Title: Logan's Experiment

Author: O (the webmistress will forward all feedback: Starliner00@gmx.net)

Rating: NC-17

Pairing/main characters: Gambit/Wolverine

Series/Sequel: complete

Summary: Wolverine finds Gambit passed out on the couch after a drinking with the other X-Men. He decides to experiment a little.

Disclaimer: All belong to Marvel, no infringement intended nor profit made.

Archive/distribution: Yes, ask first please.

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Logan's Experiment

By O

 

The room looked exactly as he'd expected it after suffering a long hot afternoon of men and sports; trashed. Glasses and cans and bottles, ashtrays and bowls and the detritus of an astounding variety of snack foods flung around like used confetti, chairs dragged from all corners of the room into a rough cluster around the big-screen TV. He wiped his hands on the rag he held, having left the room himself an hour ago when it became apparent he'd be the one paying off bets this time. Hated t'lose t'that Cajun, he'd rub it in for weeks. So he'd gone to work on his bike, and obviously that prediction had proven out; he saw several celebratory champagne bottles upside down in a planter, to the obvious discomfort of the wilting plant whose home it was.
Twilight painted the wood-paneled walls and carpeted floors with deep shadows and he knew clean-up wouldn't happen before tomorrow afternoon. Indeed, he'd known when he watched them pile into Warren's jeep heading to Harry's in a loud laughing knot that he'd find the den just this way. He shook his head and had turned back for the door when his ears picked up a soft sigh; a searching nose picked up the Cajun's scent, too warm among the stale smells to be anything but present, and when he rounded the end of the couch he found Gambit stretched out in graceful masculine abandon sound asleep and reeking of champagne, the only liquor in the world that could actually get him stupid drunk. He'd watched the kid drink a fifth of Johnny Walker by himself at a card game and saunter out straight as he'd sauntered in, and with everybody's money in his pockets to boot. He had to smile - this was as perfect a picture of handsome male debauchery as he'd ever seen, the Cajun was utterly relaxed, slightly flushed, the hint of a crooked smile and a gorgeous sweep of male muscles and bones.
"Left y'here for the clean-up crew, eh?" Logan murmured, appreciating the drape of outstretched body, long and spare, the lift of deep ribs hollowing out a hard narrow belly like a young hunting hound. One long leg was bent and cocked up against the back of the couch, one hand dropped onto the floor and the other flung over his head onto the cushions; the faint glint of a large coin pressed into that palm with the middle finger made one of Logan's grizzled eyebrows quirk; he'd always had a healthy respect of the Cajun's fighting instincts, kid was a pure ripper in battle, cagey and sneaky and as willing ti jukk as Logan was himself no matter what Scott said, so quick and agile that watching him fight was like being at some savage graceful circus. Even passing-out drunk, even among friends, Gambit had something in hand to charge and instinct enough to keep it there, good for him. His face was half hidden under the thick glossy drape of auburn hair and before he knew he'd moved, Logan saw his own blunt fingers brush it aside, enjoying the cool heavy silkiness with an admiration bordering on sensuality ... immediate as that thought he snatched his fingers away, but his other senses were not so easily controlled.
Aristocratic angles and foxy shadows, delicate aquiline nose, sculpted lips half open and the fan of eyelashes thick and sweet on those high cut cheekbones ... pretty as a woman, but unmistakably male. When his gaze was drawn sweeping down the lanky body and came up to focus again on Gambit's mouth, Logan understood why the rest had left him there, maybe even why they'd left in the first place. Gumbo was lucky that's all they'd done, reeking of pheromones as he was, he could feel the slight tug in his groin that often made Remy so hard to live with; he grinned at the unintentional pun and his fang-teeth glittered in the gathering gloom of dusk. That empathic power out of Remy's notoriously slipshod restraint was too lethal combined with that much masculine beauty, he tried to control it but didn't always succeed despite the fact that it had caused him as much trouble in his life as it had brought him delight. Logan knew Gambit's lovers were legion and mostly adoring, and also, he'd heard tell, of both sexes. His deep blue eyes narrowed consideringly.
Cyke had told him Remy'd said he'd had sex with quite a few men in his life, unwillingly as well as willingly, and of course Cyke was properly disgusted and shocked, which was probably why the kid had said it in the first place. Might be true, might not, Cajun made a career out of rattling their Fearless Leader and anybody else he could. He grinned to remember Scott's appalled expression, particularly when he'd just shrugged himself to be told like it was no big deal.
It was believable, kid like this, all handsome angles and silky hair and silky ways on hard-scrabble streets way too young, likeable with his rakish and slightly dangerous charm, and a realist who would knew a boy would have to do what he had to do to survive. Yeah, he could see the kid takin' what came and might as well enjoy it. Kid loved sex like a drug, he'd do it anywhere, anytime, and never had any lack of takers.
Gambit shifted on the couch, sighed long and slow and resettled with a little smile flirting across one corner of his long lazy mouth. His scent changed subtly and Logan glanced down at the crotch of the kid's jeans ... havin' a dream, a good one too by the looks of it ... or maybe picking up Logan's involuntary responses to the empathic charm, as Logan himself had picked up the scent of pheromones? He wondered about that, and then thought to test the Cajun's empathic capabilities while he was unaware of it. Boy hid his capacities like someone who'd been burnt badly before, but Logan had long suspected he had a lot more going on in that seemingly empty pleasure-seeking head than he let on. Logan was a man who liked to know what stood at his side, and at his back in battle.
He took up a position at the foot of the couch, closing his eyes and purposefully taking a deep breath, filling his lungs with the Cajun's scent, cedar and spice and expensive cologne, relaxing his guard against external influences. Felt little lightening bugs tickling up and down his body waking and sensitizing the nerves. He steeled himself against the effect, surprisingly quick and potent as moonshine. Opened his eyes and let them look at Remy. Bare-foot, and even his feet were pretty, long and high-arched, slender toes, anklebones sharp but strong. Long legs, a long body no longer too thin, but still the faint look of old starvation never outgrown under the fine layers of tight-woven muscle he'd begun to gain, stronger and far more durable than he looked; they'd sparred a few times, and the kid had taken him half the bouts and would use anything he had to do win - including his charm. Old soft jeans snugly hugging long slender thighs and riding low on the small box of tight narrow hips, white T-shirt presently stretched across the indrawn arch of his slinky stomach and the broad flat-muscled flare of chest. Big lengths of graceful bone tightly sheathed in a weave of long muscle and sinew, golden skin pulled tight ... the face ... wickedly beautiful slants and planes, aristocratic bones of a rascal prince, sly and demonically wicked, yet still somehow tender and vulnerable.
Logan allowed the sensations to creep through him, evaluating his own breathing, heart-rate, blood flow ... he had it under control, but the crotch of Gambit's jeans tightened further as Logan took his long leisurely look, grinning at being able to affect the Cajun this way without a word or a touch. Then the face he looked down at tightened with momentary discomfort, Gambit's hand lifted somnolently off the floor to adjust himself in the jeans, a purely unconscious masculine gesture that laid his half-erect sex down along the inside of his thigh. That was about all she wrote, all illusions of control evaporated.
Seeing him touch himself so intimately broke something free in Logan, ignited the hungry ferality of the beast ever near the surface. His eyes burned, his skin heated as he stood over Gambit like a wolf over prey. They were in the house alone, Logan knew it and was suddenly and viciously glad. The Cajun was in no shape to stop him and might not want to if what he'd told Cyke was true ... a cooler, more rational voice inside him said this was only the pheromones, that if he walked away, this ... urge ... would pass. But he had a genuine liking for the rebellious kid and the charm power intensified just such feelings.
Maybe because he'd always been able to read the kid better than anyone else, knowing he kept everyone at arms length with humor and sleight of hand and psychic barriers that frustrated even Xavier, had to like a guy who didn't take shit or give himself away. But some secrets the kid's scents gave away to Logan - that was one of his own secrets, being able to read people off their smells. Fear, though never in battle, pain when his face said nothing and no one could ever hurt him. Loneliness even rocking in the arms of any willing woman, they came to him like schools of fishes and yet the plenty never filled him up. A constant deep black grief the kid would never look at, as Logan never looked at his own. Gambit was so handsome and so seemingly satisfied to be an aimless libertine that few thought to look further, and Logan understood how he used that to deflect curiosity. He did it himself with the constant threat of bloody violence.
Now, however, Gambit was laid out like a feast in front of him and smelling of need, and starvation was near what Logan felt to look at him, aroused, as sensual a soul as he'd ever encountered and here, now, aroused, radiating want even passed out. Maybe radiating want because he was passed out ... that was sort of a sad thought.
Before he knew he was doing it, maybe because Gambit was dreaming it, he'd laid his own hand in a soft-palmed curve on the shape of Gambit's erection through his jeans. The Acadian reacted with an immediate inborn sensuality, his head tilted back into the cushion, his mouth opened around a soft round gasp and his whole body tensed, arched gently, hips backing deeper into the couch in unconcealed enjoyment. But he did not wake. The bent knee tipped inward defensively and Logan let his hand be pressed harder around the shape, which was also growing harder, and then moved his fingers in an almost delicate flutter that made Remy squirm with a soft growling moan, glossy copper eyebrows drawing down and the pink tip of his tongue stroking once across his upper lip. Logan wanted to eat him up right then, as tasty a meal as he'd ever drooled over.
Gambit murmured a long mmmmmmmm of pleasure hitched around a slight gasp, and his hips undulated up into Logan's hand, his head rocked and his hands fell open, surrendering, the coin rolling down his wrist into the couch cushions. Dreamin' of God knew what, but Gambit was turned on and Logan didn't mistake the sight or scent of it as it rocketed through his own body, made breathing difficult, made him tingle all over ... It took all Logan's control to remove his hand, but the constriction of a hard-on like he hadn't enjoyed in a very long time was beginning to hurt; he unzipped his jeans just to relieve the pressure, sighed. Inhaled deeply ? give it to me, the scent seemed to say, take me, want me ?
He squatted down next to the couch and let his eyes roam greedily, his hands following after and the kid seemed to stretch himself out for the touch invitingly, writhe into the sensation, shivers and sighs inflaming Logan further by the moment. But not until he ran his callused palm under the T-shirt and firmly up the taut tender ridges of his belly did Gambit begin to rouse, disjointedly flexing into Logan's hands, eyes fluttering half open bleary and unfocused but still expressing some faint befuddled surprise. He made a clumsy attempt to rise but it took only Logan's hand on his chest to push him back, the other sliding down to cup his crotch kept him there willingly with a strangled grunt.
Without knowing who it was or really even where he was in the whirling reel of his sodden brain, only that the mind was friendly as well as lust-filled ... both important to him, ever sought. Fingers skimmed over his shallow navel, Gambit was dizzy and confused but so automatically responsive to pleasure that he allowed it, welcomed it.
Logan's head tilted back and his eyes closed as the sensations of warm skin, different from a woman's with angles and bones instead of curves and softness under it, flowed against his hand. Thin skin, a hard quiver of muscle beneath ... Remy's body quivered and rose to his rough touch, sought it unconsciously but with an elegant, almost delicate abandon that drove Logan on.
He bent over him slowly, nostrils widening as he inhaled his scent, picking up a purring sound so low it was almost inaudible as he nuzzled up along his neck under the heavy coolness of auburn hair. Made for it like a work of art, generous with his body, giving it to anyone who wanted it. A slut, maybe, but more than breathing this kid wanted to be wanted, it was crucial to him and Logan hadn't totally sussed out why.
Even when Logan's mouth closed over his, Gambit didn't fight. Logan had never kissed a man, never even considered it, the brush of soft rust-colored whiskers a jarring incongruity, but the Cajun's mouth was fine and hot and his lips clung to Logan's, fingers opening and closing around empty air and a shudder running through him that Logan matched as his tongue slid deep and made them both moan, laying half across Gambit's chest to stroke the sharp edges of perfect white teeth with his tongue, tasting tobacco and liquor and a rising peppery heat. He felt the accelerating heartbeat and roughening breaths against him, and just when he wanted it so much he'd started to growl, Gambit came alive under him.
The kid slanted the kiss to allow him total access, his long clever fingers slid into the coarse hair over Logan's ears as his mouth and hands and body yearned bluntly into contact at every possible point. It was a double-edged sword, that charm power, overpowering even himself in sensing Logan's wants and meeting them in an instinct he didn't even have to be fully conscious to obey ... there was the secret, Logan understood it then with a surge of feral satisfaction, there was that mystery that made women's eyes burn after they'd had him with wanting him again, the reason they pursued him so wantonly. That secret none of the other men had figured out - the empath power told him what his partner wanted, where they wanted it, how they wanted it, reading mind and flesh and meeting the needs of both as naturally as if he was arousing and delighting himself. His partner's excitement became his, which explained his reputation for sexual generosity - willingly satisfying his lovers before himself - but did they even know he enjoyed their sensations as much as his own? Ultimately selfish, wasn't it? Or was it?
Logan's callused hands slid up over Gambit's chest, one claw tore the t-shirt down the center, flicked it away from the skin, he wanted the skin, hands harder and more urgent now and the slip and suck of lips, the drive of tongues, becoming more significant. Breathing a harsh symphony, irregular, shaky. Big rough fingers slipped through the gracious pattern of ginger hair winging across Gambit's flat pectorals, catching on the coppery disks of male nipples that hardened against his fingertips and called up a breathless hitching groan and a catlike arch into the touch. Logan's hands so big and Gambit narrow enough that Logan's fingers dragging down his body could count the ribs as his thumbs tracked the light tail of soft cinnamon hair running down the narrowing descent of stomach, curling around his navel, continuing down ... his skin, his scent, the frail solidity ...
"Ooooo, mais oui, chere...." Breathed soft and willing as a nympho, which some of the team had accused him of being, rubbing himself into the hands that stroked him, lips moving fine and sweet over mouth and jaw and throat with undeniable passion and in that moment, even in the red-tinged madness, Logan loved the boy he knew could read the potential for violence in him and yet still gave himself with absolute trust. It nearly brought tears to his eyes, his kiss softened and Gambit murmured something against his lips, stroked the side of his face tenderly in answer to the swell of affection he felt directed at him. As if it meant more than any gesture of desire and Logan knew, suddenly and with a great compassionate insight, that it did.
The boy wanted to be loved and used sex to have that connection. Logan fed on Remy's mouth, gave gentleness into it even if the hunger could not be gentled. Rough fingertips followed the descending trail that disappeared into the loose waistband of his jeans, too long and lean to find a good fit off the rack so the waist always ended up caught precariously low on his hipbones and left a generous gap when he laid down. Easy to get his hand in there where it was so incredibly warm and ... bare ... goin' commando, and Logan grinned ... mouth ranging busily, hands sliding around elegant hipbones to take the small tight handful of buttocks, the only place on the kid with any yield to it. His thumbs stroked the muscled divot on the outside of each small cheek, he lifted himself from his knees beside the couch and swung his leg up and over Gambit's. The Cajun took his weight on him willingly, ground himself in a sinuous squirm against him, reflecting back the heat Logan felt raging in himself. Powerful arms scooped under his long back and lifted, auburn hair brushed the cushions as Logan's mouth worked it's way down the arch of throat and collarbone, found one small copper nipple and tongued it, which made the Cajun jerk with an animalistic grunt of pleasure. Gambit let Logan take his weight, shivering and twitching and moaning like a helpless wild thing in soft rasping breaths as Logan sucked at his sensitive nipples one after the other, as one of Logan's hands returned into his jeans, glided small tender circles around his buttocks, traced the dimples at the base of his spine and followed the row of delicate bones down, between, a strangled cry and stiffening when he touched a finger there ...
When Logan finally let him down he could barely breathe himself, the constricted heat in his chest nothing compared to the blazing hardness of his cock. His hand roamed, flattened against the warm hard belly, big blunt fingers tickling the soft thicket of hair around the base of Gambit's erect shaft and then he took possession of it against his palm, sucking in Gambit's stuttering cry and gripping the cool heavy drape of his hair to keep his head where he wanted it as he slowly rolled the velvety hardness so deliciously strange in his hand. He slanted his head over Gambit's and drove his tongue deep into his mouth, ears pricked toward the erotic litany of soft gasps and guttural moans, whimpers of need. Acutely aware of every liquid shiver, Logan let the weight of his powerful body control the squirms of arousal, meet the rise of those quick narrow hips with fingers that stroked and squeezed the steely cock, bigger than he'd thought, the one thing about Gambit that was not narrow. He held Gambit's head back by one fist wrapped in the glorious silken length of his hair, looking for a long moment at his face, swollen mouth open in rapturous arousal, eyes closed and eyebrows high, lush and beautiful and abandoned, before he took his mouth exploring the long stubbled line of his jaw, rough against his tongue and slightly salty, the bone as delicate as it was strong.
A suck at the wild pulse under his ear and then down his long throat, down the middle of his chest and finding the nipple again when he was too aroused to be gentle any longer. He bit and tasted blood, Remy jerked hard under him to feel that, suddenly talking disjointedly in a soft slurry of patois, questions tinged with a faint anxiety only half-conscious of what was being done to him and not objecting, it mostly felt too good, but aware of the pain of Logan's teeth and perhaps sensing how near to dangerous this drunken dream was becoming. Still, his fingers fisted in Logan's coarse hair to hold the mouth on him, too sweetly buzzed to make sense of it beyond it feeling really really good despite the deadly edge that was coming, the darkness that was Logan's hidden beast threading through the bright pleasure.
"Aaaaah, Mon bon Dieu ... bon Dieu!" He breathed, shivered when Logan's tongue swept across his nipple again, when his lips closed and he sucked with painful force at the same time his hand clamped and stroked around Remy's sex. Remy nearly exploded right then, crying out loud "Ah! Ah ..." Narrow hips bucked up into Logan's hand then, took up an urgent rhythm, fingers clutching the fabric of Logan's shirt at his sides. He groaned deeply, far over the edge, and Logan answered in savage kind, hands grabbing lean Acadian flesh, possessing, overpowering, taking. One by the one the buttons of Remy's fly gave beneath Logan's fingers, he had to let go, lift himself up, but he was quick, and one yank stripped Gambit's jeans off, tore at his own. Before Gambit could react, Logan was atop of him again, naked skin in a shockingly intimate grind, mouth ravaging, powerful hands holding the younger man down and stroking so ferociously that thin parallel runnels of blood began to follow his caresses. The bloodscent spiked into Logan's senses and added to the madness, jolted pain/pleasure so tightly interwoven Remy could not separate them or even know whose they were.
"Yeah, Gumbo ... " Breathlessly primal, hardly human for as far gone as he felt himself, it was all he could do not to consume him, not to set teeth to his sweet inciting flesh, open him and rip into him and pin him down and fuck him until he screamed and begged. It was too much .. dimly Logan realized he was losing control, knew he could hurt the Cajun badly if he didn't restrain the ravening beast that lived in his barely civilized shell, but the kid was too turned on himself and was broadcasting his own arousal, the scent of his excitement, the writhing of his long hard body under him, the demands of his hands and mouth too powerfully erotic not to drown out every other consideration.
Gambit responded to his lust with inborn cooperation even clumsy and drunk as he was, he sucked on Logan's tongue, his hands slid over Logan's broad burly back, his hips circled in a persistent and probably painful grind against Logan's engorged penis until he had to, just HAD to, get inside the Cajun, get into him, get deep into him.
With a growl that was close to a primal scream he reared up and shoved Gambit's knees apart, hooked his hands under them and pushed them open and back, reaching for his mouth with his own and taking it in a savage onslaught while his organ found it's own way, lodged, then forced it's way into Gambit's unprepared body in one forceful bestial thrust that brought him arching up off the couch in screaming agony. The Cajun's black and crimson eyes opened wide, heels scrabbled for purchase and failed, his shoulders caught in their backward lunge against the arm of the couch, his hands slammed hard onto Logan's shoulders, arms straight and pushing uselessly but he could not escape it, too late to escape what he only now realized was happening - not in a simple erotic dream, but being seriously fucked, a man on top of him, Dieu, IN him ... Logan's hot breath stroked against his throat, Logan's immense sex like a burning spike and it did no good to struggle, to protest with words and sounds of extremity and distress that only excited Logan more, drove him into harder, faster, deeper ... Logan, it was Logan, the only one of them he truly feared. Logan scented the half-lusting terror and inhaled it eagerly, predator victorious over prey, taking what he wanted, taking, feeling under the startlement how much Gambit craved being taken, overpowered with love.
"C'mon Gumbo, quit screamin', I can smell ya lovin' it ... lemme ... yeah, oohhhhh - c'mon ..." A hot rasping voice of lust and Logan planted one hand on Gambit's chest to keep him flat and lifted himself up off the straining column of his long lean body so he could see him as he pistoned in and out, see the beautiful face twist in pleasure/pain, watch the rhythmic jar of muscles and bones, powerful fingers closing senselessly around Gambit's neck to hold him down. God, the smell of him! The incredibly tight blazing of him! Sensations cycling back and forth, the feel of his smooth velvety skin ...
Both of Gambit's hands clasped over that one jammed up under his chin futilely trying to pry the huge fingers loose, but Logan was oblivious to real pain in his moans, deaf when they became pleas, breathless words asking him to stop, to stop, saying he was hurting him, and Logan enjoyed even that, enjoyed hurting him for the way his body clamped around his deep-lodged cock.
Drunk or not, however, survival was an ingrained instinct and in a burst of powerful resistance the Cajun twisted under him, weaseled himself off of Logan's thrusting penis and flipped over and got halfway over the angle of the arm and the back of the couch before Logan pinned him. One huge hand planted at his smooth nape between his shoulderblades shoving his chest down hard into the v-shaped edge and holding him there. For a moment it was a wild struggle, but Gambit was too disoriented, too drunk, Logan too damned strong and when he nearly dislocated his own shoulder trying to get out from under him Gambit quit, sensing he would end up seriously hurt if he didn't.
Shaking like something caught in a predator's teeth and rigid in the awkward corner of back and arm, the heels of his hands gripped hard on each side to keep from being forced ass-up over the back. He didn't fight, but he turned enough to look blearily back over his shoulder at Logan through the quivering curtain of silken hair, beautiful in his dishevelment, erotic and made for passion body and soul - yet it was terror Logan plainly heard in the breathless slur;
"Don' hurt Remy like 'dis, Remy let you fuck 'im, let you, don' hav't hurt 'im, don' ..." Surrendering to rape like it'd happened before and the strangled timbre of his inebriated patois echoed horror, the Cajun's smell reeked of fear too much to suppress drunk, his skin was cold.
Suddenly Logan thought of this sleekly elegant body, the needs he couldn't restrain, among the Marauders and a terrible understanding bloomed. Fear was not what he wanted, pain not what he intended ? it might have been the charm power influencing him, but his powerful hands loosened, gentled. Stroked slow and careful down the long furrow of spine and back again, a warm calm promise. The whisper of his rough palms across Gambit's velvety skin soothed the rawness, regret made his big blunt fingers almost delicate, touch firm with undiminished lust but caring as he knew Gambit would feel. Knew he could not help wanting. Seducing with thought and touch was a new experience, but one he found himself enjoying very much.
Softly he stroked for several minutes while his erection pulsed against the back of Gambit's thighs under him, hands slipping down the tight quivering weave of muscles and hard ribs, watching his own motions and finding a deep pleasure in the texture of Remy's skin, thin and silken over the elegantly spare architecture of graceful bones and long muscle. Down the sharp distressed bend of the Cajun's arms, over the torn t-shirt caught on his fine-boned wrists and the gripped hands and knuckles, big long hands, clever and expressive. Warming, affectionate eroticisms so the Cajun eased, though he remained rigid and trembling, waiting ...
"Ain't gonna hurt you, Remy, I promise ..." Caressing, stroking down the serpentine back, gentle, soothing, kind ... but it was using his given name softly in his ear from behind that gave Remy LeBeau to Logan completely, he craved just such emotions like a sponge too long dry and was drawn in his inebriation and disorientation back into the pleasure his body sought with eternal mindless need.
Powerful hands slithering down his flanks, rasping up the front of his thighs, rising in a criss-crossing caress up the lean long indrawn curve of his taut torso, powerful arms curling around the slender column of his body as Logan came gently down to lay in a warm authoritative weight against his back, warm wet lips tasting the skin of his shoulders, a tongue delicately tracing the bones at the top of his spine, burrowing under his hair as Logan turned his face into that sensation of cool silken slither against his rough cheeks. Huge callused fingers spidered delicately, covering so much area at once. Fingertips brushed across Remy's nipples and he shivered as they rose and hardened, did not struggle against being held now as one brutish hand traced the pattern of glossy hair across his chest, Logan delighting in the sensitivity of his quivering skin while the other followed the delicate satiny tail of hair down the center of his hard-ridged belly, curled around his shallow - and also sensitive - navel. Light touches made him quiver, firm touches made him moan softly, the sounds breathless and mortal. Logan's palm flattened against the narrowing descent of Remy's lower belly, spanning across the vertical blades of his hipbones and he ground himself against the small compact ass fitted into his crotch.
LeBeau's knees, Logan felt with a surge of bestial lust, opened.
"Not gonna hurt you, Remy ..."
"Oui, d'accord, sil vous plais ... oui." Whispered disjointedly with desperate hope. Logan cupped the bare handful of cheeks in each hand, still laying on Gambit's back and pinning him to the corner of the couch, thumbs stroking the hollow divot of his flank, fingers a grippingly tender caress. Delicate strokes of his little fingers in the shallow crease asked, and Remy's deep moaning sigh and an almost liquid undulation back into him answered. The Cajun shuddered, gasping, in his grip as Logan's rough hand explored and found him hard, closed around his erection so he jerked and cried out breathlessly as Logan stroked firmly from base to tip and back again, then pressed that spot behind his testicles with enough force to make him cringe even as his hips rose after the sensation. Logan held him braced against his powerful forearms as he jacked the hot velvet-skinned steel of Remy's penis until he was pumping helplessly into his hand as fast as his little hips could move, until he shuddered and shoved back into Logan and came with a stuttering moan, whereupon Logan released his grip and gathered the ejaculate. Remy was breathless in his grip, words pouring in a soft whiskey-sodden mish-mash of French and English that rose when Logan boldly stroked his fingers across the entrance to his body. He knew what would come, Logan knew there was no misunderstanding when Remy stilled, gasping and trembling, and allowed it. With slow kind passion Logan worked a finger into him and Remy proved very vocal, soft cries and rasping rhythmic moans that tongued at Logan's hypersensitive ears in an aural turn-on he hadn't expected. Had he known the words of that hot molasses slur of encouragement and pain he probably would have been much rougher, he was impossibly tight, hotter than he'd expected. He replaced the finger with the head of his cock and pushed. Pushed again until the broad head pressed into Remy's body. Thrusting a little deeper, deeper still, holding his hips now, fingers hooked around the bend of hip and thigh digging into the velvety tenderness of Remy's groin as he slowly hilted himself in a deep pulsing throb and stopped. Had to stop or he'd go off immediately and for a languid moment he only touched, feeling his cock caught and held in impossibly tight heat, quivering. He ran his hands up and down Remy's greyhoundish body murmuring appreciatively.
When he glanced up, however, momentarily shocked by the mirror across the room, he froze at the sight of LeBeau's reflected face, his head lifted and arched back, eyebrows knotted and eyes tight, mouth ... open and soft and telling every feeling so Logan wished desperately he could take that mouth, too. Logan jumped inside him, swelled, gasped and almost came just from the pure lovely eroticism of Remy's face. Remy opened his eyes right into his in the reflection, saw Logan's pleasured admiration, felt it in his body, on his body, in his mind, and he held Logan's eyes and gave that pleasure back to him. He rose in a languid cat-like arch, his arms coming up off the deep bend of his elbows, his body rising into view in the mirror, beautiful, sculpted in warm gold. He kept rising, hands reaching over his head behind him as he came back for Logan, displaying the fine sleek body like a great stretching cat and smiling a Mona Lisa smile into Logan's reflected eyes.
"Aaah, don't move, don't move ... " Logan didn't want to come then, not yet, and stillness was all that kept it from happening. His eyes were fixed on Remy in the mirror, on his own hands moving over the Cajun, for several long minutes he simply watched, held himself hilted inside the tight heat and watched his hands sliding across Remy's torso, inflamed in so many senses he could hardly distinguish between visual, aural and tactile. Remy stroked the arms that coiled around him like great furry pythons, leaned back into Logan, seating his cock more firmly inside him with unabashed eroticism, stroked himself against Logan's chest. Captivated, Logan remained still, watching Remy fuck himself on him, feeling the sinuous clasp and rub, moaning, murmuring, losing himself in the feelings, his own hands widening and closing, grasping and stroking ... Then Logan began to move again, altered his angle, withdrew slightly and thrust hard just to see Remy's face constrict as he nudged his prostate going in. Remy jumped under him, shuddered and gasped, and Logan's hand slid down his belly and closed around Remy's penis again, not surprised to find him still hard. Stroked there in his own rhythm, trapping Remy between his cock and his rhythmically working fist so he thrust back and then forward, Logan's hot breath against his neck encouraging him with rough words.
Logan homed in on the burst of heat and hardness in his hand, sensed the quiver coming from deep inside the striving body beneath him and pressed down against the sudden upward drive of Remy's hips, eyes fastened on the lanky body, stroking faster and harder until the Cajun's voice was breaking with need.
In a burst Remy opened his mind and gave Logan the sensation of his own heavy movement deep inside, the bone-like strike and rub over the prostate as he thrust in and out, so big and the sensation so strong and erotic of being opened and thrust into, making Logan thrust even harder and deeper, smacking in jarring pistoning strokes into Remy's body until his cries were a true blend of agony and pleasure. The Cajun was into it with every sound and move and he made them all, strong enough to take Logan's ferocity as a woman could not, experienced enough to enjoy the pain that was also exquisite pleasure, fingers fanning at times off the edge of the couch and then gripping white-knuckled as he moved under Logan in perfect synchronicity. "Oh ... ooo ... ah Dieu, aider moi ... ah, ah, Ah, AH ..." Good thing the mansion was empty, because when Remy stiffened and came again, his shuddering body arching taut as a drawn blow, arms up-reaching as if for heaven, the slow rising pulse of the scream that came with his orgasm would've waked the dead. It drove Logan hard, harder, faster, while Remy babbled breathlessly as his hips bucked between Logan's body and his hand tight and fast in the same rhythm around his spurting cock, quivers shook his hard-straining body like a bowstring plucked. But it was the sounds Logan focused on, closing his eyes and letting LeBeau's rhythmic cries and gasps and groans flow like hot music over his senses, every stroke elicited a sound of need, of pain, of excruciating pleasure until finally Logan rammed himself ferociously deep, clutched the hot writhing body hard against him and exploded with a long howl of pure animalistic release.
Blind and deaf and savagely satisfied, he froze in a pulsing throb of bestial flesh crushing the Cajun against him as he hilted himself in his body, gripping him in bruising fingers that tightened with every bolt and spasm.
So long before he could see again, hear anything past the roaring redness that had him grinding his teeth ferociously even while his hand stroked Remy's head under his chin, smelling hot salt and ... blood ...
"Shhh, s'okay Cajun, it's good, it's OK, Remy, Remy ... it's OK, it's over, it's over ..." For several minutes he held him crushed against his chest, pulsing and throbbing in him, before he could draw himself out, a move that seemed to hurt Remy, a sound that wasn't pleasure but real pain. The Cajun was not struggling, but he was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering and when Logan finally gathered him and let him down onto his back again in the corner the dark eyes were fixed with drunken wariness on Logan's face. It was at this point that men who had never considered sex with another man became violent, their needs sated on his body, their minds unable to get around it and fixed on blaming him. Wolverine could kill him so easily? For a moment Logan didn't understand the expression, fatalistic and fearful - why would the boy expect a beating after ... crimson-black eyes brimming with a furtive apology that assumed all guilt for Logan's behavior - he hadn't controlled the charm power, he'd made a mistake and Logan had been swept into it ...
"Goddammit, Gumbo ..." Angry that Remy flinched and closed his eyes against expected recriminations, his arms rose defensively, he nearly cowered back into the corner. Logan was indeed angry - the damned kid had guilt all over his face, he was going to apologize for having been nearly raped just like he assumed penance for every hurt to anyone around him and it infuriated Logan almost senseless. With an effort he swallowed the furious growl that rose out of his still-heaving chest.
"Don't you look at me like that, kid, like I'm gonna rip you apart now ? I was tryin' somethin' n' it got hold of me too hard, I thought I could control it and I couldn't, it's my fault, OK? Are ya hurt?"
Remy's eyes fell closed, head turned away behind the curtain of russet hair, saying nothing, breathing raggedly and looking so goddamned ashamed of himself that Logan yanked him into his arms with an impatient tenderness. Held him without speaking himself but projecting with all his considerable will the true and real affection he felt for him, the true and real regret over having hurt him ... and the true and real pleasure he had enjoyed with him that he couldn't bring himself to be sorry for. Remy was surprised and he let the sensations wash over him, feeling cuts and deep scratches everywhere that Logan hadn't been able to help, a deeper pain from being taken as the unprepared male body wasn't meant to be. The deep warm shudder of fulfillment that made Logan want to sleep and the strange warm sense that he wouldn't mind Remy's company in that. Soothed by Logan's tender thoughts as much as disturbed by his regret knowing he couldn't have helped it.
Remy knew very well what the charm power could provoke and he'd made the choice to drink too much champagne, this was his own fault and he could lay no blame at Logan's feet. Still, it felt good to be held so, firmly and warmly, he'd never guessed Logan's feelings for him ran so deeply. Lust he knew he could evoke without even trying, but these were feelings of fierce loyalty and friendship deeper than he'd ever known Logan to have. Perhaps it was worth the pain to discover it now. Pragmatic as any born survivalist, he decided to think of it that way.
"You OK, Gumbo? I'm sorry I hurt ya, I ain't a guy who ..."
"Not yer fault, mon ami, I know it n' you do too." Logan's arm tightened and he vented an impatient, nearly angry snort. Cajun hadn't sobered up much, his words slurred as he lifted an elegantly clumsy hand,
"Awright, ain't my fault, ei'der, den ... I got no control over it sometimes, shouldn't a' drank all dat bubbly, makes Remy horny as a mink."
Logan was quiet a moment, satisfied that at least Remy wasn't assuming all the guilt for what had just transpired.
"Remind me of that the next time, eh?" Then, a rumble half to himself, "Never knew I could get it up fer a guy much less a fuckin' glorified weasel ..."
Remy's shaking took on a different timbre and Logan realized he was laughing, hearing only 'next time', feeling only the protective affection he'd craved all his life coming hard and clean and honest to him. He leaned back into the thick brutish body of his friend and comrade and his red/black eyes drifted across Logan's face with such friendly warmth that Logan felt himself stir again ...
"Sauce f'de goose is sauce f'de gander, mon ami ..."

 

END