but I digress. This story is for fun, not for profit. Please feel free to archive at will, with proper notification.

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Wolverine has some issues to deal with while on a mission with Gambit.

Feedback: Please, to rocky-cat@juno.com




A Shared Peace
By Rocky-cat


Tremezzo, Lake Como, Italy
Night

Wolverine lay back on the bed in his room, shirtless and bored, and stabbed at the button on the remote control, repeatedly, violently, and cursed under his breath.

"A hundred damned channels and all I can get is fourteen flamin’ soccer games. What kind of half-ass game is this anyway?"

He knew it was fourteen games - he’d counted - three times. He’d have thought that with all the international cable channels and they’re being so close to Switzerland and all (they have ice in Switzerland, right?) there’d have been at least one hockey game on the television. Hockey - now there was a real game. He smiled at the thought of the action, the speed, and best of all, the bone-crunching violence. His fang teeth glinted in the reflected light of the screen.

Instead he settled on some mindless Italian talk show. Couldn’t understand a word of it, but the hostess had a great body and wore a far too tight dress. Eye candy. It worked for him. He muted the sound, tossed the remote to the side of the bed, and stared up at the ceiling, arms crossed behind his head.

He was getting sick of this room, this pensione, this whole country. What were he and Gambit still doing here anyway? They’d seen what they’d come to see and reported their findings. Couldn’t Chuck just give them the all-clear and let them come home already? Instead they were stuck here, trying to keep a low profile.

Low profile, now that was a laugh. Wolverine snorted inaudibly as he heard the door to the next room open and shut quietly, accompanied by the sound of conspiratorial male and female laughter. As long as there were good looking women around Gumbo here wasn’t about to miss out on the action. And from the sound of it, the kid was getting plenty of action. Each night now the routine had been the same. An hour earlier, an hour later, Gambit strolled in with a different woman. There’d been the Italian contessa who sounded like Sophia Loren and smelled of very expensive perfume; the French socialite who said very little but screamed very loudly; the American tourist who swore she knew a friend of a friend of Remy’s, or so she claimed; and at least three or four others. Gambit was fluent in all of their languages and obviously the language of seduction, as well. The kid was like Hannibal crossing the Alps - wily, unstoppable, and determined to lay waste to all of Italy.

The wall between their rooms was a little too thin and Wolverine’s hearing far too sharp for him not to be aware of the goings-on next door. For the past week he’d diverted his attention with the TV or books, but neither worked tonight. As the quiet sounds of the couple disrobing reached his ears Logan’s eyes closed and images of the scene next door began to play in his mind.

Soft, unintelligible murmurs teased at him. Another Italian conquest tonight, perhaps. She was beautiful because Remy would have it no other way. Dark-haired and full-breasted because that was how Logan wanted it to be. In his mind she was naked now and the Cajun was caressing her soft skin, rolling her hard, pink nipple between his fingers. The soft gasps and hushed masculine chuckles drifting towards him played into his fantasy.

Languidly Logan’s hand moved to the crotch of his jeans to massage his half-aroused genitals. Hearing only Remy’s voice now Logan pictured the woman on her knees in front of Gambit, her soft, full lips sliding along his shaft, the lush heat of her mouth enclosing him completely. Remy’s head was thrown back in abandon, exposing the strong, lean column of his throat. Logan remembered the look of Gambit’s hard, supple body seen so often in casual states of half-dress. The boy’s shoulders were broad and deeply muscled, arms also corded with layers of muscle covered by deceptively smooth skin. A light sprinkling of rust-colored hair traced down his chest, arrowing downward past his slim waist and lower, towards impossibly narrow hips. Logan’s heated imagination moved to fill in those parts of Gambit’s body he had yet to see in actuality.

The woman’s hands, her fingernails painted crimson red, were rhythmically massaging Remy’s ass. His ass would be hard and tight, not an ounce of fat anywhere on the kid, and Logan knew that he could grasp each cheek easily in one of his hands. His blunt fingers curled reflexively, as if doing just that. Long, sinewy flanks leading into equally long legs. Too long, too elegant for a man, but Gambit’s wiry strength cried out his maleness. So did his cock, glistening wet with the woman’s saliva and his own juices. As she slid along its length to tongue expertly at his balls Logan watched the head of Remy’s penis as a single white drop formed at the tip. The hopelessly beautiful lines of his face were contorted with desire and his mouth, so quick with quips and generous with smiles, was open in a gently rounded "O". His hushed cries of pleasure were nearly as stimulating as the vision of her ripe body.

Logan quickly stripped off his jeans and shorts and kicked them aside heedlessly. His erection, now fully hard, strained out towards him, asking for the warmth of his hand and Logan obliged. As he stroked firmly down the hardened length he heard the sounds of flesh sliding along flesh and mouths meeting. A sharp feminine cry punctuated by a sigh and Logan knew that Remy had entered her willing depths. His grasp on himself tightened as he felt the clasp of her searing wet heat around him. Logan’s hand passed repeatedly over the head of his penis and gathered the moisture that was beginning to seep there and spread it along himself, the better to feel how wet she was for him. That was how he liked his women - hot, dripping, and eager. In his mind she straddled him, demanding and wet, writhing frantically against him. Her slender thighs clasped his hips forcefully and her large, full breasts hung teasingly near his mouth. He growled quietly before catching a nipple in his mouth and nipping playfully at it.

He watched her moving atop him, lost in her own pleasure, and reveled in the spectacle. There was nothing in this world – nothing – quite so beautiful to Logan as the sight of a beautiful woman on the verge of orgasm. He clenched his free hand in the bedclothes, feeling instead the firm muscles of her ass as he took control of her rhythm and pushed her higher and farther until she screamed her climax. Logan picked up his speed, pumping faster into his fisted hand. He bit down on his lip to stifle his strangled groans and tasted his own blood. The spicy, metallic taste spiked into his overloaded senses, fueling his wild hunger and pushing him beyond restraint. He bit down harder as he arched up into his own grasp and the heat, frustration, and tension finally exploded from him in an mind-numbing orgasm.

As he relaxed into the bed and his heart rate quickly returned to normal he once again pricked his ears towards the litany of intimate sounds coming from next door. It seemed the rumors about Gambit were true. His partner had already climaxed at least twice and the kid wasn’t through yet. Logan quirked a half smile and wondered if Gumbo’s sexual stamina was anywhere near his own.

*Might be in’eresting to find out,* he thought and, just as quickly as it materialized, the aberrant thought flew out of his head, lost in the brilliantly starlit Italian mountain night.

Logan killed the TV and opened the window. The fresh, unpolluted air and the subdued sounds of nature soothed him and would help him sleep better. But as he slid between the sheets already warmed by his intense body heat the sounds that lulled him to sleep were cries, gasps, and endearments in an unmistakably Cajun-accented French.

***

Logan woke up the next morning with a serious attitude and a painfully insistent erection. It wasn’t all that unusual for him to wake up with wood, a phrase he’d heard the guys use more than occasionally to describe the throbbing monster staring up at him angrily, but something playing at the back of his mind left him annoyed rather than amused. He couldn’t clearly remember any of his dreams but he knew they’d been sexual in nature and had somehow involved Gambit. Something about that fact bothered him immensely and contributed to the generally pissed-off mood that had steadily been building up inside of him.

Snorting in disgust, Logan stomped towards the bathroom and into the shower. Wrenching the faucet wide open, he steeled himself against the icy water that drove into his body. Head back and fists clenched he let the glacial cold erase his body’s memories of the past night. As the frigid water slowly helped beat his recalcitrant libido into submission he gradually increased the temperature until he was luxuriating in a steamy downpour. With a little effort he could almost imagine himself standing outdoors in the forest, naked and wild, with the warm summer rain cascading over his body. The sensation was liberating and Logan briefly yearned for the piney woods of home. His real home.

He raised his arms over his head, reaching for the skies, and let the water wash over his broad shoulders, matting down the dark hair that thickly covered his heavily muscled torso. It streamed in rivulets down his ass and twined along his powerful thighs before pooling at his feet. Turning to face the welcoming warmth Logan reached for the soap and glided slick hands down his arms, across his hips, and down his legs.

Reaching for a towel, Logan stepped onto the tile floor and caught sight of his blurred likeness in the fogged-over mirror. He scowled half-heartedly at his reflection and decided to forcibly suppress the growing unease that was steadily gnawing at him. This was neither the time nor the place, he thought, to give free rein to what might turn out to be the beginnings of another uncontrollable rage. It was by far safest for himself and everyone around him if he just ignored his emotions and focused on keeping his cool and getting the hell out of here already. Just as soon as they got back to the States he’d hit the road on his bike, alone, just himself and his buddy Harley. Or maybe the old Indian he’d been working on restoring. Either way, didn’t matter none. So long as he could head towards Canada and into the woods. Bike. Road. Alone. He kept repeating those words like a mantra and let their promise calm him.

He dressed quickly in jeans and a T-shirt and went outside. Stepping into the narrow 17th century street Logan’s keen nose instantaneously picked up Gambit’s unique scent.

*Still morning and the kid’s already awake? What’s that miserable little thief up to at this hour?*

Logan’s suspicions were running rampant as he stealthily sidled into the alley beside the pensione. He caught a momentary glimpse of Gambit’s auburn hair and furtively shifted his position to get a better view.

The Cajun was half reclining on his side in the cramped alleyway staring intently at the Ducati motorcycle he had managed to rent as soon as they had arrived. An assortment of tools lay on the ground next to him and it was obvious from his attempts at tinkering that the performance bike was not living up to Remy’s exacting ideals of speed and handling.

Realizing that nothing was amiss, Logan let his guard down and took in the sight before him. Remy was wearing ratty jeans and a white T-shirt and Logan noted sourly that the kid’s native elegance made even those grimy clothes look like the height of fashion. The jeans were slim and tight fitting, accentuating the long line of Gambit’s body. Since his back was towards him, Logan had a clear view of the kid’s small ass intimately encased in the worn denim. The soft fabric caressed each dip and swell and defined the cleft between his rounded cheeks before running down the length of impossibly long legs and disappearing into a pair of heavy ankle-high motorcycle boots.

The T-shirt hung loosely on his shoulders, hiding most of his upper body but revealing his deceptively strong forearms, coated lightly with the same russet hair that appeared elsewhere on his body. The oversized shirt and the frayed jeans combined to give Gambit a roguishly gamin look, knowing him, probably calculated to drive women crazy. The preternaturally agile hands were elegant and fine boned but so nimble that the bulky socket wrench held loosely in his long fingers seemed a natural extension of his hand.

Gambit exchanged the wrench for a small pair of pliers and made some minute adjustments. He turned his head slightly towards the unfamiliar morning sun and brushed a loose strand of hair from his face. The careless gesture drew Logan’s attention upward and the new angle let him study the kid’s face in greater detail. The profile was angular and sharp, the nose aquiline and aristocratic and his cheekbones would have been the envy of any supermodel. His smoldering red-black eyes were squinted against the light and his full, enticing lips pursed slightly in thought. Long auburn hair, the texture of fine silk, was caught in a loose ponytail at the back of his neck, held in place by a few twists of an old leather shoelace. The exposed skin of his neck was so fair it almost seemed translucent. Logan unconsciously licked his lips hungrily, feeling an all but overwhelming urge to set his teeth into that beckoning flesh but it looked as if someone had already beaten him out. A small purplish bite mark left by an overenthusiastic lover stood out clearly just above his collarbone. A smudge of grease trailing across his cheek only heightened his raw masculine appeal.

Remy turned back to work on the bike again and Logan was oddly thankful. There were feelings coursing through him that he preferred not to give name to. He was all too mindful of his marginally heightened respiration and the prickling beginnings of a nameless hunger. Deliberately and with intense concentration he smothered the stirrings. He was stronger than this and he could manage it. He silently drew a deep breath and then started slightly at the sound of an unexpected voice.

"You gon’ stand dere all day jus’ watchin’, homme? Gambit didn’t t’ink you one o’ dose kind, Logan."

Wolverine was annoyed that he’d been caught staring. He hadn’t made a sound that could have revealed his presence, he never did. It was Remy’s training that had alerted him to his whereabouts. It was a learned skill, not a mutant ability, that gave Remy an unusually fine sense of proximity. It had saved his tail more than once in the course of his career of larceny by alerting him to unwanted presences in his "work space." The talent also came in handy in battle, quickening his naturally swift reaction time and allowing him to turn otherwise bad situations to his advantage.

Still, Logan was not at all happy to be caught out. Damned if he would let the kid know he’d been thrown off balance, though.

"Naw, just admiring the view," he allowed, moving further into the alley. "Nice lookin’ ride ya got there. Not a Harley, but then what else is?"

Remy uncoiled himself from the ground and stood up, stretching slightly cramped muscles. He ran an admiring hand along the Ducati’s shiny yellow tank and molded saddle.

"She’s a beauty, non?" he asked, grinning broadly. "I’ll take dis lady any day, mon ami. She’s elegant and she got class, she knows how to pace herself, and she responds to my touch like she was made for me. Fits me jus’ right, too. Non, she definitely a lady. You treat her right, she treat you even better."

"Mebbe, kid, mebbe," Logan rasped around the stubby cigar now clamped between his teeth, "but I like something solid under me, something I can really wrap my legs around. I ride ‘em hard and I wanna know the baby can take it. She’s gotta be built fer the long haul, gotta be able to take whatever I dish out." He took the cigar out of his mouth, exhaled a noxious plume of smoke towards the sky and looked condescendingly at Remy and then the bike. "Doesn’t look like this one can hold out too long."

Remy’s eyes gleamed red. He didn’t know what game they were playing but he certainly was enjoying it. His hand settled possessively on the Ducati’s rear fender, fingers moving in a subtle, almost caressing, motion. "You jus’ have to know how to handle her right, homme. Dis femme, she fast, but she don’ make it easy. Gotta earn her respect. You got de right touch, she give you ev’ryt’ing she got plus some more she don’ even know she got." Remy held his hands out in front of him and flexed his long fingers. "’S’all in de hands, Logan."

"Now, if you don’ mind, m’sieur," he announced with a flourish, "Remy gon’ spend some time wit’ dis lovely lady."

Remy cleared his tools out of the way and mounted the bike. Leaning low over the handlebars, long hair streaming out behind him like a warning flag, he took off into the narrow cobbled street, picking up speed as he leaned into the curves of the winding road and rode further up into the mountains surrounding the lake.

Logan watched Remy speed recklessly away and felt an unexpected twinge of admiration. Sure, the kid could be arrogant, overconfident and generally a royal pain in the ass, but you couldn’t argue he sure knew how to have fun. Watching him disappear around a steep turn at breakneck speed Logan also felt an equally unexpected reflexive response well up within him. He was a predator and his quarry was rapidly moving out of range.

He flicked away his cigar butt as instinct made up his mind for him. He smiled narrowly and a nearly palpable aura of menace surrounded him like a cloak. Sure, why not stalk the kid? The challenge of tracking him through unfamiliar territory and the disadvantage he faced by being on foot fueled his will. This could be fun. He deliberately chose not to dwell on why Gumbo’s departure had loosed this urge in him. He was a hunter and that was all there was to that.

Focused and determined Wolverine moved out in stealthy pursuit.

*****

Trailing the vapors of the Ducati’s exhaust mixed with Gambit’s unique scent proved only slightly more difficult than Wolverine anticipated. Even with his keen hearing he was unable to follow the Cajun by sound alone. The motorcycle’s throaty purr rose and fell with distance and became distorted by the thick vegetation and high mountains that surrounded the lake. Still, the lingering fumes that hung lightly in the still mountain air gave him enough direction to follow at a brisk pace.

Gambit had clearly ridden higher up the mountain, leaving the small villages with their stone houses and semi-tropical gardens far behind. Wolverine cut directly through the trees, avoiding the winding roads. As the kid’s scent grew stronger Wolverine slowed his approach. In the distance he heard the muted hiss of something cutting through the air and saw a quick flash of movement. He bared his gleaming canines in a satisfied smile and began looking for an observation post.

Barefooted, Remy stood in the grass beyond the tree line. Ahead of him lay a craggy promontory jutting out into the air. Bellagio, a combination of medieval splendor and natural beauty, nestled prettily just across the lake, sparkling in the mid-day sun. The snow-capped Alps rose majestically behind, a blue-gray mist hiding their jagged peaks from view. Far below, a few boats appeared as brightly colored specks on Lake Como’s brilliant blue surface.

Suddenly Remy spun around and fell into a crouch, his telescoping bo stick thrust aggressively in front of him pointing unswervingly in Logan’s direction. Logan’s teeth gritted and his muscles tensed instinctively until a nearly soundless move and Remy shifted from an offensive to a defensive posture, holding the staff laterally in front of him. One movement flowed seamlessly into another as Gambit continued his drills. In seeming solitude, in this peaceful setting, the exercises were almost like a meditation.

Or a kata, thought Wolverine, watching from his perch in the lower branches of a tree. Maybe not quite a kata, not quite as formal, maybe more like an intricately choreographed dance. Either way, the effect was mesmerizing. Gambit’s agile body moved effortlessly from one complex maneuver to another, the bo stick seemingly a natural extension of his body. The staff flashed and cut through the air in a blur as Gambit twisted and spun behind it, Logan’s eyes following each move avidly. Far back in his past, on some long forgotten mercenary mission, Logan had lain concealed in the African brush and watched a cheetah pursue an antelope. The outcome was a foregone conclusion but the combination of the jungle cat’s sleek grace and lethal speed was awe-inspiring. Gambit’s fluidity and innate grace in battle was the only thing he’d ever see to compare to that primal phenomenon.

Several leaps and turns brought the kid perilously close to the edge of the outcropping, his heels brushing the sharp edges of the rock, his balance seeming precarious at best, but Remy’s surefootedness and spatial awareness prevented any mishaps. Irrationally, Logan’s anger rose as he observed the chances Remy was taking, as usual acting without any regard for his own safety, but he continued watching, unable to tear himself away from the beautiful spectacle of Remy’s body in motion.

Gambit continued his exercises for an hour or more, something he rarely did back at the mansion. His energy didn’t seem to be flagging at all despite the sweat that was causing his shirt to stick damply to his skin. It felt good to stretch his muscles and clear his mind in this pressure-free setting. His increasing serenity, though, had the opposite effect on the man spying on him. The longer he watched the more twisted Logan’s insides felt. He was wound far too tightly. The scent of Remy’s sweat only heightened and intensified his naturally enticing aroma, battering relentlessly at Logan’s senses. The soft huff of Remy’s breathing, mingled with the occasional grunt or combatative yell, assaulted his ears, teasing and torturing. He fought hard against it, willing the unwanted emotions away, grinding his teeth with the effort of subduing his will. The quiet creak of distressed wood alerted Logan that, in his tension, he had nearly snapped the four-inch thick branch above him. Disgustedly, he pulled his hand away.

All too soon, not nearly soon enough, Remy finished his drills, collapsed the bo stick and stashed it in his back pocket. He turned away from the trees towards the expansive vista before him and lit up a cigarette. How the kid could smoke the way he did and still posses that kind of endurance was a mystery of his genetic makeup that even McCoy hadn’t figured out yet. What other surprises was Gumbo hiding from them all? Logan’s upper lip curled in a sneer as he continued to watch.

Remy smoked in silence for a few minutes then spoke quietly. "Gambit gon’ tell you a story, Logan," he began. "Back home in Acadie dere a place called Bayou Teche. Teche mean ‘snake’ in de old tongue. Anyway, dere once was dis huge poisonous snake almos’ 125 miles long. His head was way over at Morgan City and his body go all de way past Breaux Bridge over ta Port Barré. De Chitimacha Indians dey live dere den, dey at war wid’ dis snake ‘cause he cause all kind o’ trouble for dem. Dis go on a long time ‘til one day de Chief got all his warriors together and tol’ dem dey goin’ to war for de las’ time to put an end to all de destruction dis ol’ snake cause.

"All dem warriors armed wid bows and arrows and clubs go off to fight de snake. Dey fight long and hard and dey brave fighters but de snake, he don’ wanna die. He fight back jus’ as hard an’ he kill a lot o’ de Chitimacha but in de end dey win an’ dey kill de snake.

"Big ol’ snake like dat, he don’ die easy. It took him a long time to finally die and de whole time he twistin’ and coilin’ an’ rollin’ around. Soon, dat place where he lay start to look like de shape of his body. After he die his body start to rot and de channel got broader and deeper.

"Dat place today is de Bayou Teche. It show de ‘zact place where de Chitimacha fought and won against dere greatest enemy. But it still dere, a monument to de snake, too."

Remy flicked the butt of the now extinguished cigarette over the side of the rocks and turned back to where he had parked the Ducati. Within moments the bike sprang to life and Remy tore off, back down the mountain again perhaps. Logan chose not to pay attention to the direction nor did he move from his hiding place. Gambit had known he was here, known he was watching him, and had known about the venomous fire eating at him, burning its way virulently through his veins.

That much was apparent from Gambit’s "story." But just what did the kid expect him to take from it? The snake he was fighting, he could conquer it, but it would die a long, slow death and leave a scarred monument to itself in Logan’s soul. So just what was he supposed to do about it? And what did Gumbo expect him to do?

Logan sat in the tree a long time watching the unchanging Alpine scenery. Dusk arrived and still he remained in the woods wrestling with himself and looking for answers from the only thing he had come to trust, the healing power of Nature. By the following afternoon, though, he was ready to come back into the village, mind still unsettled, thoughts still restless and turbulent.

***

Logan neither saw nor sensed a trace of the Cajun all day and was glad for it. He had no idea what his reaction would be when he saw the kid again and wasn’t looking forward to finding out.

As midnight approached Logan stripped off his clothes and got ready for bed. He fell into a restless sleep and woke up again almost immediately. An immense snake, a constrictor with a body as wide around as an ancient redwood, had wrapped itself around him and was attempting to squeeze him to death. His claws couldn’t penetrate the reptile’s tough hide and for every coil that he wrestled off his body another two enveloped him. His arms were stretched high above his head, hands gripped crushingly around the snake’s neck, to little apparent effect.

Suddenly the huge snake reared back its head and stared down at him malevolently, jaws open wide, fangs dripping. As the head lunged towards him and the body tightened convulsively Logan froze, entranced by the snake’s hypnotic eyes. They were fiery red with obsidian centers.

With a vicious curse Logan shot up in bed, pushing away the covers and staring searchingly around the room. He was alone and all was as it should be, if he discounted the spare pillow that lay next to him neatly ripped in half.

He threw the destroyed pillow at the wall with another curse and lay back down, determined to find a dreamless rest, one that didn’t include thieves, reptiles, or other annoying vermin.

It seemed like only moments before he was woken up again, this time by the quiet whisper of an unwelcome presence in his room. His claws shot out and an enraged growl escaped him as he prepared to launch himself out of bed, ready and eager to shred the intruder to ribbons.

His momentum was halted as his eyes lit on a lanky figure leaning casually against the dresser and he realized who the nocturnal trespasser was.

"What the hell are you doin’ here, Gumbo?" he snarled angrily, not bothering to resheathe his claws.

"Gambit t’ink dat maybe dere’s something Logan want to say to him," came the drawling response.

"Like what?"

"Gambit don’ know. Dat’s for you to tell him."

The two men stared at each other through the darkness, Logan intently, Remy nonchalantly but with no less interest. He was sporting a casually insolent smile, one that Logan had come to recognize as the kid’s version of defensive armor, the one that seemed to announce to the world, "Fuck you…or maybe you’d rather fuck me." At the moment Logan didn’t know which of the two options he would prefer.

What the hell did the kid want? Beyond the obvious, of course. It didn’t take a mutant sense of smell to pick up on the pheromones Gambit was putting out. They emanated from him slowly and steadily, enveloping him constantly in a miasma that begged, "Touch me, love me, want me, take me now." But if Logan wasn’t mistaken, Gambit wasn’t exerting his charm power at all. What stood before him, watching and waiting for some kind of response, was simply Remy LeBeau - sometime comrade, sometime rival - and that disturbed Logan even more.

Remy continued observing Logan quietly. He was sitting up in bed, the thin sheet covering him loosely from the hips down. He leaned forward aggressively, tension clearly visible in the ramrod straight line of his back and stiff set of his shoulders. Powerful arms crossed in front of his broad chest, six lethal claws held at the ready. Wolverine could kill him in a second and wouldn’t hesitate to do so if it suited his purposes. The thought didn’t upset him. Remy had the upper hand and he knew it.

For once de connard couldn’t run. Gambit had him cornered and he would press his advantage until he forced some kind of admission out of him. Leisurely he moved away from the dresser and slowly slipped off his silk jacket. Nothing threatening, every movement relaxed and unhurried, yet each gesture calculated to capture Logan’s attention and hold it.

He tossed the jacket on a chair and casually unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. Wolverine’s eyes were glued to his every motion and even Remy could hear the strangled rasp of his breath.

"Logan?"

A whisper so soft and gentle, a caress, a plea, an invitation. A wall crumbled somewhere inside of Logan and he retracted his claws, his anguished groan nearly drowning out the metallic grating. His shoulders slumped in something like defeat and he looked up at Remy, pain and conflict etched tellingly on his rough features.

Remy sat down on the bed next to Logan, close but not touching, his body turned away. Then he turned to face him, silken hair falling like a curtain across his shoulder and partially obscuring his face.

"Non, non, mon ami. Don’ even t’ink about it. It’s not wort’ de hurtin’."

Logan looked up into Remy’s eyes and saw a pain that mirrored his own. Remy had seen things a young man should never have to, lived through agonies he would never share with another soul, and guarded secrets that would ravage an ordinary person’s sanity. What the Cajun was offering him was a brief shared solace. He knew enough to take these stolen moments whenever he could find them. Tonight they could find a shared peace together. Tomorrow the morning sun could erase the events of the night past.

Gambit was still waiting. Logan nodded his head briefly, almost imperceptibly. That was all the assent Remy needed. Tenderly, he reached across to touch Logan’s cheek, letting his sensitive fingertips glide caressingly over the rugged planes and rough whiskers. He trailed his hand lightly down the older man’s neck and along the line of his shoulder, letting Logan acclimate gradually to the unfamiliar feel of a man’s intimate touch. Then he pressed back gently with the heel of his hand and Logan reclined again into the remaining pillow.

Remy chuckled at the sight of the other man’s body held so rigidly and tightly controlled. "Y’look like all dat metal in yer bones done finally fused together. Relax, homme."

Logan scowled and Remy merely grinned as he leaned over him, an arm planted on the pillow on either side of his head. Logan couldn’t resist the invitation in those full, sensual lips. He reached a hand up and brushed his thumb along them, tracing their enticing lines. Remy’s lips parted and he drew Logan’s thumb into his mouth. He teased at the thick digit lightly with his teeth, then swirled his tongue over and around it. As Wolverine’s eyes closed, Remy began sucking at the thumb, pulling it further into the wet heat of his mouth and tracing the lines and curves with his tongue. He began an alternating rhythm of sucking and licking, all the while watching Logan’s face. The tension so evident just moments ago was slowly ebbing, being replaced by a different kind of tension, one that spurred on his excitement.

Slowly, Remy moved his hand down from Logan’s shoulder along the impressive girth of his bicep, testing the texture of Logan’s skin and letting his sensitive fingertips map each new inch. Behind his shuttered eyelids Logan could envision the trails of fire Remy’s touch was igniting. Each touch created a new firestorm along his already burning skin, sending confused messages back to his troubled mind. The gentle stroking, though, was also somehow strangely soothing. Gradually Logan’s body relaxed under Remy’s touch and he gave himself over to concentrating on pure feeling.

Remy felt the exact moment when Logan lost the battle with himself and instead of the expected rush of triumph he was overwhelmed by a wave of warmth and friendship, mingled with no small amount of lust. An unusual mix of emotions for him, to be sure. Sex and love were two completely different things. He had loved Rogue with all his heart, yet sex could never be a part of their relationship. He had had sex with more women and men than he could even remember, but it meant nothing. The emotional connection was always absent. There was no amour. Why here? Why now? And why Logan, of all people? Too many questions, Remy thought with bemusement. Too much to think about when there was a warm, vital body coming alive under his touch. As his questing hand reached Logan’s wrist he stroked the tender inside, felt the hammering pulse beating there, and grasped the lax hand, twining their fingers together, thumb stroking the roughened palm. Flesh to flesh, he opened his mind to Logan, letting him share the unanticipated emotions.

Startled by the surprising sensations accosting his mind, Logan’s dark eyes opened wide, directly into the young thief’s wistful grin. He pulled his hand away from Remy’s face and was reaching to stroke his long hair when Remy’s other hand flew towards him and captured that hand in a similar entwining clasp. He brought both of Logan’s hands up to shoulder level and held him pinned to the bed with the slight weight of his body. Logan looked up at man hovering above him and growled softly, baring his teeth as he arched up towards him, not seeking to escape but silently asking for more contact and offering himself up to whatever fantastical bargain he had made.

Remy obliged by rubbing his face against Logan’s chest. So much hair, so unlike his own body, but then that was what made it so interesting. The crisp texture of the hair and the heat rising off Wolverine’s body ignited an answering fire in him and a quiet moan escaped him, muffled by the wall of Wolverine’s chest. Still holding Logan’s hands he kissed his way lightly towards the flat nipple. He brought his mouth down over it, tongue teasing it to hardness, teeth nipping lightly. Logan gasped at the sensation, twisting his body towards Remy, seeking more contact. Remy continued to hold himself over Logan, licking and sucking at him, feeding off the growing frenzy he could feel in him.

"Mmmm," he murmured. "So good. Ain’t never tasted anyt’in’ like dis before."

He continued his explorations, letting his mouth range along Logan’s muscular torso, tracing the planes of the broad pecs and trailing wet heat down the amazingly cut abs. Reaching Wolverine’s navel he dipped his tongue inside and swirled it around delicately. A bolt of pure energy shot through Logan’s body at the teasing touch and suddenly all restraint was gone.

"Swear ta G-d, Cajun," he snarled, eyes slitted and chest heaving, "if you don’t get those clothes off right now I’m not gonna leave enough o’ them whole to cover yer skinny ass."

Remy considered the threat for a moment, the possibilities of deliberately provoking Wolverine’s animal lusts exciting him more than a little, but instead he moved away gracefully and rose to stand by the side of the bed.

"Non," he smiled, shaking his head. "Gambit not like dat idea. Gambit pay too much fo’ dese ta let you turn dem into pillow stuffin’."

Remy slid out of his clothes with the ease of a snake shedding his skin. *Damn snakes again!* thought Wolverine. *Next thing I know, and the kid’ll be holding out a flamin’ apple!*

Gambit wasn’t offering any fruit to him, but the sight of Remy naked was more than temptation enough. Moonlight stole through the curtains and played along Remy’s body, creating intriguing shadows and highlights, painting his golden skin a silvery white. An odd effect of the light caught his hair and the burnished copper seemed almost to glow, creating a kind of halo effect. The smoldering red eyes contrasted sharply. *Yeah, St. Gambit, all right. If there ever was a devil on earth, this kid has got to be it.*

His lean, sculpted body was everything Logan had imagined and more. The hunger welled up in him once more and this time he did nothing to suppress it. Silently, swiftly, like the commando he had once been, Logan surged up from the bed and had Gambit pinned to the wall before he could even react. One large hand held him by the throat, jammed up under the chin, forcing his head up and back slightly. It wasn’t a killing hold, wouldn’t even be enough to bruise the delicate skin, but he was held securely with little chance to break free.

Wolverine’s upper lip curled back in a snarl and a low rumble began deep in his chest, working its way up and emerging as a throaty growl. For a moment only Remy was concerned that Logan was having murderous second thoughts. Then he felt a warm hand sliding down his body, skimming quickly across his chest and down his flat stomach before roughly caressing his hip and coming to rest in a firm grip on his buttocks.

*So, de ol’ man wants ta play hard, hehn? Knew dat already, do’. Dis gon’ be fun.* For both of us, Remy promised himself.

Logan grasped Remy’s firm, rounded ass tightly, but not cruelly, and let his palm massage the small expanse of tender flesh. It was pure velvet, hot and soft, begging for his touch, just like the rest of Remy’s body. He pulled Remy’s hips towards him, rubbing slightly. Their groins came into contact and both men gasped as a galvanic shock coursed through them. Remy’s erection stabbed upwards into his belly, demanding and urgent. So, the kid wanted him that bad, huh? Maybe he’d give him what he was really askin’ for.

Remy’s leg had slid behind his and twined around it, caressing rhythmically. Logan had the sudden sensation of being surrounded by the kid, his scent, his presence, his touch, and it wasn’t at all unpleasant. He brought his lips down on Remy’s chest, following the same path the kid had taken on him just moments before. He reached a small, hard nipple and closed down on it fiercely, sucking with serious force. Almost immediately the kid started reacting.

"Oh, Logan, mon dieu. Oh, oui, chere." His breath came in short gasps and his body writhed against him. Urged on by the kid’s obvious excitement and the incredible taste of him, Logan nipped softly at him with his sharp teeth.

"Ah…ah…mmm…" A steady litany of moans and gasps and jumbled patois tongued at his sensitive ears, arousing him, too, in ways he hadn’t dreamed possible. A fever was rushing down on him, the blood whipping through his veins like quicksilver. He pulled his mouth away from Remy’s nipple, determined to keep his sharp teeth away lest he do the boy some serious harm. Remy’s eyes flew open at the loss of sensation and then closed quickly again as Logan’s hand closed over his cock.

Remy’s cock, as long and lean as the rest of him. Its length surprised Logan but its heat amazed him even more. In wonder, Logan ran his hand along the length, root to tip, feeling how different yet at the same time how similar to himself it felt. For a few moments he merely masturbated Gambit, curious to see if those touches that drove him wild would have the same effect on the kid. It seemed that nearly any type of touch could have that effect. Gambit’s lithe body quivered and shook like a wild thing caught in his grip. His breath was coming in short pants now and the pitch of his moans was rising. Wolverine realized that the boy was on the verge of climax and he didn’t want that yet.

He abandoned his grip on Remy’s throat and, with a final pass of his fingertips over the head of Remy’s penis, let that fall from his hand, too. He noted with amusement that it didn’t merely fall. Rather it bounced heavily against Logan’s belly, leaving behind a trail of slickness that betrayed Remy’s excitement. Still grinning, he brought his hands up to either side of Gambit’s head and tangled his fingers in his long hair. Deliberately, he pulled Gambit’s head down to his and captured his lips in a rough kiss. Lips sliding across his, tongue demanding and receiving entrance. Plundering, looting, taking - Remy was sure that Logan was seeking more from this kiss than just the taste of his mouth.

*An jus’ when did I lose control o’ dis heah situation, anyhow?* he thought shakily.

Determined to put the encounter back on a more equal footing Remy threw himself into the kiss, meeting Logan’s lust with a like hunger. He fought back Logan’s assault with ardor, twining his tongue around Logan’s, sliding along his teeth, and sucking lasciviously at his lower lip. Remy’s hot mouth asked, no, demanded, that Logan give in to the elemental creature inside him, release the pain if only for a while, and indulge only in the pure feeling of the moment. Suddenly in this exchange of roles Wolverine understood what this encounter was about. It wasn’t about conquer-or-be-conquered nor was it about dominance. It was truly a give-and-take between equals in a way he had never before experienced with anyone else.

Remy’s arms glided around him, holding him close while their mouths continued to feed on each other. Without quite realizing how it happened Logan felt the edge of the bed bump up against his legs and Gambit’s gentle push urging him back down. More willing now to let Gambit have his way he sat down on the side of the bed and watched as Gambit gracefully dropped to his knees on the floor beside him.

Remy saw the ravening hunger in Logan’s eyes, felt it bursting open deep within him, and smiled in anticipation. His eyes glowed with the internal fire of a ruby and it was only the heat of Remy’s hands sliding along his legs, stroking his calves and insinuating their way up the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs that assured Logan that Remy was indeed a man, not an angel or demon made flesh.

His legs trembled as the gently stroking fingertips were replaced by a river of liquid fire. Remy’s tongue traced an intricate pattern of tormenting heat inching closer and closer to the source of his frustration but never quite reaching it. Remy was trying to drive him purely insane, Logan was certain, and was hell-bent on wringing every possible sensation out of him before releasing him from his touch. He fell back on the bed, hands clenched tightly in the covers. Every fiber of his being screamed out for relief. Instinct was driving his to fall on his prey, throw it down, and take what he wanted fast and hard. The small, dark corner of his mind that was struggling to remain rational, though, suggested otherwise. Let Gambit guide you, it told him. Follow his lead, absorb every sensation, get drunk on his scent, get high on the taste and touch of him. Go slow and feel, feel, feel! That control thing again, animal vs. human, rearing its ugly head. Could he ever escape its grip?

The question was settled for the moment when Remy finally had pity on his lover and brought his mouth down on Logan’s straining erection. The all-encompassing warmth and wetness were almost too much for Logan to bear. A scream, bestial in timbre, echoed around the room as Logan’s head reeled from the glorious shock. Relentlessly Remy bore down on him, taking more and more of the thick quivering rod into his mouth. He slid his tongue teasingly up the sensitive underside, circled the head, sucked hard, and nipped lightly, all the while testing the limits of Logan’s endurance.

*Jesus flamin’ Christ,* thought the part of Logan’s mind that could still form coherent thoughts. *It’s unreal. It’s like he’s inside o’ my head. Every touch, every spot. It’s like he knows just how ta do me, how ta drive me screamin’ crazy.*

Remy knew exactly what he was doing. He was a man and knew what turned a man into an unthinking sexual animal, but more than that, he was an empath and knew exactly what his partner wanted and needed. It didn’t take mutant skills, though, to know what Wolverine was feeling. He lay stretched back on the bed, hands curled into white-knuckled fists. His chest heaved mightily with every tremulous breath he drew, every muscle tensed and etched in sharp relief. The word "strength" didn’t even begin to convey the potency and vitality inherent in the man. As the tension and desire grew in Logan they built up apace in Remy and he felt a strong rolling ache centered in his groin and radiating outwards.

Knowing and feeling what they both needed, he glided his hand up Logan’s sweat slicked thighs and reached to gently cup his balls while his mouth came down on him hard, all at once. Logan groaned and shuddered, battling the urge to come immediately. His breath came hard in short raspy groans and harsh grunts escaped him while Remy sucked hard at him as if attempting to swallow the man whole. Helpless to do otherwise Logan thrust forcefully into Remy’s mouth again and again, fucking that hot, sweet, willing mouth with erotic abandon.

Remy drank in the pungent aroma of Logan’s arousal and felt a headiness overcome him. Reaching up, he grasped Logan’s sides and ran his hands down their length. Muscles tensed, released, seized, and relaxed as Wolverine’s climax approached. It wasn’t easy to keep his head still and allow Logan to use him this way but this was what he wanted, no, needed. To feel the other man’s strength and the full measure of his ecstatic passion was worth whatever discomfort or pain it might cause. Hell, the pain was its own special part of the pleasure, too.

"Oh, G-d, too much…grrrrr…so, so good…can’t last…much longer." Wolverine’s breathing was choked and his head tossed furiously as he struggled to hold off his orgasm just a little bit longer. "Can’t…n’more…Remy, ‘m gonna come…Remy…"

Caught on the razor’s edge of passion Logan had used Remy’s given name at last. The sound of it sent a shiver up his spine, the way that Logan’s rough growl had teased and torn at the sound, finally betraying the depth of his feeling. He was determined to make this good for Logan, better than any he had ever experienced.

Eyes closed tightly, Remy could only feel the wildfire consuming him, consuming them. In a long sweep he reached under Logan, caressing his tight balls, gripping his hard ass, and with a master’s precision thrust one clever finger into the constricted opening, hitting Logan’s prostate with unerring accuracy.

With a strangled roar Logan arched up into Remy’s mouth, body taut as a bowstring. He shuddered violently as the spasms rocked through him, wave after wave of unadulterated electricity shorting out the overloaded circuits in his mind. Remy stayed with him, holding on tightly and swallowing endlessly, as Logan shook with the paroxysms of his orgasm. He relished the steady dull throb in his own groin, knowing that soon he would be enjoying the same mind-numbing delirium himself.

In only moments Logan’s breathing returned to almost normal and his eyes opened slowly. "Jesus Christ," he croaked disbelievingly with a slight shake of his shaggy head.

"Non, jus’ plain ol’ Remy, but I’m workin’ on it." Remy lifted himself up on his arms and grinned impishly until a pulse of vise-like pain centered around his cock reminded him of their unfinished business. "We no’ done yet, you and I."

"No, Cajun, we’re not," Logan agreed. There was barely a trace of exhaustion left in his voice and – was it possible? – a slight nudge against Remy’s chest heralded Logan’s resurgent erection.

He laughed at Gambit’s comically stunned expression. "Healing factor, Gumbo. I can keep going all night." His voice dropped to a threatening promise and a tremor of delicious anticipation ran through Remy’s body.

Demon eyes hooded as the sexual languor took him once again, Remy rose up from the floor, sliding seductively up the length of Wolverine’s outstretched body. His tumescence dragged along Logan’s thigh, tickled by the thick hair, baited by Logan’s teasing undulation up into him.

"Damn, Logan. You sure you never done dis before?"

"Tol’ ya already, Gumbo. I’m the best there is at what I do and that includes everythin’ I do."

"Tha’s a tres gran boast, homme," Remy countered. He settled into a straddle across Logan’s hips and ran his fingers through Logan’s copious chest hair. "You sure you c’n live up to dat?"

"I’m ready ta put my money where my mouth is, Cajun." Suddenly serious, his voice dropped in timbre and he growled low in his throat. "Or anythin’ else ya got, kid."

Remy’s breath caught at the implication and then a broad smile crept across his beautiful features. He dropped his body down to lay atop Logan’s and placed a gentle kiss on the side of his neck. Softly, slowly he feathered kisses along Logan’s forehead, eyelids and cheeks before settling his lips on Logan’s. The kiss was warm and tender, some of the desperate urgency now dissipated, and both men now took the time to taste and explore. Logan’s arms crept around Remy’s back, one hand stroking its lean length steadily, lingering in the shallow valley at the base of his spine, the other tangling in the glossy hair, making sure that Remy’s head stayed exactly where it was. This was how he wanted the kid – atop him, where he could see each fleeting expression, witness each new spasm of pleasure, and watch his beautiful face as he slowly drove him over the edge. For whatever reason, and reason didn’t matter now, Wolverine wanted him, wanted to bury himself deep inside him, feel the clasping heat of him, and lose himself in those flaming red eyes and soft auburn hair.

Wolverine felt a curious movement at his middle and opened his eyes to a surprising realization. Remy’s hips were moving slightly, compulsively, and Logan realized that Remy was rubbing himself against him, stimulating himself against his body. Remy’s body sought pleasure instinctively the way a cat sought out the sun. The small movements were obviously having the intended effect as Logan could feel the increased heat rolling off the kid’s body and could hear the rapidly escalating urgency in the soft moans that Remy was breathing into his mouth.

Logan quickly passed a hand over his own erection and it jerked abruptly at his touch. Yeah, he was still wet enough.

"Remy," he breathed softly, "Remy." The kid looked up at him but his eyes had lost their focus and it was clear that he was in another world. He pushed his index finger towards him and, automatically, Gambit drew it into his mouth, sucking and licking, drawing on Logan as if to absorb his very life force.

"Nuff, kid, slow it down." Wolverine reclaimed his hand and continued stroking Remy’s back. This time, though, his blunt fingers continued down the sweep of his ass, along the gentle curve where his thigh began, and up behind his balls. With the tip of his wet finger he brushed lightly and then more insistently across the tight opening. At the first touch Remy’s back arched up sharply and rush of sweet sensation coursed through him.

"Oh, chere, dat so good. Ooh, yeah, jus’ like dat, mon couer…ooh, wan’ it, yeah, wan’ it so bad…ah, ah…" A breathless jumble of slurred endearments and frenzied entreaties poured from him, washing over Wolverine like warmed honey. Gambit’s lovely body writhed against him, twisting, sliding, and inciting. Grinning evilly Logan abruptly thrust his finger inside the boy and drank in the choked scream, rising in pitch, that erupted from him.

Before Remy had a chance to fully recover, Logan removed his finger and pushed him back on his haunches. His large hands clutched Remy’s hips, thumbs curling into the bend of hip and thigh, fingers grasping his small, round cheeks and pulling them slightly apart. In one quick motion he lifted Remy up over him and thrust upward, seating Remy firmly on his throbbing cock.

The look on Gambit’s face as he was penetrated so suddenly was worth everything to Logan. Transported was the only word for it. A radiant glow suffused his features and a blissful smile fought for dominance with his need to gasp, cry and scream. Beneath the kid’s breathy moans Logan could even swear he heard what sounded like a contented hum coming from deep within him. This was purely what Remy was made for, body and soul – to be taken, adored, and loved and, in turn, give all that back to his lovers. It was as natural as breathing and a whole lot more fun, too.

Just as Logan was about to plunge upward again Remy opened his eyes directly into his. The hypnotic quality was back, the blazing fire beckoning Logan to leap headlong. In that moment Remy again took control, squirming his hips down further, taking more of Wolverine’s thick cock deeper inside him. He groaned contentedly, murmured something seductively unintelligible, and circled his hips against Logan’s. With that slight motion a white-hot super nova exploded behind Logan’s eyes and a deep guttural cry was torn from him.

"Oh, fuck, Remy! What are ya doin’ to me?!" His strong fingers gripped even harder. There would be bruises tomorrow for sure, but Remy didn’t care. The feel of Logan so deep inside him, filling him so completely, was worth it.

Coiling his remarkably flexible legs under him, Gambit pushed up and began riding Wolverine. The wild heat! The magnificent tightness! Logan was sure his mind would melt any moment in a burst of liquid heat. Watching the kid fuck him was as beautiful a sight as any he had ever seen but now Logan needed more.

Still holding the kid’s hips he lifted him up and to the side while rolling up behind him. He was now behind Remy, thighs pressed to thighs, hot, sweet ass pulled closely into his groin. He pushed Remy forward and leaned down over him, dragging his chest over his back. Stretching up, he nuzzled into his soft hair, caught the edge of his ear in his teeth, and growled quietly.

The sound thrilled Remy more than any words could have. He pushed back into Logan, offering himself, and begging to be taken. In response, Logan’s hand drifted down Remy’s chest, flicking lightly at his hard nipples, and continued down to the soft curls surrounding his straining cock. Logan’s hand closed around him and Remy’s breath stuttered as he pumped forward into the tight grip. Logan began jacking him and then, just when Remy knew he was going to explode, he pulled his hand away and waited.

In indignation Remy turned his head and glared over his shoulder at Logan. A quick smile, wolfish in nature, and Logan plunged deeply into Remy’s ass. Immediately Remy’s muscles clamped down on him, squeezing and caressing. A growl of pure pleasure escaped him and he pulled back and pushed again into the hot depths.

So close, so close, but he needed more. "Fuck me, chere. Give it to me, Logan, all ya got. I wan’ it all, ev’ryt’ing. Please…"

Their two bodies met in a furious clash of heat and strength. Remy’s pleadings gave way to sharp cries of pleasure as Logan pounded into him wildly. So hard, so thick, the feeling of being filled so complete that it was almost painful. This was what he wanted, to feel the other man’s unleashed vitality, untamed and free, the central essence of Logan. He could feel the droplets of sweat falling onto him with each ferocious thrust. He bucked back into Logan, with each drive taking more and more inside him. His lithe body twisted and jerked, his strong muscles kneading and pulling at him. Once again Logan’s hand returned to his throbbing organ and he stroked and squeezed in time with his thrusts. Remy was caught in the most amazing rhythm, back and forth.

"Oh, Logan, mon amour, mon couer." The feelings overwhelmed him, the vibrant heat racing through his body, centering in his ass and cock. The heat, the pain, the pleasure. It was all too, too much. His body jerked, his head tossed wildly, and with a crying shriek that modulated upwards, his orgasm was wrenched from him, leaving his fine body trembling and shaking in its aftermath.

The sound of Remy’s passion, the feel of his hot little body contracting around him, pushed Logan towards the edge. He growled, baring his teeth, and began pistoning in and out. The hot body still writhing under him, the soft gasps of Cajun French that flowed over him…With a howl of pure pleasure Logan erupted deep in the boy’s body, surging forward on a wave of cataclysmic satisfaction.

Minutes before either man could breathe again. Minutes before Remy could stop shuddering and finally relax into the bed. Minutes before the red haze cleared and Logan could once again see and think clearly.

Remy rolled over luxuriously and stretched with feline grace. A fey smile appeared on his lips as he took in Logan’s appreciative gaze. "Logan, chere…"

"Naw, don’ wanna hear it." Logan gently lay his fingers across Remy’s mouth, effectively quieting him. "Nuthin’ ta say." Still, his expression was as relaxed as Remy had ever seen and, for the moment at least, he looked genuinely contented.

Logan reached around with a heavy arm and gathered Remy to his side. A quick brush along his flanks that caused his sensitive skin to quiver, a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck, and Logan settled down as if to sleep. Remy snuggled back into him, ass nestled closely against his crotch. It felt so good to be held like this, almost as good as it had felt to have Logan inside him. Still, before the morning sun rose he would be gone. Logan would let him leave, feigning sleep even though his sensitive ears could not miss his departure. And that was all right with him.

Logan’s breathing was deep and regular and Remy, too, felt the irresistible call of sleep. As his eyes closed he whispered quietly, "Bon nuit, mon amour."

Behind him, Logan smiled.



The End