Cajun Chocolate

Remy luxuriated in the warmth of the bed. There was a nice, fluffy down comforter and flannel sheets covering him. He breathed in the scent of Logan's body from the pillow. God, this was the life. He was warm and safe and loved. He could feel the smile curling up his lips. He heard the low grumble of Logan in the shower and wondered what exactly they could get up to before any new emergencies came their way. The team was on vacation for two glorious weeks, baring Magneto banging on the front door or someone trying to kill them, they weren't doing anything but relaxing.

It was the middle of winter though, so Logan had acquiesced to Remy's desire for warm bedding to compete with Bobby's preference of thermostat levels. Their rooms were next to each other, so one thermostat controlled all three on their side of the hall. Bobby had pointed out quite firmly that if he had to listen to them fucking like bunnies, he, by God, had the right to set the thermostat. They'd agreed.

It was funny when he thought back on it. He'd never really seen Logan coming. He grimaced at his own mental pun. That wasn't what he meant. He hadn't seen the relationship developing. One day they'd been arguing over bike parts and the next they'd been kissing. There'd been a few dicey moments after that, like telling Rogue, and confronting Jean. But all in all, things were going well. Remy smirked to himself. He stretched.

"Mornin', cher," he called through the shower curtain. He peed quickly. He brushed his teeth. He didn't bother to shave. They were on vacation.


Logan peered out past the curtain.

"Ya want a shower?"


Logan snorted. Remy's eyes were half-shut. He was working mainly on instinct and routine. Logan shut off the water and toweled himself off. Remy went directly back to the bed and curled up on top of the covers. Logan shook his head. "Yer part cat, I'm tellin' ya."

"Shove it, cher," Remy mumbled. "Cyke keeps gettin' us up in the middle of the night f' practices. I'm tired."

Logan laughed. He got dressed, realizing that he actually did have clean clothes for once. "Ya did the laundry?"

"Oui. Ain't that hard t' do. Merde, what would y' do without me?"

Logan settled on the edge of the bed. Goosebumps were running up Remy's bare arms, the fine hairs standing up. He was wearing only silk pajama bottoms. He looked good enough to eat. Logan kissed his lover's shoulder. "Figure I'd con Jean into doin' it fer me."

Remy laughed. "Still got that femme at y'r beck and call? Don't t'ink her boy'd be happy t' hear that."

"Me and Scooter hashed out the jealousy thing years ago." Logan rolled his eyes. "Long as he don't find me in bed with her, we ain't got a problem. That's why he gave us champagne when he found out we'd actually, ya know."

Remy shook his head. "Rogue tried t' put me through the wall. Only reason she ain't succeeded is that Jeannie interfered." He sighed. "And she's the one that broke up with me!"

"Yer taste in women ain't that great. Men, though, ya do okay." Logan winked at his Cajun, but the young man had his eyes closed. "Ya gonna stay in bed all day?"

"Not alone. Gonna be wherever you are, cher."

"Then ya better get some clothing on, kiddo."

"Y' make no sense sometimes. Y' got me and all y' tell me t' do is put clothin' on all the time."

Logan ignored the Cajun's whining. Remy didn't mind doing anything Logan asked and the prospect pleased and terrified the Canadian by turns. He'd seen the kid fight with Rogue until they were both hoarse from the screaming. But he'd never had a fight with him. Maybe it was early days, or maybe they just got along better, but it still worried him.


Remy was dressed a short time later, oblivious to his lover's meandering thoughts. He was still smiling to himself when he stopped in front of Logan's meditating form. He assumed it was meditation, not catatonia, but he couldn't tell. "Well, I'm hopin' that the plan is t' catch breakfast, well, brunch rather, an' come back here and get rid of these clothes."

Logan blinked. "Huh?" he managed.

"I was tellin' y' the codes t' my safe, but since y' weren't listenin'. . ."

Logan went for the Cajun's ribs. The young man laughed.

"Okay, okay, I yield," Remy gasped. Logan smirked up at him. They wandered out into the hall. Storm was heading up the stairs to her loft and year-round greenhouse garden on the roof. She smiled at them.

"Good morning, my friends."

"Bonjour, Stormy."

"Hey, Ro."

"Do not call me 'Stormy'," she ordered, eyes twinkling. "Breakfast is still set out in the kitchen. If you hurry, you may be able to get some of it before it is eaten up by Robert."

"That's where we're headed." Logan tugged on Remy's arm. The Cajun winked at his sister and followed Logan down the stairs. Her laughter trickled down the stairs after them. "So what do ya want fer breakfast?"


Logan grinned over his shoulder. "Somehow I don't think Chuck'd like walkin' in on us in the kitchen."

"Y'd be surprised, cher. He ain't as much of a hard-ass as he pretends I t'ink."

"Wouldn't know. I ain't never checked his ass."

Remy laughed. "I'll make the coffee. Y' just grab m' a plate of whatever y're havin'. Just don't get me so much of all of it."

"Don't worry. I'll help ya work it off."

"On that note," Scott said as he finished loading his plate into the dishwasher, "I'm leaving. Have fun. Oh, and the table's reinforced." He grinned at them, then left. The kitchen door swung shut on silent hinges. Logan shook his head.

"It's still freaky to hear him so fuckin' cheerful about it."

"Y' t'ought he'd have trouble wit' us?" Remy looked over his shoulder in surprise.



Logan considered that for a moment while he filled plates. He used a two to one ratio to dish them out. "Because I always thought of him as a repressed asshole, I guess. And with the Hell he gave me over Jeannie fer so long, I just figured we'd always be at odds."

"But y' said y' hammered out the jealousy t'ing."

"Him not gettin' jealous and him not bein' prejudiced ain't the same thing."

Remy set down the coffee. He shook his head with a smirk. "Scotty? Prejudiced? He don't give a fuck what his folks do on their off time, or if'n they got different colored skin. He just chalks it up t' mutancy and leaves it be. He got other t'ings to worry on."

Logan stared at his lover.


"Never thought I'd hear ya say good shit 'bout Scooter."

"I ain't the one that's got troubles wit' him." Remy rolled his eyes. "Biggest trouble is when he wants m' t' stop goin' out on the town at night when he t'inks he may need m'. That and tryin' t' treat me like Jubilee and me are the same age."

Logan growled. "Yer a brat, Cajun."

"Oui." Remy started in on his breakfast. "So y' got plans f' t'day?"

"I was gonna go huntin'."



Remy sighed. "Ah, well, got t' be a book in the library I ain't read yet. I'll see y' when y' get back then."

Logan watched his lover eat. "If ya don't want me to go out, ya gotta speak up," he said finally.

The red eyes blinked slowly at him. "Told y', cher, I ain't gonna do not'in' t' keep y' from y' usual routine. Sharin' a bed don't mean I own y'. There's gonna be plenty of nights when I'll be doin' my own sort of huntin'. Y' gonna eat that pineapple?"


Remy snagged it with his fork and popped it into his mouth. He'd always loved exotic fruits. They were expensive and hard to steal, but they'd always been worth the work. He could sell them on the street too. The little ones at least. Oranges had been his absolute favorite. Jean-Luc had given him pineapple as a reward for reading once and he's been hooked. He had to get one of the girls to let him do the shopping. It was so damned old-fashioned of Jean to keep control of the kitchen. She was a good cook, that was true, but he wanted part of it.

"What're ya plannin' over there?"

Remy smirked at his lover. Let him wonder. "Not'in', cher. Just what we gonna do when y' get home. After y' get a shower and brush y' teeth."

"Don't like blood? Thought ya did?"

"I ain't got a healin' factor, Logan," he said quietly. "I like blood sometimes, but not enough t' deal with bird blood 'cause y' wanted a snack. And I only bite when asked."

Warren walked in on the last sentence and froze. "I'm pretending that I didn't hear that." He shuddered. He filled up his plate. "The coffee still hot?"

"Fresh pot just started," Remy told him. "Y' get that deal through before the cable line went down?"

"No, had to dial it in through the satellite and that didn't go too well either."

"Shame. Need t' talk about getting something more reliable around here."

"Scott wants it, but the professor won't pay for it. And Scott, self-sufficiency expert that he is, doesn't want to take my money. I told him that since I'm living here, I should pay for it, but he won't accept it. Did you make this?"


"Where's the sugar?"

"Where it always is, Bird-brain," Bobby said as he entered with the bowl in hand, "the dining room."

"What is the kitchen sugar bowl doing in the dining room?" the businessman asked.

"Getting a refill."

Warren's eyes narrowed. "Is there more sugar in the cupboard?"

"Yeah," Logan told him. "Yer too predictable, Icecube. Ain't no one gonna eat sugar out of that thing after you've been holdin' it."

"Ah, but the four of us know that. Hank, does not."

"What y' put in it?"

Bobby's smile was faintly malicious. "That's for me to know. Now, where did I put the creamer? Ah, there it is. Breakfast in lab for my dearest bestest friend."

"Who got you drunk and dressed you up in a pink tutu and fishnets?" Warren asked, smirking.

"Fuck you, War."

Remy chuckled. He kissed Logan on the cheek. "I'll be in the library when y' get done. Too damn cold t' smoke."


Logan breathed in the crisp, cold air of the snowy expanse that made up the back of Xavier's property. There was a full forest there and plenty of acreage to leave as a natural wilderness. Logan loved finding his way through it and occasionally letting the violence and innate wildness of his own nature show through. He was a gentleman most of the time and a hard-core romantic the rest of the time. Still, he had a wild side that could easily put most to shame.

He puffed meditatively on his cigar. He'd committed to his Cajun, but the boy had yet to commit to him. Not that he blamed Remy for being flighty. Rogue had damaged him somehow and the boy had a right to be shy. He growled low. There was some other predator in his woods. He abandoned his thoughts and his cigar and started his hunt. He was the only hunter allowed out here.


Remy abandoned reading after an hour and went to his own room to dig out his paints. Sometimes he thought his real addiction was painting. He hid it well enough in his room that no one would know about it. He even burned incense to keep Logan from smelling the paints. He lit his favorite incense - a heavy, heady mixture that he got from his Tante Mattie. He closed his eyes and smiled. He changed into his rattiest jeans and shirt. He folded out his drop-cloth and set the new canvas in the middle of it. He set his paints out at the perfect angles he preferred. His hair dropped over his shoulder. He frowned at it, then pulled the mass of hair back and put it up with a paint-brush. He'd never be seen dead outside of his room that way, but it was a functional hairstyle.

He bent over the paints, dropping precise amounts onto the palate. He began with a quick rough outline in black paint and a dry brush. The form that began to take shape was very well known to him. It was Logan in the middle of a kata, dancing to the music of the spheres. He was in no hurry to complete the work. Layer by layer, the colors built up and the muscles developed on the page. The shadows moved in next, emphasizing the firmness of his shape and the wrinkles of Logan's gi. He was so enraptured in his work that he didn't notice the door ease open or the bright blue eyes that watched him.


Logan shut Remy's door, chuckling to himself. He wandered to his room - their room to be honest - and took a nice shower. He brushed his teeth as requested, picking a small pin-feather out from between his back molars. He considered himself in the mirror. He didn't see whatever it was that attracted Remy to him. They were almost complete opposites in height, weight, body structure, and beauty. And there was no question in Logan's mind that Remy was a beauty. All he saw when looking at himself was a young-looking man with old eyes and weird wiry hair. His features were blunt and his teeth a shade too sharp for comfort. Muscle he had aplenty, but not grace.

His mouth turned into a thoughtful frown. Remy was a beauty. Graceful, sure, strong, but he was a man first and foremost. He was as dangerous as Logan himself and walked a finer edge of wildness. Logan escaped to the dangers of the wilderness the same way his lover escaped to the city streets. He'd seen the survivor in the young man's eyes burning like a caged animal when he was cornered in a fight. Remy was intimate with death. Perhaps they weren't as different as he'd thought.

A wicked grin slid onto Logan's face. He pulled on a shirt and headed down to the kitchen. He had an idea.


Remy looked up at the knock on his door. Panic welled in his chest. He'd never be able to get it all put away in time. Besides, his hands were covered in paint. He could pretend to be asleep. He bit his lip.

"It's me, Gumbo." Logan's voice was quiet. "Can I come in? Got a surprise fer ya."

Remy trembled. If he called for the door to open he'd be laid bare and there was nothing here for Logan. He chewed on the edge of his paintbrush.

"I know yer in there, kiddo, I can smell ya. And I know somethin's scarin' ya. I ain't gonna hurt ya, promise. Can I open the door?"


Logan held the small bag behind his back. He could smell the fear in his lover's scent and almost regretted breaking in on him. He knew about the paints. No matter how Remy tried, or what soaps he used, Logan could smell them on his skin. It was one of the smells he associated with his lover: paint, cigarettes, Tommy cologne, and Paul Mitchell detangler. Logan waited as patiently as he would for any prey.

"Oui." Remy's voice was choked. He sounded young, scared. Logan applauded his bravery. He opened the door and stepped in so that he could close the door quickly. This was their secret.

"Thanks," Logan said softly. He knelt down across from the young man, the painting between them. The red eyes were fixed on the painting, as if drawing strength from the picture. Logan reached out a gentle hand. He tipped Remy's face up. He smiled. "Gorgeous," he said softly.


Remy blinked rapidly. "Don't tell," he whispered.

"Never, kiddo." Logan's smile unnerved the young man. He tried to look down, away, to hide behind his bangs and a sharp comment, but Logan's hand didn't move. It was gentle, but firm. "Ya don't gotta hide anythin' from me, Remy. I swear. I'll protect ya no matter what."

"Don't lie t' me, cher. It ain't nice."

"It's true. No matter what."

Remy laughed bitterly. "Liar."

Logan kissed his cheek, taking a tear away with his lips. "Will ya show me yer work?"


"Because I love ya and it's important to ya. It's part of ya. Deep as anythin' and I wanna be part of that. I want to be part of you. Ferever, Remy."

Remy swallowed hard. "Y'll hate me. Everyone does. Time comes when y' just stop tellin' because no one wants t' listen. Y'll hate m' like Rogue, like Belle, like Chat, like all of 'em."


Remy broke. He pulled away from the gentle hand. He went to his closet to pull out the pile of canvas. He worked on a small scale. He always had. Delicacy and accuracy had always been the important parts to him. Details make up the man. Like he knew Logan smoked Macanudo cigars, and wore cotton because polyester made him itch. Details were important. They were the most important thing in the world. "Remy's gonna catch a shower. Y' can look all y' like." The Cajun escaped to the safety of the bathroom, dropping the paintbrush from his hair onto the bed.


Logan looked through the canvasses carefully. He set them up along the wall and the edge of the bed. There was a gallery-full and they'd been shoved into this closet for their creator's protection. They were mostly portraits - one or two people together. Scott and Jean's vibrated with love. Logan nearly wept at the accuracy of it. The team he knew so well was captured perfectly. There was even one of Bobby in the tutu and fishnets with Hank laughing himself sick. Then, he moved on to the older works. They were darker, colder, and Logan shivered to see the anguish screaming at him.

Creed was there, his smirk a dark thread of pleasure, and unusual humor in his eyes. Logan growled, Remy knew Creed. There was no question. Their antipathy wasn't some aberration. It was the hurt of lovers driven into rage and hate. He could see love there still, in the way Remy painted each color of hair and each line and wrinkle on Victor's face. Dark menace filled background. It was a tunnel, like several hundred in the world any one of which Remy might have led the over-grown bastard through.

Moving on he found a portrait of Lorna - Alex Summers' wife - Polaris, sitting in the summer shade. It spoke to something broken even as she leaned back in the warmth of the sun. There was Riptide and Vertigo arguing over something small and bloody. A baby perhaps? Logan swallowed hard. He forced himself to keep going. Remy had committed that was certain. These pictures could only have come from someone who knew these people intimately. Scalphunter was laughing over a beer. Arclight was working with free-weights, her body already deadly and sculpted. She was not pretty, but she was attractive in her own way. Her eyes were filled with haunted sadness and there was a jungle hiding in the shadows of her room.

The tunnels took up almost five canvases of precision paint. There was pain, agony and fear on each individual face. There was no hesitant blurring of the victims, no overall sense of the carnage. There was a fatalistic photorealism to the scene that no camera would be able to recapture. Diamonds edged the painting. There was no shock in seeing Sinister standing proudly against a bright doorway of blue. But there was a more delicate picture of him in his study, reading something, brandy at his elbow and a pen in his hand. He looked ready to comment on some new study.

Logan bent his head to mourn his lover's pain. "Can ya talk about it?"


Remy stood in the doorway of the bathroom, silk robe falling down his shoulders as he clutched it closed. He shivered. "Non," he whispered. "I just want t' forget it all."

"All of it? Even this? Even Lorna? Me?"

"Non, not you, cher. Y' ain't part of that." He waved at the tunnels and the Marauders. "Lorna? Oui. Polaris ain't bad, but she reminds m'."

Logan stepped carefully over to his lover. "Lemme clean up fer ya. Then, I'll give ya yer surprise." He kissed Remy gently on the mouth. "Ya can tell me anythin', kiddo. I swear it."

Remy leaned against the wall and watched Logan carefully store the paintings with an almost religious reverence. Then, the Canadian cleaned up the paints and set them into their roll. He cleaned the brushes methodically. Remy curled up on the bed to watch him. He played with the brush he'd left there, running the bristles across his fingertips. It was a soft sable brush he'd gotten for ink-work, but never used. Logan did calligraphy, maybe he'd have a use for it.


Logan stored the paints away, leaving the painting of himself to dry. He gathered up his bag, slipping it around his wrist. Then, he gathered up his Cajun. The young man gave him a startled yelp and nasty glare. "Put m' down, cher!"

"Nope. I hunted ya. I won ya fair and square. Open the door."

"Merde. Y' gonna be the death of m'."

Logan laughed. "Nah." Remy opened the door. He squirmed a little, but he had no purchase to help him get free. He closed the door without Logan telling him to do anything. It wasn't far to Logan's room and the Cajun settled into a quiet sulk when he wasn't set free upon immediate entry into the room. Logan kicked the door shut and headed for the bed. "Stay put. I'm gonna wash my hands." He dropped Remy onto the soft pile of covers.


Remy crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Logan's back. He snuggled into the covers that they hadn't bothered to put back into place. It was past dinner-time, the Cajun realized. He wasn't hungry though. Well, he wasn't hungry for food. Logan had seen everything, and still brought him back here. He smiled, feeling safe for the moment. He chewed on the end of his paintbrush, realizing that he hadn't had a smoke most of the day. He reached for his pack, but it wasn't on the bed-side table. He searched the drawer. There were plenty of useful things in there, but no cigarettes.

"Yer smokes are in the dresser," Logan said from the bathroom. He was drying his hands. He pulled off his shirt while his lover found his battered pack of smokes. "Open the window. Ain't like it can get any colder in here."

"Don't go givin' Robert ideas." Remy lit his cigarette with the tip of his finger and leaned against the window-frame. Hank would pitch a fit if he knew Remy was smoking in the house and that was something to avoid. Hank was a nice guy, perfectly trustworthy, but he was big and his lecture voice matched his stature. There was something frightening about pushing Hank that far beyond his usual chiding comments, and into actual anger. It was hard to do, but Remy'd done it once, just to do it. He'd never do it again, God willing. He pulled the warm smoke into his lungs, smiling. This was pleasure. He wasn't addicted to the stuff - his body refused to allow it - but he enjoyed it. It was calming and he needed that. Logan hugged Remy tightly around the middle. The Cajun looked over his shoulder with a soft smile. "Y' said y' had a surprise f' moi?"

"Yup. Ya ever used that brush?"

"The one on the bed? Non. Got it f' ink, but I never got around t' it. Y' do it better'n I would anyway."


Logan snorted. Kid had serious esteem problems. Well, he could solve those with enough time. "Well, I got an idea fer it. Calligraphy of a type. Teach ya somethin' maybe. Ya speak Japanese right? Read it?" Remy nodded yes, curiosity turning him around. He flicked the cigarette into the air and it exploded with a tiny pop. Logan reached around the slimmer man and shut the window. He locked it too and Remy's brows rose. Even opened, the security the thief had set up would trigger if someone came through it. Logan grinned. "Don't want Drake gettin' any ideas. Gonna lock the door too. Just my luck that tonight Mags'll show up and ruin it."



There was no answer for the Cajun except a grin. Remy laughed, reminded once again why he was so besotted by the rough and tumble Wolverine. His silk robe slipped open and he tied it shut again. "That's a shame."


"Coverin' yerself up. May as well take it off." Remy dropped the robe into a puddle at the foot of the bed. Logan would bitch at him in the morning about cluttering up the room, but tonight he knew he would be able to get away with anything. Well, almost anything. Logan glared at the thief until he picked up the robe and hung it on the hook by the closet door. "That's better." Logan was carrying a bowl and the paintbrush. He also had a small black box all of which he set on the nightstand. Remy watched non-plussed.

Logan's kiss was sweet but firm. There was no argument, no anger, just sweet, clam acceptance and Remy's eyes closed to enjoy it. The brush of Logan's fingers through his hair just heightened the experience. You're caught, boy, he thought to himself. Time to own up. "Je t'aime, Logan," he whispered for the first, and maybe the last time.

"Good. Cuz I love ya, Rems, and I ain't gonna get scared off."

Remy couldn't help the wide grin on his face. Logan's eyes looked young for a moment. They shone with the impossible glow of love and happiness. Remy could have stared at them forever, but Logan had plans. He dipped the brush into the bowl. It came out with dark brown liquid. The Cajun's eyes widened as Logan took one hand. The Canadian very carefully painted a kanji sign onto the top. Remy cocked his head to the side until he deciphered it. He laughed. Then, the followed the instruction and licked it. It was rich dark chocolate sauce that was still rather warm. He licked the trace of it off of his lip. Logan winked at him.


"Lay down fer me, Darlin'."

Remy did so, laughter still filling his eyes. Logan took his time writing out a careful message over the young man's heart. Then, he used sweeping, powerful, but delicate motions to create the calligraphy he'd meditate to for the night. Remy's eyes were half-closed, drinking in the pleasures of Logan's attention. He lay still, but Logan could see his pulse beating against the skin of his throat. The red eyes flickered completely shut and Logan felt the warmth rise up in his chest. The kid really did trust him. Logan set the brush aside. He opened the small box.

He removed one of the truffles. He bit off half of it, then pressed the rest against his lover's lips. The red eyes flickered open. Then, Remy's lips opened to accept the treat. His eyes widened as he chewed it. "What's dis?"

"Wasabi chocolate. Got curry too. Goes bad if ya don't eat it." He grinned down at his lover. Remy smiled back at him, as young as he should be for a moment.

"It's good. Got t' get the company name. Mattie'd like it."

"Later. I got plans fer ya right now."

"Oh?" Remy smirked up at his lover. "What sort of plans?"

Logan smirked down at him. "Just lay still and enjoy." Remy settled, eyes half-open, mildly suspicious of his lover's actions. Logan leaned over his Cajun and kissed him gently. "Trust me, kiddo," he murmured. He licked just under the younger man's jaw, then kissed him there. He turned it into a long, suckling kiss, raising a nice bruise there. By the time he was through, Remy's head was thrown back, eyes closed. Logan sat up. He chose the kanji for "hunger" that was on Remy's stomach for the first target. He lapped at the skin and chocolate, tracing the edge of the design with his tongue. It edged the scattering of hair that lead towards the main event and Remy's hips rose as Logan neared what he hoped was the target. Logan ignored the motion and took his own sweet time licking and sucking the chocolate from his lover's skin. He left a few light marks behind him. He leaned up to kiss his Cajun and share the sweetness of his treat.

Remy's fingers twined into Logan's hair. He held him to the kiss with more force than most who saw him thought he possessed. Logan kissed him until the younger man broke away for air. He grinned and went back to his task. This time he went for "patience" the kanji on his lover's left hand. It was his writing hand, and Logan assumed, his painting hand. He had to be patient for that level of work. He could taste the salt of his sweat, the metallic flavor of his paint, the soft oatmeal of his soap, and the strangely sweet flavor of his skin. He suckled on the delicate fingertips and Remy moaned. "Merde, cher, please, you goin' to kill this po' boy!" Logan took his time exploring the small nicks and scars that covered the back of Remy's hand. Then, he turned the palm up and placed a wet kiss in the center. Remy arched up, cock brushing against Logan's thigh. The Canadian grinned. "Please, cher, just fuck m'."

"Hush." He kissed the Cajun quiet. He turned his attentions to the most important inscription. "Love" and "possession" were inscribed over Remy's heart. Logan absently pinned the young man's arms down as he lapped at the chocolate there. He paused to share the flavor with his lover. The younger man's eyes were widely dilated and his breathing was ragged. He'd passed the stage of begging verbally. Logan had pity on him and gently, firmly sucked on the tip of his cock. Remy came with a sharp cry. He collapsed onto the mattress. Logan growled in soft content watching his slowing pulse and chest. He stroked himself.

He came when Remy whispered softly, "Logan, mon coeur," and held out his hand. He curled up next to his lover and cuddled him close. Remy nuzzled Logan's shoulder as he fell asleep. Logan pulled up the covers and joined him.


XM Bedroom

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