I'm the Only One to Blame

Author’s Note: I get these moody inspirations from Itunes. Get me listening to too much Pink, and the angst just starts coming out of the woodwork. This is a companion story to If You Can’t Say No, from Logan’s POV. I thought of a relationship I had back in the days of before my own chronic depression hit me, when I had a boyfriend who suffered from that, and in hindsight, I understand him now.

He had to let loose and get some ya-yas out. Excitement and restless churned in his gut as soon as he rang off from Jubilee’s drunken, breathless ramblings and command to come out.

“C’mon!” she shouted over the din of the crowded bar. “We’re having so much fun, Rem! Get your ass out here!” He heard Tabitha’s throaty giggles in the background and Monet’s terse order for another hard lemonade. Then Bobby’s voice interjected that he wanted the phone next. After a brief scuffle, Drake slurred “Better get yer butt out here, I dunno how much longer I can control these guys…”

“Ain’ doin’ a good job of babysittin’, neh?”

“Ain’ my fault,” he argued. “I kept beatin’ Tab at darts. It wuz her turn t’buy.”

“How much’ve ya had?”

“Nuthin’,” Bobby whined petulantly, “jus’ a shot…an’ a Corona, and…anuth’r shot…and many, many other drinks…” Remy could picture Bobby counting them off on his fingers and chuckled under his breath. He sounded in need of rescuing.

That left him here, rummaging in his closet for the right gear, discarding most of what he had right off the bat. Remy was in the mood to misbehave. He’d been too pent-up for too long.

Logan was out in the garage, puttering around with his bike, where he’d hidden since breakfast. Remy’s attempts to get him out the door and into the sunshine had fallen on deaf ears. Logan answered him in grumbled monosyllables as he reached for wrenches of different sizes and turned the work light this way and that.

“Yer in my way,” Logan hissed briefly when Remy stepped into the light by mistake. Remy sighed in aggravation and moved out of the way. He leaned back against the fender of Charles’ Rolls and sighed.

“Sorry. Sheesh. Ya gonna be in here all day.”

“Dunno.”

“T’ought it’d be fun ta hit de flea market later.”

“Sounds okay.”

“Might be fun. Nice day out.”

“Eh. Don’t really feel like gettin’ out in that crowd in the middle of the day. Ain’t gonna find anywhere ta park.”

“Coulda gone earlier. Got up early enough.” Logan rolled up against him at dawn and took him hard and fast, leaving him aching for more before the feral lumbered out of bed, making the excuse of wanting his workout before everyone in the house got up and beat him into the gym. After they ate a breakfast unrepentantly laden with meat, Logan went his own way, changing into his most broken-in, grubby togs and ducking into the garage.

The sun was already shifting in the sky, still bright but well past noon. Remy seethed. He’d wanted time with Logan, but he was patently ignoring him. He’d been in such a funk, lately.

Remy was fine with staying in with him from time to time to just cuddle or watch movies or Spartacus reruns on DVR. Logan also occasionally indulged him in trips to Spensers at the mall or trips to the comic shops and arcades downtown, but Logan went through moody, lonely phases. Today seemed to be one of them, and it rattled him.

Just out of the blue, Logan was in the dumps, and Remy didn’t know how to pull him out.

*

Remy jumped into the shower, leaving his selections on the bed. He blasted his music loud enough to hear it beneath the spray, and he sang along to it with abandon, enjoying the sound of his own voice bouncing off the tub’s walls. He heard Logan moving around in the bedroom and wondered if he planned to join him, briefly. It was a common habit, one that he enjoyed.

Ten minutes went by, and the water grew lukewarm. No Logan. Hmmph… Remy pouted as he turned off the spigots and grabbed the towel, drying himself off before stepping out. He hated Logan’s habit of soaking the mat and floor, so that when Remy went into the bathroom just to relieve himself, he soaked his socks.

He hated his disloyal feelings, the result of the disconnect between them when Logan was depressed. Every quirk and eccentricity Logan possessed became sharper, chafing him more, becoming harder to accept or ignore.

He stepped out, one towel wrapped around his hips as he dried his hair roughly with a smaller one. Logan didn’t even look up from his PC, booted up and droning over the sound of Remy’s music, which Logan apparently turned down as soon as he walked in. He stared blankly at the computer screen, moving the cursor over bland green and brown squares. Each one blinked and was suddenly populated with neat little rows of red apples. Remy sighed and rolled his eyes.

“What de fuck do ya see in dat?”

“Gotta take care of my farm,” Logan mumbled. “Ya already went on.”

“Yeah. T’check my email,” Remy reasoned. “Not ta take care of an imaginary farm.”

“Like what ya were doin’ online was any more important,” Logan snapped peevishly, giving him a sour look. “Yer just now takin’ a shower? What’d ya do, lie around all day?”

“Non. Fuck you,” Remy spat, huffing. “Been doin’ different t’ings all day. Might know dat if ya came outta de garage once in a while.”

“Why’ve I gotta come outta the garage? I wanted ta work on my bike, so I did. Not like ya were doin’ anything more important. Ya didn’t need me for anything.”

Bullshit. “Sure. Didn’t need ya for shit. Excuse de fuck outta me.” Remy headed for his clothes, dropping the towel. He reached for his short boxer-briefs, his favorites; they’d been a gift from Logan in one of his rare generous moods. The feral wasn’t the most spendy person unless it was accessories for their cars, the bike or decent alcohol and cigars. Remy, on the other hand, was a clothes horse and movie addict. What else was money for but to be enjoyed? His mindset stemmed easily from having lived hand-to-mouth as a street urchin and later a contract thief. Logan was well-off from a lifetime of being a soldier, mercenary and businessman, still drawing an income from his nightclub in Madripoor and other investments he’d made as a young man. He still liked to live rough and simple, something Remy had no problem with, even appreciated about him.

But not tonight.

Logan eyed him furtively, silently appreciating his lover’s body, still gleaming and damp from his shower. His bare skin was slightly rosy and it looked supple, touchable and tempting. He grunted and then tsked.

“What’re ya gettin’ all dolled up for?”

“Bobby called. Gonna go save him from Jubes.”

“Why’s he need savin’?”

“Gonna have a drink myself. No big deal, eh?”

“No big deal. When were ya gonna tell me ya were goin’ out?”

“Jus’ told you.”

“Yeah. Nice. Just told me.”

“Yeah.” Remy continued rustling into his clothes, buttoning the striking red shirt with gold painted details on the back and chest pocket. It was snug and well-cut with a hint of Lycra in the cotton, hugging his hard, sculpted chest. Logan suppressed a possessive growl.

“That’s what yer wearin’?”

“Yup.”

“Gotta look like yer out lookin’?”

“Dere ain’t nut’in’ wrong wit’ what I have on,” Remy argued sourly, making a face.

“Ya gotta wear the most…never mind. Never fuckin’ mind. Do whatcha want.”

“Fine.”

“Didn’t even ask me if I wanted ta go.”

“Ya didn’t act like ya wanted ta go out,” Remy reminded him as he began combing his hair. He crammed a dollop of gel into his damp waves and slicked it back, coaxing it into its familiar waves before he pulled it back into a ponytail. Logan made a sound of disgust.

“Great. That’s just fuckin’ great.”

“Don’t wait up.”

“Don’t wait up? Ya don’t want me ta wait up?” Logan demanded. He spun on him, craning his way around the computer desk’s leather chair and leaning his brawny arm over the back of it. His black eyes widened in disbelief before clouding over in anger. “This is okay t’you?”

“It’s fine wit’ me,” Remy shrugged. “Ya didn’ act like ya wanted ta do anything tonight. So I’m goin’ out.” Logan fumed.

“So I’m supposed ta not mind this. When yer goin’ out looking like yer on the market, with Jubilee…”

“She’s too young for me, mec,” Remy reminded him.

“Who else is there?”

“Tabby, and Monet an’ Bobby.”

“Goin’ out with three girls and the Popsicle,” Logan mused, shaking his head. “Damn. Could ya have picked a better crowd. At a bar. Drinkin’.”

“I’m gonna be de oldest one dere,” Remy sniffed. “Gonna get in de least trouble. If anyt’in’, m’gonna be babysittin’.”

“Not lookin’ like that. Not with Tab and Jubes. That’s bullshit.”

“Mec…are ya kiddin’ Remy? It’s jus’ dose two. What’s de big deal?”

Logan looked mutinous.

“Go. Get the fuck outta here.”

“Don’ be dat way! What’s wrong wit’ you? Fuck.”

“Get out. I don’t wanna hear from you. Go get fucked up. Have fun without me.”

Remy stared balefully at the back of Logan’s head. The cursor continued flicking over the screen, turning more squares into apples. “Fuck you, chere,” Remy muttered one last time as he left the bedroom. They didn’t even suggest kissing each other good night.

*


Why the fuck did I do that?

Logan sulked over a six-pack, watching the catalog of Spartacus reruns that Remy taped for him. He didn’t have anyone to share dinner with, ignoring Ororo’s offer to head to the Outback with Piotr and Kurt. He grilled the chicken he marinated that morning after breakfast and left a portion of it in a Tupperware container on the counter in case Remy wanted any when he got home. It was a habit, and automatic.

Logan sighed for about the tenth time since the bedroom door slammed. Remy ignored his bellow not to do that, and his footsteps were uncharacteristically loud on the stairs as he hustled out. The kid was in a lather and in rare form… he wondered how long his snit would last.

Logan was tired. Plain and simple. His sleep was uneven lately and he wasn’t in the mood for bells and whistles. Remy meant well, but nothing could budge his dark cloud, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

So they fell into old habits. Remy wanted to do things on a lark, an old habit he hadn’t shucked since they fell for each other, whereas Logan was more staid. Did he like going out on a bender once in a while? Why not. But Logan preferred older pubs and sitting at the grownups table, playing pool in dark corners and exchanging war stories with bartenders and bouncers. He didn’t dance, despite Remy’s attempts to draw him out, and the pounding music Remy often favored assaulted his senses, a trial for a man with enhanced hearing. His healing factor didn’t do a damn thing for the resulting headache, and he couldn’t get drunk enough not to care.

Logan’s idea of a good time also included getting out in the open. Road trips were his poison of choice, especially going hunting or fishing on the fly. Logan was restless, like Remy, but his need to let go of himself had different outlets.

He wondered what the kid was doing after an hour that dragged agonizingly into two. Ororo had already bade him goodnight from the doorway a while ago. Logan changed the channel to late night with Conan and sat soberly in the dark, despite the jokes and the fact that the six-pack was empty, empty bottles lined up in a row.

Remy was growing tired of him. The thought petrified him.

“Too fucking old an’ set in my ways,” Logan muttered to himself. He reasoned that Remy knew that about him when they fell in love. Logan tried to believe his own lies that the age difference didn’t matter, that May could marry December. But it was growing harder to prove that.

*

The first time they succumbed to what was between them took him by surprise. Logan hadn’t expected it when his answer to Remy’s random question had been cut off by his open book being lifted out of his hands and Remy invading his space.

“What…?” Logan’s heart pounded as Remy stared at him, really seeing him, and his face descended, those red-on-black eyes eating him up as he took Logan’s mouth in an all-consuming kiss. His grip on Logan’s nape wasn’t gentle and his fingers clutched at his thick hair greedily. Neither man would yield as they fought for dominance of the kiss. Logan won the small tug-of-war and wrestled Remy down onto his lap. He ignored the thump of his hardcover novel hitting the floor as he gave himself up to the sensations of the thief’s slightly calloused, long fingers running over him, kneading him and pulling at his clothes, of the lips tasting him and urging him to allow his tongue’s entry. The crush of Remy’s erection against his drove away coherent thought, leaving behind only I want you so damned bad. He pushed down his misgivings and his usual reticence toward Remy’s advances and gave in. His body sang with the sensations of their skin growing increasingly slick with sweat as they strained against each other, thoroughly bare now and craving each other, wanting to get closer, deeper, and to become one flesh.

It made him feel ten feet tall to have him arching and crying out beneath him, riding his hard thrusts, letting his blunt nails dig into his back. With every cry of Logan’s name that fell from Remy’s lips in the dark, he branded himself with his ownership. Their lovemaking drove out all of their demons and those ugly, whispering voices that haunted them both that they were cursed, that they would never be whole or redeemed or loved by anyone who could go the distance.

“I love you,” Remy murmured sleepily into Logan’s warm neck. Logan stiffened briefly, then stroked his back absently. If his lack of a response bothered Remy, he didn’t point this out. Logan’s sense of reasoning insisted that Remy was too young to know what that proposition involved, and that he had too little experience and that his emotions weren’t developed enough to scratch the surface of something real.

And in a sense, Logan realized that was what brought him here. Alone, in the dark.

*


Jubilee and Bobby were making a spectacle of themselves, dead-center on the floor and victims of the night’s dollar shot special. Tabitha and Monet weren’t helping, engaged in an argument of who they thought would win American Idol. They were glaring at each other when Remy showed up. Monet huffed at his appearance.

“The old man let you out tonight?”

“Jealous?” he countered easily, shrugging.

“Meow,” Tabitha snickered. She eyed him with approval. “I’m borrowing that shirt.”

“Get yer own,” he tsked. “Dey been out dere for a while?”

“Yup.”

“Ain’ ya gonna try ta stop ‘em?”

“From what? Everyone’s been eyeballing Jubes all night.”

“Dat’s cuz she’s gettin’ a draft,” Remy pointed out, not happy with the younger girl’s outfit. She wore her typical tiny shorts, but this time she paired them with a handkerchief top that left too little to the imagination. She stared dreamily *blearily* up into Bobby’s face as they danced, getting too close and familiar.

Logan would have a coronary. Then, he’d carve Bobby into shaved ice. Remy decided to perform damage control.

“Back it up,” he demanded once he reached them in the crowd, wading through too many men and women who found one way or another to jostle him or randomly grope him on the way over. The emotions of the crowd were rife with wanton lust and abandon, and it was intoxicating, but he was irritated with Jubilee, who couldn’t understand the effect she was having on the people around her.

“Remy!” she squealed, forgetting Bobby for the moment. She threw her arms around the frustrated empath, giving him a sloppy hug. “Yer here!” Her breath was horrendous, a sweet miasma of sweet-and-sour and fruity schnapps. She grinned up at him, and he had to reciprocate, albeit briefly.

“Bad girl. Dis how ya behave when Remy turns his back?”

“Couldn’ stop her,” Bobby hiccupped.

“Yer old ‘nuff ta know better,” Remy reminded him. His eyes smoldered and raked over Bobby, whose boyishly handsome face was flushed. His eyes sparkled drunkenly and he staggered slightly as he clapped Remy’s shoulder.

“Don’ be such a *hic* poop,” he scolded. “Or Jubes’ is gonna…drink ya under the table…”

“De hell she is,” Remy shot back. He navigated the limp, loopy girl back to the bar and reached automatically for a red plastic cup and a water pitcher. He poured her a generous measure of ice water and plopped a lemon wedge into it, shoving it into her hand. “Drink dis.”

“Thirsty,” Jubilee agreed.

“Awwwww,” Tabitha and Bobby chorused. Remy was turning out to be a buzzkill. Remy himself was irritated that his earlier enthusiasm to get out of the house was quickly being squashed. He hovered protectively over Jubilee, driving away patrons who she’d charmed earlier in the night with his hard, glowing glares, or a barked “Fuck off!” when they wouldn’t take the hint.

“Yer not my dad,” she slurred, cutting her eyes up at him as he fed more water.

“Logan’s de next best thing, and he ain’t gonna be dat forgivin’, chere, if Remy lets ya come home all tore up. Or if ya don’ make it home.” She pushed at him with surprising strength and immediately pressed herself against Bobby, who gazed down at her fondly.

“We were having a good time,” she informed him.

“That’s all we were doin’,” Bobby whined; the tone sounded ridiculous coming from him. Bobby was the youngest member of Charles’ first class of students, not unlike Jubilee once she enrolled in the academy with her peers, but he was still almost a decade her senior, while she was barely legal. Jubilee and Tabitha were birds of a feather, but her friendship with Monet was uneasy at best, still on tenterhooks after Everett was killed. It surprised Remy to even see the three of them out together, but he hoped Monet was able to bury the hatchet. Albeit not violently…

Before Remy could scold them any further, hands from behind him began pulling at him. A young, attractive, twentysomething blond in faded, broken-in jeans flirted with him with deep blue eyes and a wicked smile.

“Hey, handsome. Buy you a drink?” Remy chuckled at how forward and sure of himself he was.

“Non. Ain’t thirsty yet.”

“I can wait,” he shrugged, pulling up the barstool beside him and opening up his body as he leaned against the bar. “Here with friends?”

“Looks dat way, don’t it?”

“They about to leave you behind?”

“What…hey!” Bobby and Jubilee escaped back to the dance floor while Monet and Tabitha made their way to the pool tables, patently ignoring him.

“Sure you don’t want that drink?”

*

Much like Bobby had while they were on the phone, Remy lost count of his drinks. They tasted too good, he was enjoying the patrons’ swirling emotions too much, and he tired of Jubilee’s claims that he was a killjoy.

The crowd milled around him, swelling as the club reached full capacity. He lost himself in the spell of the music and television screens around him playing music videos out of sync with the songs booming out of the speakers, amusing himself with the singer’s lips that were mouthing the same words that assaulted his ears. He loved the play of flashing, spinning lights as they flowed over the dancers on the floor, stroking over sweat-drenched hair and gleaming, frequently bare skin.

The blond heartbreaker occasionally found him at the bar, or on the floor whenever Remy exchanged partners or took a breather. Remy was an equal opportunity flirt, obliging any pretty face with his devilish smile, no matter their gender. The bodies that occasionally grinded up against him didn’t alarm him as the night progressed. He merely begged their pardon, accepting their false “apologies” with a shrug and a coy flick of those captivating eyes over his shoulder.

All he wanted to do was cut loose. That nagging voice in the back of his head cried out Call Logan. He pushed it down, trying the blond heartbreaker on for a while when he urged him out to the dance floor. To his delight, they fit each other well as they found their own nook among the bodies crushing around them. He gripped Remy’s hips, and he didn’t feel like stopping him. His heart and pulse thumped in time with the music, and he could almost taste his partner’s sweat, cologne, and the tequila he’d drunk with so much abandon. Remy felt drugged by it.

*

Logan wasn’t watching the clock. He told himself that when it struck one.

“One in the fuckin’ morning,” he snarled. His ass tired of the couch and there was nothing else on. He decided to pace instead. He prowled the kitchen, eating more of the leftover chicken even though he wasn’t hungry for it.

*


When Jubilee found him again, his eyes were glazed and hers were livid.

“REMY…come ON!” She jerked him away from the blond and his intoxicating heat, the lust rolling off of him and his whispered lines.

“Hnnnh?”

“You heard me.” Jubilee glared up at the blond. “He’s taken. You’re a tool.” Remy allowed her to haul him away with surprising strength, even though she wasn’t a drop over ninety pounds. Bobby eyed him with pity, shaking his head.

“Damn, bro. What’re ya doin’?”

“Nutin’,” Remy insisted. “Havin’ a lil’ fun.”

“If I don’t get to, you don’t, either,” Jubilee fumed. Monet and Tabitha stood off to the side, eyeing him accusingly. Knowingly.

“Bad move, bro,” Tab muttered.

“Tacky,” Monet agreed. She poured him a cup of water, even though Remy didn’t think he needed it. But his mouth was parched, and he felt himself groan at relief as the moisture saturated his burning throat. He felt a numb ache in the base of his skull as he crunched ice cubes between his teeth.

“Ya called me ta come out,” Remy pointed out. “So I came out.”

“Ya let it all hang out,” Bobby corrected him.

“Look who’s exaggeratin’,” Remy harrumphed.

Jubilee leaned into Bobby, still drunk but slowly coming out of it. “Look…*hic*…this is bullshit. Logan’s waiting at home for you, and you’re acting like a slut.”

“Nah,” he insisted, waving her away.

“Are too,” Tab added.

“Big time,” Monet chimed in.

“Remy’s jus’ havin’ a lil’ fun,” he repeated. “Ain’t nut’in’ wrong wit’ dat. Wanted some time outta de house.” Bobby was guiding Remy’s hand into a bowl of beer nuts.

“You’re not having the good time with Logan. You’re out with us,” Bobby said.

“So?”

“We’re all single,” he reminded him. “You’re not.”

Remy’s face flushed with shame.

“Awwww. C’mon. C’mon, now. Dis…dis ain’t no big deal. Logan don’ mind if Remy let’s his hair down ev’ry now an’ again.”

“He’d mind that.” They looked over at the blond, who quickly, easily found himself another partner, but he winked back to Remy, making “call me” motions with his hand. “That was bullshit. Big time.”

“Old man’d be hurt. Know I would, if it were me,” Tabitha told him. “If Sam had pulled that shit with me when we were going out, I’d have wanted to put a gun to my head.”

“Ya did dat ta Sam wit’ Bobby,” Remy huffed.

“No she didn’t!” Bobby flared.

“She meant Roberto, idiot,” Monet told him, smacking him upside the head. Remy was still feeling defensive.

“Logan went about his own bid’ness all day. Didn’ give Remy de time of day til I said I wuz goin’ out.”

“You know how quiet he is about that stuff,” Jubilee chided him. Remy grew tired of the conversation and began walking toward the exit. He was already digging in his pocket for his mobile and was impatient with the crowd now. He felt smothered and stifled once his buzz began to wear off.

“Gumbo, get back here,” Bobby slurred after him. “Jubi’s not done reading you your rights.”

“And it’s just getting good!” Tabitha agreed, cupping her hand around her mouth over the din.

Remy had the number for the cab company on speed-dial. He punched it and waited, barking at the driver answering him that he was on Broadway and Fifth, and how long was the wait?

He spun on his friends, shooting them a glare that stalled their end of the argument. “Y’all can come home wit’ me if yer smart, but I don’ wanna be cross-examined, y’hear?” He jammed his finger into Bobby’s chest. “YOU should know better.” He nearly poked Jubilee’s teeth in similar fashion. “YOU should, too.” Tabitha and Monet were next. “Neit’er of you has any bid’ness lecturin’ Remy ‘bout what I do or don’t do. Ya ain’t good friends t’dese two if yer gonna let ‘em make a decision dey might regret tomorrow.” Jubilee and Bobby looked chastened, changing from a sloppy embrace to just holding hands.

“Maybe we’re trying to do the same for you, bub,” Tabitha challenged, blue eyes sparking. “Pot calling the kettle, Remy.”

*

The ride home was moody and too long. Remy absently handed the driver a twenty. The man’s eyes were full of questions, wondering what started the young people’s spat, and knowing it must have been a doozy. They lumbered inside once Remy punched in his access code and unlocked the door.

“Nice,” a hard voice rumbled from the hallway. Jubilee, Monet, Tabitha and Bobby paused in their efforts to sneak upstairs. Logan looked ready to murder them all, arms folded across his beefy chest. His square jaw was set and the veins were straining in his neck.

“Uh-oh,” Jubilee murmured. “Hi, Wolvie.”

“Bed,” he barked. All four of them ran up the stairs.

Remy stood his ground. Against all logic, he muttered “What’re ya still doin’ up?”

“You tell me. Know what time it is?”

“Don’ care what time it is.”

“Maybe you should.” Remy huffed, bristling with ugly prickles of heat that started in his cheeks and ran down his spine.

“Well, I don’t.”

“Fine, then. Ya don’t care. Why ain’t I surprised about that.”

Hurt scratched at them both. There was something dangerous and hard in Logan’s stance. Remy bumped past him, despite Logan’s attempts to broaden himself to keep him from getting by. Remy shoulder-checked him and headed for the kitchen.

Guiltily he saw the container of dinner on the counter, but he went for the fridge instead and got out the bread for a sandwich.

“I made that for you,” Logan insisted, wresting the bread from his hands.

“Don’ wan’ it.”

“Quit fuckin’ around and eat it. I wanna go ta bed. I ain’t gonna listen to ya stumblin’ around down here. I’m tired.”

“Told ya not ta wait up.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you told me, Rem. Fuck that shit. ‘Told ya not ta wait up,’” he mimicked sourly. “That supposed ta make me feel better?”

“Don’t know how ya feel half the time, anyway. Won’ tell Remy most of de time when he asks, non? S’posed ta jus’ guess?” Remy sat and watched Logan pull out mayo, lettuce and tomatoes and a large, sharp knife. Remy was amused, stifling the thought that Logan might choose to take out his carousing on him in desperate fashion, but Logan began chopping the chicken on the Corian cutting board and assembling a sandwich.

“Coulda stuck around ta eat,” Logan grumbled. “It’s fuckin’ cold now.”

“Coulda just nuked it,” Remy shrugged.

“Ain’t the same. Ain’t as good. Yer always so fuckin’ impatient about everything. Gotta rush everything,” he reasoned.

“One more o’ Remy’s more charmin’ traits, eh?” They weren’t shouting. Logan’s stance had even relaxed, but Remy was still on edge, seething. He felt small and mean and still ready to lash out, remembering the morning’s frustrations and Logan’s earlier reticence to talk to him.

“Finished plantin’ yer fruit? Feedin’ de cows?”

“Could go back to it,” Logan shrugged. “Why? Ya want me ta go back on?”

“Non.”

“All right, then. Quit talking shit. Eat.” He shoved the plate at him and began to walk away.

Remy caught his wrist. Logan wrested it away with a yank, nearly slapping him. “Get off me.”

“Remy don’ wanna get off.”

“Ya stink,” Logan complained. “Don’t be gettin’ any ideas. Ya smell like a tequila bottle.”

“Ain’ gonna let ya sleep til ya talk t’me. What’s been wrong wit’ you all day?”

“Why’s anything gotta be wrong with me?” Logan sneered. “Nothin’s wrong. Yer the one who ran off and went on a bender.”

“Ya didn’ act like ya wanted Remy’s company.”

Liar. Logan wanted to knock on Remy’s forehead and say “Hello?” Couldn’t he recognize a cry for help when he heard one? Logan seethed with something he couldn’t name. He was bursting with it. Remy felt it keenly, rising up in him and making him uneasy. The hairs stood up on his arms as though he was standing too close to a generator.

“I hafta say I want it?”

“Cat ain’t gotta get yer tongue.”

“Remy…fuck. Really? Ya don’t know me by now?”

“T’ought I knew ya pretty well.”

“Ya think so. Hn. Yeah. Let’s see how well ya know me. I come back into the house after working on my bike all day, and ya come outta the shower, hardly give me a hello, announce that yer goin’ out, and dress up like a fuckin’ hustler in yer fuckin’ come-fuck-me shirt and tight pants. Ya tell me yer goin’, don’t even invite me, and tell me not to wait up. Ya tell me not ta worry that yer goin’ out ta get wasted with Jubilee, and Bobby, and that it’s fine. Are ya still not over that shit? That’s how ya still get yer kicks? You’re not some teenager who’s just old enough not ta hafta sneak shit outta his daddy’s liquor cabinet. Yer an adult. Why not act like one? What’d you do?” he accused. “Did ya hang out at the bar?” Logan sniffed the air, eyes narrowing as he really took in Remy’s scent, or scents, plural. “Did ya meet anybody?”

“Non. Danced. Hung out.”

“Ya did more than hang out, and ya know it.” Logan’s jaw worked, and Remy’s heart raced, feeling it lodge itself up in his throat. “I’m goin’ ta bed. Eat. Stay up. Go back out. I don’t care.” He left the kitchen in a blur. “I’m done.”

Remy got up so fast from the kitchen stool that it toppled over.

“Non. Come back, chere. Where ya goin’? Huh?” He tried not to raise his voice. Logan was moving too quickly, marching up the steps quietly but quickly, taking them two at a time. Remy scrabbled after him with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

“I’m goin’ ta bed. Leave me alone.”

“Non,” Remy insisted, blocking Logan’s attempt to slam the door on him. Remy fought back and wedged himself inside insistently. Logan stared at him with disgust.

“What’re ya still doin’ here? Go back ta yer own room.” Remy hadn’t moved all of his things into Logan’s suite yet, and Charles hadn’t assigned his single room to a new student yet, either, so that gave the men a degree of separation and each of them a corner to go to when they needed a timeout.

“Don’ know why ya’ve gotta get mad. Ya didn’ wan’ Remy aroun’ all day. Didn’ act like it, anyway.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want ya around.” Logan was indignant as he shucked his jeans and tank. He crawled into bed in just his boxers and clicked on the lamp. “Turn that off.” He motioned to the wall switch. Remy obeyed and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He began to remove his boots. “What’re ya doin’?”

“Gettin’ ready for bed. What’s it look like?”

“Not here, yer not.”

“M’tired. Gonna go t’bed. Dis is where I sleep.”

“Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Ya stink.”

“Remy can take a shower, den. Can join ‘im if ya want, chere.”

“Nah. I’m fine. Do it in yer own room.”

“Like de one in here better,” Remy shrugged.

“Remy…I don’t wanna talk to ya right now. I don’t even wanna look at ya right now. I ain’t happy.” Remy paused in taking off his shirt, then turned his back as he let it drop down from his shoulders to the floor in a red puddle. He undid the tie on his ponytail and ran his hand through his hair to loosen it, ridding himself of the pressure against his tight scalp.

Logan’s disappointment and simmering anger with him soaked into him, and Remy marinated in his shame and guilt, hating himself. The sense of freedom he felt on the dance floor deserted him now. “I know ya ain’t happy, chere. But it ain’t jus’ about today. Is it.”

“No. Today pretty much sums it up. I was fine until this.”

“Non. Ya weren’t.” Remy didn’t like Logan’s sigh, or the long, charged silence that followed.

TBC…