The sauna room was hot. Logan
sat with a towel round his waist, elbows resting on his knees, watching the
droplets of sweat drip from his forehead onto the floor. Logan liked this room. Liked it even better when he was alone. Usually he came here to let all thoughts
drift from his mind. But today he
wasn’t so lucky. He was surprised at
how stressed out he had become since last night. What had started off as a friendly wager was now turning into a
proverbial ulcer. Keep the date with
Remy? Don’t keep the date with
Remy. This is gonna end up smacking me in the face. I just know it. Logan
growled at himself and lit up a cigar.
It wasn’t the need for nicotine, but the smell of the cigars was like
heaven to his extra perceptional senses, and helped his mind to focus. Remy had always had an effect on him. His scent... His movements... His eyes… Demons
eyes. He chuckled to himself. I
should be looking forward to this
date. Remy was hardly going to jump
his bones. The kid’ll be lucky, I don’t jump him. The recent knot in his stomach
returned. Why do I do this to myself? Putting his cigar out on the pavement, he
decided to work off his nervous energy.
I don’t back down on bet’s and I’m
not gonna start now.
He spent the rest of the morning, and small part of the afternoon trying to conquer his internal frustrations. The Danger room had been his first port of call, and after three intense sessions his indecision was still nagging at him. He began to reset the computer, hoping to start another session, when the doors opened. Crawler and Beast entered, and set about forcefully removing the Canadian. Logan tried convincing them to allow him to join in their session, but Hank flatly refused. “Logan, as your physician and friend, I must insist you refrain from causing yourself injuries and exhaustion outside of missions. I really do have enough to concentrate on without having to worry about you doing yourself harm. Now be a good boy and go find something less strenuous to do.”
What Hank had said really did make sense, what with the legacy virus
and helping the countless mutants who came to them for help, Hank was kinda
snowed under and now he regretted snarling at him. Not that the extended danger room time had helped anyway.
So he had turned to trying to calm his apprehension instead and escaped
to his corner of the garden to meditate and work on his Bonsai’s.
One hour and one very shredded Bonsai later, still refusing to admit defeat, but calling a halt to this particular part of the battle, he headed back indoors to find other distractions.
In the hall he stopped to consider his options, hit the rec room to
watch the box or play pool (assuming he could find someone to play with). Swim some nervous energy off, hunt down
Jeannie to discuss his feelings Yeah
right! Or head to his room and…
His stomach had chosen that moment to kick in and announce its desire
for food, so he headed for the kitchen and sustenance.
As he headed down the hall his heightened senses latched on to a
familiar scent, spicy, sweet, with a little something else that could only be
describe as the smell of sex. The Cajun
was in the kitchen and from the aromatic smell of cayenne, Logan could only
guess it was the Cajun’s turn to cook tonight.
He paused outside the door unsure whether to enter or just ignore his
stomach and head to his room.
Remy stopped stirring the gumbo and glanced at the door, as his
empathic abilities picked up on the uncertainty being broadcasted from the
other side. He knew it was Logan, could
sense that from the faint feeling of disgust that was tied in tightly with the
uncertainty.
Remy turned and smiled at him. “Bonjour cher, Remy cooking dinner. We be eating out, but de odder’s not and it’s Remy’s turn to cook tonight, so he making gumbo. You wanna help cher?”
“ No thanks Caju…Remy. Jus came to get summit to eat, then I’ll get outta the way”.
“You not in de way cher. Remy like having company. ‘Sides you could make yourself useful and chop dat veg and den maybe Remy get you summit to eat, eh?”
“Do I look like a kitchen appliance?” Logan snarled and grabbed the handle of the refrigerator.
“Non, at least no kitchen ‘ppliance dat Remy ever seen.” Remy grinned and stepping forward leaned his shoulder on the fridge door, ignoring the murderous look thrown his way by Wolverine. Pasting on his best wheedling smile, he shifted his body just slightly towards Logan, so the space between them became less.
Logan could feel the younger mans breath and the temptation to lean forward and taste it, struck him suddenly and almost to strong to resist. He straightened up and dampened down the urges that coursed through his veins.
“Remy be grateful for de help Cher, real grateful” Remy pushed himself away from the fridge, shortening the space to mere inches and forcing Logan to look up at him.
“Sides” he murmured turning back towards the cooker, a few strands of his long auburn hair, that had broken loose from his ponytail brushing Logan’s face. “You know Remy makes salami on rye sandwiches de way you like, better den anyone else in de whole house. But of course if you not interested, Remy understand. Remy real understanding.” Remy smiled to himself and sauntered the last few feet to the stove.
Logan lost in the feeling of the Cajun’s hair moving like liquid silk against his skin, glanced after him dumbly, his eyes visibly refocusing as he followed the sway of Remy’s hips, or lack of, across the kitchen.
“What….er, sure why not. Not as if I got anything else ta do.”
Remy turned and beamed at him. “Merci Cher, dem over there.” He inclined his head towards the counter and turning down the heat on the stove, headed to the fridge for the salami.
Logan extended the claws on his right hand and grabbing a chopping board, began cutting veg. “So bub, where do ya wanna eat tonight?”
“Remy don’ care Cher, you decide where you wan’ go and Remy go along wid’ it.” He grabbed the rye out of the cupboard above him and a plate from the rack above the sink and set about making Logan’s sandwich.
“Sure, no problem.” Wolverine loaded the board with sliced vegetables and took it over to the cooker, “Ya want this veg in here?” He motioned to the pot, bubbling away merrily on the hob.
Remy placed the sandwich on the plate, turned and smiled, holding out the plate to Logan. “Dat’s right. Dere you go, one sandwich. Merci for de help Cher.”
Logan tipped the veg into the simmering gumbo, placing the chopping board on the counter and took the plate from Remy. “No worries, see ya later.”
“Till tonight Cher.” Remy flirted, before returning his attention the gumbo.
Logan watched him for a heartbeat and then left the kitchen, closing the door on a parting glance of Remy stirring the contents of the pot and humming the French anthem.
Logan grinned, bit back a chuckle and headed for his room and hopefully peace.
At twenty-five minutes past seven, Logan was standing by the front door. Dressed in brand new pair of black jeans and a plain blue well washed shirt, that Jean had given him his first Christmas here, because she thought it matched his eyes. His cowboy boots and black leather biker jacket completed his get up.
He glanced at his watch and cursed himself for being early. A body’d think ya were eager, ya are eager, hell ya been buzzing all goddamn day. He sighed and leaned back against the door, taking a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end cleanly and aiming in the direction of the plant pot by the stairs, fired. It bounced off the banister rail hit the ground about a foot from the pot. He frowned and pulling his lighter from his jeans pocket, sparked up. Can’t win em all. Good thing they’re all in the dining room or Beast and the Prof. would have my hide. What the hell am I doin’, it’s a casual thing, nuttin major just buddies goin’ out for a few. Why the hell am I here all spruced up like a damn peacock? A muffled curse and hurried footsteps from upstairs made him glance up in time to see Remy come sliding down the banister. “Remy late, merde is he late. Logan gon’ be gone and Remy gon’ be in trouble. Remy weren’t in de bath dat long, at least he don’ t’ink so.” Logan raised an eyebrow and stared at him, enjoying seeing the Cajun flustered. Remy hurried towards the door, glancing in rec room on the way, before coming to an abrupt halt when he spotted Logan.
“Cher, you still here?”
“Course I’m here Cajun, it’s 7.25 where else would I be?”
“It’s Remy remember Cher, and Remy knows what time it is, he jus’ forget to put his watch back is all.”
“Right.” Logan hitched his eyebrow up a notch and eyed the swamp rat. Damn punk looks good enough to eat. He took in Remy’s tight, very tight, black pants, white shirt and black jacket. The top two buttons of the shirt were open, exposing an expanse of smooth, slender throat, that Logan had a strong urge to nuzzle. The Cajun looked sleek, well dressed and sexy. Well, who looks like the hill billy cousin now.
“You like?” Remy put one hand on his hip and shifted his weight, striking a pose. “I know I do.” Logan shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze. Remy chuckled as put two and two together. “If Remy here early… Doesn’t dat means you early too homme.”
“Nah I was jus’ headin’ out to work on my bike for a bit, couldn’t exactly miss yer girlish hollerin’, so figured I’d wait.” Remy raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Ummhmm. Well since we bot’ here, what say we go, eh?” Remy motioned Logan aside and opened the door, he paused and glanced at Logan. “By the way Cher… did I mention how pleasin’ you are to de eyes?” He beamed at him “Specially eyes as sensitive as mine non?” Chuckling to himself, he and Logan headed out into the night.
Once outside, Logan briefly considered making a break for the woods but knew Remy could run faster than him so it was pointless. There was no way out of this date, so he would go ahead with it. Watching Remy’s ass as he got in the truck, he realised maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.