Author: Makes Rain Woman (makes_rain_woman@hotmail.com)
Title: House Arrest; this is chapter 6. Work in progress.
Fandom and Genre: X-Men romantic slash
Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel Entertainment Group and 20th 
Century Fox, not me! I'm not making any money, just having fun. No 
copyright infringement is intended.
Pairing: Wolverine/Gambit
Rating: NC-17 
***WARNINGS***: Light bondage, discussion of child abuse 
and rape.Summary: Wolverine and Gambit are kicked off the team and Cyclops sentences them to stay home while the X-Men are on a mission. Bet he never thought this would happen...
Feedback: is very nice! :)
Archive: Please ask me first! :)
Lots of love to Bobbi, Rebop, Peg, Lee, and Chris for all their support!
 
 
 
"Oooo, cher, s'il te plait..." Remy moaned, writhing against the 
scarves of red silk that tied him to the bed. Arms pulled to the 
sides and spliced to the posts, feet back behind him and secured to 
the slats of the headboard, he was left kneeling and open, achingly 
erect cock jetting out in front of him. He pulled again at his 
restraints, though he wasn't trying to get away; the bindings were plenty loose enough for him to break free if he so wished. What he 
was striving for was a position in which something would rub against 
him and bring him the release he so desperately needed.
 
"Please what, Remy?" Logan purred over the soft sounds of Miles Davis 
in the background, lightly running his hands over the thief's firm 
torso, pausing to pinch the hardened nipples.
 
"*Anyt'ing!*" Remy yelped, arching his back and bucking his hips at 
Logan's touch. "Jus' stop wit' de teasing..."
 
He heard a low, sensuous chuckle. "Anythin', eh?" SNIKT "Alright, 
Cajun, hold still an' enjoy th' ride."
 
Remy shivered at the first contact of the dull side of Logan's claws 
against his hypersensitive flesh. Not quite as cold as he'd expected 
the metal to be, but every bit as dangerous. He wasn't at all 
worried, though, as with his shields open he could feel all of 
Logan's affection for him, and he knew he was safe. He groaned at 
the sensation of metal whispering on skin. Along the length of his 
arms, across his chest and belly, down his thighs. Then a warm, wet 
tongue began retracing the paths the claws had taken, mouth pausing 
every so often to gently nip and suckle. Remy whimpered, struggling to keep his burning body still to prevent an accidental slice from his lover's adamantium blades. He threw his head back and stared up at the canopy, watching the flickering shadows thrown by the candles on both nightstands. Vanilla and cinnamon danced across his nose, invaded his senses, stoked the fire in his groin - as if that needed any more stoking. Then the sensory overload when first a claw tip...then sharp teeth...then a slick tongue attacked one nipple was just too much, and he cried out deliriously.
 
"Yes?" Logan continued his ministrations with his mouth, but retracted his claws.
 
"Dis is still teasing, cher," Remy gasped as that clever tongue encircled his other nipple.
 
"Hmmm. So it is."
 
Remy lifted his head when he noticed the loss of Logan's mouth on his 
body. The older man kneeled before him, naked and aroused, with an 
almost impish grin and a wicked heat in his eyes. He reached behind 
Remy and smacked him firmly on the ass. "So, what do ya want now?"
 
"I wan' t' come," Remy sighed once he recovered from the delightful 
distraction.
 
Another spank, harder and on the other cheek. "Is that what ya 
really want?"
 
Remy licked his lips and returned Logan's lust-filled gaze with an 
equal flame. "Wan' you t' make me come."
 
One finger slipped into Remy's cleft and gently massaged his 
entrance, enticing a sexy groan. "What do you *really* want me to 
do?"
 
Remy allowed himself a quick devilish smile as he pushed down against 
Logan's finger. "Play wit' me, cher...make me your toy," he demanded, voice low and dripping with arousal.
 
"That's what I hoped you'd say." Logan then captured his mouth in a 
fierce kiss as he pulled his finger out. Teeth and tongues 
everywhere. Remy plundered Logan's mouth as well but his lover had 
more leverage with the freedom to move. By the time the Canadian 
finally broke the kiss to retrieve some items from the nightstand drawer Remy's lips were bruised and swollen. And damn, it felt good!
 
From the drawer Logan had brought out a long, slim vibrator and a 
bottle of lube. He slowly, methodically coated the shaft with the 
clear gel. Watching him stroke it, imagining Logan doing that to 
him, Remy's cock jumped. "Please, cher..."
 
"Ooooh, I do like toys that beg," Logan laughed. he reached behind 
Remy again, one hand spreading the delicious cheeks while the other 
slowly pushed the slick vibrator inside. Remy screamed when the tip 
of it brushed his prostate, saw stars when Logan switched the device 
on to a low pulse and began rhythmically thrusting it in and out. He 
became vaguely aware of the sound of his own voice rambling something 
in Cajun French, but all he could concentrate on were the sweet 
things his lover was doing to him.
 
"You're so fun to play with, Rem." There was a loving softness to 
his growl. Knowing fingers fondled Remy's balls while Logan began 
kissing and nibbling at Remy's chest again, all the while keeping up 
the thrusts with his other hand. A wonderful shudder ran through 
Remy's body as Logan's mouth moved ever lower, past his ribcage and 
his navel, until a rough tongue lapped at the end of his dick. At 
that his eyes drifted shut and he let out a low, erotic sob.
 
He heard a rumbling laugh beneath him. "Ya know, sometimes I like ta 
eat my toys." Remy opened his eyes just in time to see Logan suck 
his cock deep into his mouth....
 
 
Remy wasn't actually sure what had caused him to bolt awake: the hot 
explosion of his orgasm, now coating the inside of his boxer shorts, 
or the ringing phone on his nightstand. Fighting to catch his 
breath, he answered the latter. "Hello? Dis is Remy."
 
"Gambit! It's about time!" Scott Summers barked. "What the hell 
took you so long to answer?"
 
/Oh, the wet dream I just had about Logan sucking me 
off.../ "Sorry. Was in de shower when I heard de phone ringing."
 
"Oh. Well, where's Logan? I tried calling his room half an hour 
ago, and again just before I called you."
 
/Good question,/ Remy thought as he suddenly realized that he was 
alone. The bed wasn't cold enough, though, for Logan to have been 
gone more than a few minutes. "Well, it rained a lot yesterday. 
Last night he mentioned he might get up early an' check de grounds." 
A complete lie, but Cyclops would never know that. He wasn't a 
telepath - hell, he wasn't even very perceptive.
 
"Well, good! I'm glad to hear at least one of you still has a strong 
sense of responsibility. Though I really think he should have had 
the decency to wait for my call this morning."
 
Remy rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wondered if Cyclops himself was 
sure if he disliked the Canadian or the Acadian more. "So, Cyke, 
what's de scoop? Y' gonna tell us where y' are?"
 
Scott was silent for a moment on the other end of the line, as if 
really pondering the matter. At last he sighed. "No. I can't tell 
you that, Gambit. Or Wolverine. Not until I feel I can trust either 
of you again."
 
The thief would never admit it, but those words cut him like a 
poisoned blade. "Fine, whatever. I take it everyt'ing is OK, den?"
 
"That's affirmative. I just needed to talk to one of you personally 
today, make sure you're both taking your punishment seriously."
 
"Oui, dat we are. An' keeping a close eye on each ot'er."
 
"Good enough, Gambit. I will call the comms room and leave messages 
from here on out."
 
"D'accord." Remy hung up the phone and flopped back against his 
pillows with a groan. Why did Scott have to call? He loved being 
all alone with Logan in the mansion, it was paradise, but here Scott 
had to go and remind him that they were on probation. But be damned 
if he was going to let that fact put a damper on things. Determinedly he pushed the very thought from his mind.
 
The Cajun reached over his head to grasp the slats of the headboard 
and stretch. As he did so he realized he should probably get up and 
change his boxers before things got any stickier. This was a little 
embarrassing, really. He hadn't had a wet dream since he was 
sixteen. They'd only started that year; it had taken his damaged 
psyche that long to accept that sex was OK, could feel good, and 
could be a choice. The dream stage didn't last after he discovered 
ways of taking care of things himself (thanks largely in part to the 
stash of vintage Playboys he'd found in Henri's room), and it had 
been just a few months after that when he learned the wonders of 
making love - not having sex, but making love - in the arms of 
Belladonna Boudreaux. For that revelation, he would forever be 
indebted to his estranged wife.
 
To be fair, though, it was no wonder his body had felt the urge to 
take care of itself after the largely unresolved sexual tension of 
the past thirty-six hours. Remy purred blissfully as he remembered 
the day before. After soaking in the hot tub until they were both 
pruney and ached from the water jets, the day had continued to 
progress romantically. With the rain having long since ended and the 
sun shining, they went for a long leisurely walk on the campus 
grounds (which was OK within the terms of their punishment, as far 
they could tell), hand in hand. Remy had shown Logan the secret place on the far side of the lake where he liked to go to get away from the mansion; Logan in turn had taken him to the clearing in the woods he used for mediation. By the time they'd finally wandered back to the mansion it had been suppertime, and as promised Remy had fixed a spicy meal of chicken creole and cornbread. That had led to a cozy evening cuddled up on the couch watching movies...and then the longest, sweetest, more erotic make-out session in Remy's entire life. Logan was one hell of a good kisser, and those hands...Mon Dieu.
 
But speaking of that wondrous creature, where was he? Remy 
reluctantly pushed back the bedcovers and swung his feet over the 
side of the bed to rest on the floor. The clock read 8:37 
am. "Prob'ly went t' get somet'ing t' eat," he mused aloud. He 
stood and peeled off his damp underwear just as the bedroom door 
began to open.
 
"Well!" Logan chortled, entering the room with a breakfast tray in 
hand. "I was hopin' ta wake ya up an' surprise ya, but this is 
certainly good!"
 
Remy felt a rare flush rise to his cheeks. "Yah, well, Cyke beat y' 
to de 'waking up' part." He tossed his boxers in the hamper as he 
crossed over to his dresser for a clean pair.
 
Logan scowled. "What'd he call our room for?"
 
'Our room.' Remy's heart sang a little song at the sound of those 
words. "He tried t' call your old room first, I guess. Wanted t' 
act'ly talk t' one of us an' verify we ain't run off yet or 
somet'ing." He pulled the heart-print boxers up over his hips and 
turned to face his lover. "Tol' him not t' worry, we're watching 
each ot'er pretty close."
 
"And that we are!" Logan was grinning broadly as he leaned against a 
bedpost, the tray of cinnamon rolls and coffee now sitting upon the 
locker at the foot of their bed. "So am I right in assuming I'm not 
th' only one who had a really good dream?"
 
Remy blinked and finally noticed that Logan's pajama bottoms had 
changed both color and style since they'd gone to bed. He chuckled, 
no longer feeling quite so embarrassed. "Guess dat's what we get for 
pawing each ot'er like horny teenagers right before bed."
 
Logan shrugged, still smiling. "I ain't complainin'. Not gonna ask 
to swap details, though, or we'll get all distracted an' never get 
anythin' done today."
 
A wave of relief splashed over Remy, as talking about his nocturnal 
erotic ride would have inevitably led to a conversation about some 
more unpleasant topics. He didn't want to start the day that way. 
There were some things that needed to come out in the open soon, but 
breakfast and getting Logan moved in came first.
 
Shaking off the thoughts of the talk yet to come, Remy instead went 
and smothered Logan in a warm embrace. "Mmmm, dis makes two days in 
a row y' got breakfast ready. I could get spoiled."
 
Logan had noticed the quick series of emotions that had crossed 
Remy's face, but decided against saying anything at the moment. He 
simple hugged the Cajun tightly. "Don't get too comfy, now. I'm 
just feedin' ya good today so you'll have plenty of energy ta help me 
move all my things."
 
"Pffft. How much stuff can y' possibly have in dat little room?"
 
* * *
 
"Mon Dieu," Remy groaned many hours later as he plunked down his half 
of the last load of Logan's possessions. "I never would have guessed 
y' t' be such a packrat, cher."
 
"Old as I am, as many places as I've been, it accumulates," Logan 
explained. He followed Remy into the room carrying his final box of 
books. "'Sides, doesn't look ta me like ya have much room ta talk, 
Rem." He nodded toward Remy's massive art and music collections.
 
"Dat's different," Remy protested with a laugh.
 
"How?"
 
The Acadian paused to stretch before answering, hands in the small of 
his back, spine arching, head rotating on neck to get all the kinks 
out. "I'm young an' frivolous, an' a t'ief, no less. I'm s'posed t' 
have lots of stuff."
 
Logan snorted. "Whatever. Now get yer young an' frivolous thievin' 
self over here an' help me unpack."
 
"So demanding!"
 
"You'll get used to it."
 
It was a pleasant process, fitting Logan's things in with Remy's to 
make everything theirs. Having seen the two's rooms as they'd 
initially been one never would have guessed all their possessions 
would blend together so perfectly. Logan's rustic leanings didn't 
clash with Remy's more elegant tastes; rather, they complemented each 
other. But there was no getting away from the fact that large 
amounts of flannel and silk sharing space in the same closet just 
looked plain wrong.
 
One of Remy's quirks that surprised Logan a bit was how nit-picky he 
was about CD organization. His collection was meticulously sorted by 
genre, then alphabetically by artist and in order of release. Not 
about to interfere with what was obviously a very personal process, 
Logan simply sat back on the bed to watch as Remy tried to figure out 
where to fit Waylon Jennings and Rush in among the likes of Billie 
Holiday and the Stray Cats.
 
Watching Remy do anything was a fun enough activity anyway. He loved 
seeing that long feline body flexing and stretching and contorting 
into positions most people couldn't. He lost himself for countless 
minutes just in the play of the muscles of the thief's back, rippling 
under his snug gray t-shirt like the gentle waves of Breakstone 
Lake. And Gambit's ass was an absolute work of art, so tight and 
firm. /Two perfect handfuls,/ Logan smirked to himself. Somehow he 
resisted the urge to see just how perfectly those tight buns fit in 
his hands. There'd be time enough for that later. He let his eyes travel down those long, long legs. The same legs that had been wrapped tightly around his waist in his dream. Logan tried very hard not to think about that too much.
 
As he watched Remy, though, his gaze kept returning to one spot: the 
back of Remy's neck, bare and exposed with his hair pulled into a 
ponytail and draped over one shoulder. Logan could see now that 
there were five scars there, starting points staggered. 
Fingernails. Long, sharp fingernails. From any sort of fighting 
position those scars were too straight, too parallel to the spine to 
be spontaneous from the heat of battle. Logan quietly inched toward 
the edge of the bed to get a closer look. Based on the length of the 
scars the thumb of the attacker's hand had been nearest to Gambit's 
left shoulder. From the front that would have been someone's right 
hand...no, it had to have come from the back, the angle was such that 
no one could get that much leverage reaching around from the front.
 
OK, still someone's right hand, an attack from behind. Logan was now 
sitting at the very edge of the mattress, Remy seemingly oblivious to 
his movement, absorbed in his work. The scars were too deep to be 
from a quick swipe. Those nails had dug into the tender flesh. And 
the hadn't pulled a clean cut, either; being so much nearer now Logan 
saw that the scars, while generally straight and parallel, were jagged, as if Remy had been struggling to get away from the hand that was...
 
Holding him down.
 
In that instant the horror that had been Remy's early childhood 
became crystal clear in Logan's mind. He had seen enough of the 
world to know of the awful twisted things that happened to young 
street boys, everywhere, in every culture, and part of his had always 
wondered if Remy might have been subjected to any of it - especially 
considering that he must have been a very beautiful little boy. He'd 
finally come to the conclusion that Remy had been spared the nightmare, he seemed so well adjusted and confident. But Logan knew 
now that Remy Etienne LeBeau was a master of emotional disguise, 
capable of hiding anything and everything. There were rare moments 
when he slipped...like this morning when they'd so very briefly 
discussed their naughty dreams. God, had Remy dreamt something that 
reminded him of his painful past? Heart in his throat, he got off the bed. They had to talk about this now.
 
Remy felt Logan's movement as much as he heard it. He could also 
sense the growing unease and worry rolling off his lover. His pulse 
quickened as he wondered what it was that suddenly had Logan so upset.
 
"Remy?" Logan quietly knelt down on the floor beside him.
 
"Oui, cher?" It was a struggle to keep his voice steady.
 
Ever so gently, Logan reached up to rest his hand on the hard ridges 
of flesh marring the Cajun's graceful neck. "Who did this to you?" 
The words were barely above a whisper, but that was all the more 
Logan's suddenly tight chest could choke out.
 
Remy closed his eyes against instant burning tears. Was he ready to 
talk about this? There didn't seem to be much choice. Well, he'd 
done this once before, maybe it would all be easier the second time 
around. /Yah, you wish, LeBeau./ Sighing he opened his eyes and 
forced himself to look at his lover. "One sick bastard of an old 
man, cher."
 
Logan drew in a sharp breath between clenched teeth. "How old were 
ya?"
 
"Real young, too young. Was mebbe six when I got out of de 
Collection."
 
"Collection?" Oh Christ, this was worse than he thought.
 
"Dat's what de Antiquary called de lot of us, his Collection."
 
Logan fought down a growl. /If I ever get a hold of that son of a 
bitch.../ "What about after you got away? Was that the end of it?"
 
"Non. Was raped a few...non, quite a few more times. Didn't keep 
count," Remy murmured. "Den it finally quit once I got strong 'nough 
t' fight dem off."
 
"Physically?" Logan wondered aloud. He had a hard time picturing 
Remy as a strong healthy youth.
 
"Non." He tapped a temple with one finger. "De empathy. I'd been 
using it t' try an' make dem more gentle, mais one day I realized I 
could turn it 'round, make dem petrified, sick wit' fear an' horror. 
Make dem run off an' leave me be. Had no problems of dat kind after 
dat." Remy curled himself into a protective ball as he spoke, knees 
pulled up against his chest, hugging them tightly. The second time 
was definitely not any easier, and he knew only the slightest of triggers would set him bawling.
 
Logan burned with hate toward every man who had ever hurt Remy. He 
forced himself to keep his voice steady as he cupped Remy's chin and 
turned to thief's face so he could look him in the eye. "On my 
honor, Rem, if I ever meet up with anyone who laid a dirty hand on 
you, they're as good as dead. An' no one is *ever* gonna hurt you 
again."
 
That was more than enough of a trigger, that protective tone in 
Logan's voice, that tone that he so rarely heard directed toward him, 
and the tears came in a flood. He felt Logan's body wrap around him, 
embrace him in a warm cocoon, and nothing in his life had ever felt 
so good.
 
Remy cried until his eyes were dry and the pain had begun to ebb. He 
rubbed his face against Logan's soft, worn flannel shirt. "Damn it, 
I t'ought I was over dis."
 
"You're as 'over it' as I think anyone ever gets, Rem," Logan sighed, 
planting the softest of kisses on Remy's silken hair. "Christ, I 
can't believe how strong you've been all this time. Ya ever talked 
to someone else?"
 
"Oui." Remy looked up, red eyes rimmed red. "Belle. Tol' her 
everyt'ing. Wouldn't have been fair t' marry her an' keep it all 
secret, let her t'ink it was her fault if I freaked out in bed. 
T'ought we'd be toget'er for a long time...I couldn't lie t' her."
 
Logan smoothed back Remy's hair with one hand. "How'd she react?"
 
Remy gave a short bark of laughter as he brushed away a few stray 
tears with the heel of his hand.  "Same way you did, cher. 
T'reatened t' kill dem all." He wriggled out of Logan's arms to find 
a more comfortable position. Once seated cross-legged he continued. "But after dat, she was wonderful. So supportive, such a good listener. She talked me t'rough it, helped me see none of it had been my fault. Held me t'rough some really rough nights." He shrugged. "I know I haven't always painted de best picture of Belle, but she really was good t' me. Wit'out her...don' know if I ever could've come as far as I have. She was de first t' show me sex didn't have t' hurt."
 
Logan felt a pang of jealousy; unwarranted, he knew, but he couldn't 
help it. "Ya ever think you an' her woulda worked out if your 
fathers hadn't interfered?"
 
Remy leaned back on his hands, lips pursed in thought. At last he 
shook his head. "Non. We never could have married ot'erwise wit'out 
bot' leaving de Guilds, somet'ing neit'er of us would have willingly 
done. 'Specially Belle. Merde, cher, dere's just so many ot'er 
variables too... We loved each ot'er at de time. Dat's what matters 
t' me, de memory I carry of her."
 
Logan nodded, understanding. Belladonna was Remy's Silver Fox: 
something lovely that had been ruined by circumstances beyond their 
control, with no safe way to speculate on what might have been. He 
rested a hand on Remy's knee. "I'm just real glad she was there for 
ya, darlin'. But no one else? Not your dad?"
 
"Non. Didn't know how t' tell him, t'ough I'm pretty sure he 
suspected somet'ing of de sort. No one else. 'Specially not 
Rogue." He rolled his eyes. "Dat always should have been a red flag 
t' me dat I didn't trust her wit' my secrets. Only trusted Belle...an' you, mon cher."
 
"I'll never betray your trust, Remy," Logan vowed.
 
"Je sais," Remy smiled. He pulled Logan's hand to his mouth and 
gently kissed the palm. "Merci."
 
"Ya don't have ta thank me," Logan assured him, moving his hand to 
caress Remy's flawless cheek. "Now talk to me. Tell me what we have 
to deal with."
 
Remy nodded. "Really only got two hang-ups left, Logan. It's been a 
long time an' I've come a long way."
 
Logan silently thanked whatever higher being might exist at hearing 
that; it had pained him to think that all of the Cajun's sexual 
confidence was an act. "Shoot."
 
"De first one's de big one...I can't be taken from behind, 'specially 
on all fours.  I need t' be able t' see your face."
 
"No problem. What's th' other one?"
 
Remy blushed slightly. "Well...I don' like t' be held down, 
obviously, mais...I kinda like being tied down."
 
Logan blinked in confusion. "OK, Rem, I understand the first part 
perfectly..."
 
"Lemme explain," Remy insisted. "I snuck home to N'awlins for Mardi 
Gras de year I was twenty. Stupid, unsafe t'ing t' do, but dat's why 
dey call me Gambit, neh? Anyway, I met dis beauty of a girl, an' we 
ended up back at her hotel room. We were messing 'round, an' de next 
t'ing I knew, she had me tied to de chair wit' her feat'er boa. An' 
I admit, I started t' freak out on her, but den she jus' started 
*worshipping* me wit' her hands an' mouth, an' she even had some 
toys..." His eyes fluttered shut at the memory.
 
"Hey now, don't go gettin' all swoony over it!" Logan teased, his 
mood lighter now that he could see where Remy was going with this.
 
"Mmmm, she was so good t' Remy," the Cajun purred, lazily opening his 
eyes. "Being tied up t' be pampered an' played wit'...I love dat. 
An' it's lots of fun t' return de favor."
 
"Oh...really?" Logan's heart skipped a beat.
 
A soft, sexy laugh. "Like dat idea, cher?"
 
/Definitely./ "Maybe." Logan cocked one eyebrow. "Is this what 
your dream was about this morning, Remy?"
 
"Oui." Remy nodded toward the bed. "Y' had me tied to de headboard 
an' posts, doing all sorts of good t'ings t' me. Dat's why I got all 
flustered when y' mentioned it. I knew if we started talking 'bout 
de dream I'd end up bringing up de abuse, not dat I wasn't going to, 
I was jus' waiting for de right time, an' dis morning wasn't de right 
time, merde, we hadn't even had breakfast yet, an'...mmrrrf!"
 
Remy was abruptly cut off from his rambling by a passionate kiss from 
Logan, hot tongue thrusting deep into his mouth, hands tangled 
tightly in his hair, holding him still. When Logan finally pulled 
away, a very satisfied grin on his face, Remy was left gasping for 
air. 
 
"You were sayin', Cajun?"
 
"...No idea, cher."
 
Logan chuckled. "Good. Thought that would be an effective way ta 
shush ya." He lovingly massaged Remy's scalp again, just as he had a 
couple blissful nights before. "Don't worry, darlin'. You're the 
one with the upper hand here. Anythin' ya don't wanna do, we won't, 
simple as that. An' whatever ya *do* wanna do...well, since I'm all 
new at this I figure I'm game for just about anythin'."
 
"I'll hold y' t' dat," Remy warned with a smile.
 
"Figured as much." Logan kissed Remy affectionately on the 
nose. "Ya just about done gettin' the music sorted out?"
 
Classic Remy eye roll. "I would be if y' didn't have such odd tastes, 
cher."
 
"Me?!"
 
"Yah, you!" Remy laughed as he reached over to grab a stack of 
CDs. "Look at dis! Merle Haggard, Black Sabbath, BTO...OK, I'll 
give y' dat one, dey're Canadian...mais Conway Twitty?! Dat's crazy!"
 
"Like you can talk, Rem!" Logan retorted playfully, leaning over to 
scan the titles of Remy's collection. "Let's see here...Hank 
Williams Sr., Harry Connick Jr., Lenny Kravitz, and...Poison?" He 
looked back over his shoulder. "You've gotta be kidding!"
 
Remy flashed his trademark Cheshire cat grin. "Dose boys weren't 
jus' every teenage *girl's* wanton fantasy, cher."
 
Logan burst out laughing. "I would hope by this point you're over 
your obsession with long-haired rock stars in lip gloss an' black 
leather?"
 
"Definitely." Remy snuggled up closer to Logan again. "Dese days I 
have an eye for dark, gruff Canadians in blue an' yellow spandex."
 
"Funny that. I find myself fallin' all over lanky red-headed Cajuns 
in black an' pink body armor."
 
Remy raised one eyebrow. "It's fuschia, cher."
 
Logan raised an eyebrow in return. "I don't care what Crayola-
created name ya give it, Remy, it's still pink. But that's OK, I 
love th' way it looks on ya." He was very tempted to go a step 
further in that moment, and tell Remy he loved him, but stopped 
himself at the last second. Even though it was the God-honest truth, the day had been emotional enough already. Those words could wait 
for a more perfect time.
 
Logan didn't stop himself, though, before Remy inadvertently picked 
up on his feelings. The warmth nearly bowled him over, and it 
matched how he felt about Logan exactly. He smiled inwardly - when 
the time was right to say those words, neither of them would have a 
single doubt or hesitation, and that was just the way it should be. 
He kissed his lover softly. "T'anks, cher."
 
"Anytime." He started to get to his feet. "Ya want a sandwich or 
somethin'? I'm startin' ta get hungry."
 
"Sounds great, cher. Why don' y' go on, an' I'll finish up here? I 
hate t' leave somet'ing unfinished when I'm almost done."
 
"Sure." Logan stooped down to kiss Remy on the forehead. "Be right 
back."
 
Remy was just going to let him go, but he was suddenly feeling too 
impish to not try for the last word. "Oh, cher?"
 
Logan stopped in the doorway. "Yeah, Rem?"
 
"It's fuschia."
 
The Canadian just rolled his eyes and closed the door to Remy's peals 
of laughter.