The Thrill is Gone

Summary: The end of Eden. The honeymoon’s over, unraveling one thread at a time.

Author’s Note: I’ve been away. Writer’s block, too many incomplete stories, my sketchbook, DeviantArt (which is like crack), work, sleep and my older son getting suspended from school have all drawn my focus elsewhere. I hope this isn’t completely wretched.

I nodded briefly to Remy’s comic canon power, namely his “charm” in this chapter, since he’s an empath in most of the fanfic I’ve read, almost to the point of it becoming canon. I wanted to bring in that bit, even though this is predominantly a “no powers,” every man fic. Even though there aren’t any superhero slugfests in this story, there is that hint of mutantcy, just enough to remind anyone reading that these are X-Men, in one incarnation or another.

*

“Damn.”

“What’s de matter, mec?”

“Strong. Phew.” Logan wrinkled his nose, slightly fanning the air from the passenger seat.

“Don’ like Remy’s efforts at feng shui?”

“What the fuck…? Fung what?” Logan looked at him like he blew a gasket.

“Jus’ talkin’ shit, chere. Nah, Remy’s ex took his car out an’ had it detailed.”

“Nice of her.”

“Ya’d t’ink so.” He nodded to the small blue plastic disc that seemed to be plugged into the air conditioner grill above the glove box. “Bella got dat an’ left it in here. Ain’t Remy’s favorite. Been too lazy ta t’row it out.”

“Air freshener?”

“Designer scent,” Remy corrected him, straight-faced.

“Jeez…”

“Expectin’ maybe Country Apple?”

“None o’ my exes were into that shit, thank God. Potpourri, scented candles, room air spray…I hate all of that shit.”

“Damn. M’sorry, chere. It makin’ ya miserable over dere?”

“I’ll live.” His tone didn’t convince Remy.

“Make ya sick ta yer stomach?”

“Nah. Gives me little, persistent headaches between the eyes.”

“Aw, yeah. ‘Nuff said. First chance, it’s getting’ t’rown out.”

“Works fer me.” Remy did the next best thing in the meantime and turned off the air conditioner, opting instead to wind down the windows. The hum of sliding glass brought a rush of cool, fresh air with it. The nights were growing cooler, even though it was still warm enough every afternoon to walk outside in shirt sleeves. “Better,” he assured Remy.

“Remy aim’s t’please.”

“What? No money back guarantee?”

“Wait one hot sec, now…what’s dis ‘bout money??” Remy cocked his brow accusingly at his lover. “Ya been holdin’ out? I been givin’ ya all dis fo’ not’in?”

“Hey, who said anything about ‘you giving me’, eh?” Remy grumbled something under his breath, feigning disgruntlement. The sound changed to a grunt of surprise when Logan’s broad, warm palm cupped Remy’s denim-clad thigh and squeezed.

“Wanna make me wreck, ya jus’ keep doin’ dat.”

“That an order?” His grip mellowed only slightly; his caress was rough as he kneaded Remy’s supple muscles, feeling them bunch with tension beneath his hand. His middle fingertip drew lazy patterns over Remy’s inner thigh, where he was sensitive and extraordinarily ticklish.

“Oh, sh-“ Remy stiffened in his seat and caught Logan’s hand, pinning it flat against him. “Not now,” he whined hoarsely. He darted a look at Logan peripherally, catching his sheepish look, but there was lust in his eyes.

He positively radiated it. Remy was suddenly wading into its rolling, lapping heat.

“Remy jus’ serviced it. Insurance premium’s high enough, chere. Please. Later?”

“Promise?” Remy’s answering nod was jerky. Logan’s hand against him, beneath Remy’s protective grip, felt hot. They reached an intersection four cars ahead of them.

Red light. Remy suppressed a whimper.

“C’mon, chere…awww…!” Remy had loosened his grip with the intent to let Logan go, but his palm eased down to the nook of his crotch, sliding greedily over the throbbing knot of flesh between his legs. Logan felt the answering pull in his own loins as heat and need built within him. He massaged and kneaded him, developing a wicked rhythm. Remy leaned back in his seat slightly, stifled by the safety belt and the dashboard that suddenly felt too close.

“Nice,” Logan murmured. “Feel so damned good, Rem. Yer hard fer me?”

“Yeah,” he said, barely intelligible.

“Wanna strip ya down and bend ya over,” Logan told him. His voice was full of dark, luscious things, things that would make Remy lose all reason and control.

Then again, what had reason and control every done for him, anyway?

“Harder,” he rasped. “What else?”

“Ya want more than just me fuckin’ ya? Hard and fast? Huh? Want me ta pound ya? Take that tight, sweet ass of yers an’ just…mmmmmmmm,” he thrummed, licking his lips at the thought. He fondled Remy more firmly, finding a sweet spot. Remy turned up the staticky radio slightly, wanting to make sure their conversation didn’t drift out of the car while they idled.

Fortunately or unfortunately, it was a long red light.

“Freeway,” Logan said as he pried open the copper button of Remy’s jeans, granting him some momentary relief from how tight they felt on him.

“Gonna be late,” Remy argued, but the tearing of zipper teeth and resulting draft of cool air on his belly was making it impossible to deny Logan.

“Don’t matter, does it? Huh? Gonna be upset if we miss a few minutes, baby?” Logan crooned as his fingertips grazed Remy’s belly, exploring the texture of the crisp hairs trailing down beneath his navel.

“Damn it!” Remy closed his eyes, shivering and tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

He longed for Logan’s mouth on him, to have his erection pressed up against his back while his lips traced his throat.

The horn blared behind them while the green light swam in Remy’s line of vision.

“Go,” Logan whispered. “Freeway.” His voice sounded ragged, too. Remy drove, but it was killing him. He turned onto the on-ramp slightly faster than the speed limit. The stars overhead raced by, and street lights’ sheets of eerie light scraped over them with each that they passed. The hollows beneath Logan’s eyes and in his cheekbones were stark in the darkness. He found Remy in the dark, straining and flexing hotly in his hand, silky and turgid. He slicked his thumb over the leaking tip, making a sound of satisfaction.

“Want you,” he said, disconnecting his lap belt and descending toward Remy’s lap.

“Nnnnghh…” His hot breath reached his flesh first, then the sweet slickness enclosed him, making his eyes snap open wide. “CHERE! AW, GAWD!”

“Drive,” Logan murmured around him before steadfastly flattening his tongue against him, pushing the thick knob against the roof of his mouth.

It was becoming the best road trip he ever had.

Remy’s shirt was stifling him. The road was mostly deserted; Remy had at least fifteen cars’ worth of space around him in either direction. No police cars in sight.

Just Logan in the passenger seat, drawing on him, moaning around him in pleasure at the feel of him between his lips. Remy couldn’t stand it.

He needed to be bare. It taxed him to keep his bearings as the speedometer crept up to sixty, then sixty-five. Remy slipped himself free of the shoulder harness long enough to reach behind his neck and grasp his shirt collar. He jerked it neatly off, wadding it up and tossing it behind him into the back seat. His nipples were stiff and yearning for attention. Logan found one, flicking his finger over it, then rolling it gently in time with his shunts over Remy’s cock. Remy’s fingers of his free hand removed Logan’s Stetson, letting it drift to the car mat. Logan’s thick, coarse waves of hair felt right, clenched in his grip.

They were locked in a surreal, feverish waltz of cool night air rippling over them, nearly drowning out the radio and Remy’s pants and prayers that yeah, oh God, Logan, it felt so good, would he please do it again, harder, faster…” He couldn’t thrust his hips up into Logan’s wetness without accidentally flooring the gas. Logan reached for his mouth, teasing his lips with the thick, calloused pad of his thumb. Remy suckled it, moaning. Logan rubbed his damp digit over his nipple again, and precum flowed more freely, bringing him Remy’s salty, pungent male flavors.

Speed enhanced it. The full moon accused them, chided them, but illuminated the contours of their bodies. Trees raced by, along with a suspiciously familiar exit sign.

Remy didn’t care.

The purr of his engine shuddered through them, uneven with the jerking of changing gears and speeds.

“So close,” Remy grated out. “Please, baby…come…gonna come…” He slapped Logan’s back, not meaning to, but it was so hard, not being able to fully grip him, caress him aside from digging his fingers into him, barely scraping the bumps of his spine. Logan’s breathing quickened at the feelings, the memories that roughness evoked, Remy clawing his back and roaring his name as he rode him.

“Too much,” he insisted. He watched their surroundings change.

An exit. A one-way ticket to nirvana. It wasn’t Remy’s best right turn, but he couldn’t afford to be picky, not with the havoc this man wrought in his body, making every muscle tense in anticipation and excitement.

Trees. He saw trees. An orchard just beyond a stretch of tall, wire-link fence. He prayed the owners didn’t live in a farmhouse nearby as he slowed the car, searching for a place to stop. Without even stopping his chore, Logan turned the radio off. Remy pulled off the paved road and rolled onto the gravel behind a cluster of what looked like apple trees studded with hard green knots.

Finally…

Logan almost lost his grip on him as Remy slid his seat the rest of the way back, both to accommodate him and his own long legs. Logan moaned loudly over how good he tasted and the feel of Remy’s hands sliding over his back, dipping beneath the back of his waistband. Logan felt the inadvertent thump of the seat belt buckle slap him in the temple as Remy unfastened it, but all he did was grunt in protest.

“Sorry,” Remy whispered.

“S’okay.” Logan only came up for air when Remy worked off his shirt, for he, too, needed to see him bare.

He didn’t know how they made it out of the car, who disengaged first. Remy felt the cool air caress his heated flesh more freely as he eased himself on top of the hood. His cock bobbed slightly, standing erect and waiting. He leaned back on his elbows, crooking his finger for him to take him.

“Can’t wait, chere.”

“Ain’t gonna wait for it anymore,” Logan promised. “That ass is mine.”

“Gonna finish what ya started?”

“That’s mine, too. G’wan, move up all the way. That’s it. Damn, yer so fuckin’ fine, I’m gonna fuck you into next week!” Thrills shivered up Remy’s spine as Logan roughly nudged him back and worked him out of his jeans, taking his sneakers with them. He descended on his cock again, but let Remy’s thighs fall slack, opening for him. He caressed Remy’s taint, making him cry out. His fingers stroked his sac, tickling them as he swallowed him, again and again. Remy pulsed within the walls of Logan’s throat. His fingers went back into his wonderful hair, combing through it and scraping his nails over his scalp.

A thick fingertip probed him where he was vulnerable, and Remy shuddered, opening his legs even wider for Logan. He fell back, yelping at first as he felt the cooling metal against his skin, but it fell away in a rush of tingles as Logan’s hand thrust into him, reacquainting him with his secrets and tender places. Logan was a thorough lover, and the things he did to Remy shook him to the core.

The fleeting feeling that it could all be gone in an instant left him cold and panicked. Remy gave a little choked sob, different from his moans before.

“Ya okay?” Logan murmured, peering up at him in concern. He kissed the tip of his member and let his hand rest inside him while Remy collected his thoughts. His thumb gently stroked his sac. Remy nodded.

“Don’ stop. Feels so good. Ya feel so good.”

“Come for me,” he rumbled. “Ya know ya want to. Come for me.” He set upon him again in earnest, and Remy was lost.

His mouth tugged and pulled on him, faster, harder, deeper, hotter. A hint of Logan’s saliva mingled with Remy’s precum and their juices mingled, drizzling into the coarse nest of hair.

“YespleaseohGodOUI, CHERE, OUI! C’mon, baby, c’mon…” He shuddered and bucked as pleasure overtook him. His eyes beseeched Logan; the sight of his fulfillment flitting over his handsome features moved him.

“I want you,” Logan cried. “God damn it, Rem. I want you. Ya always make me want you.” His voice was rough and his hands weren’t gentle as they jerked Remy up, even though he didn’t have the strength to do more than sprawl limply back on the hood.

Logan flipped him neatly onto his stomach. He flinched at the feel of his deflating cock thumping the metal, but Logan’s hands were on him again, groping and kneading him, probing him.

“Tight…nice,” Logan hissed. “Want you…” Remy heard the rustling of his jeans and the scrape of gravel as Logan kicked off his shoes. He peered back over his shoulder, craning his neck. He saw the determined, hard look on Logan’s face and shivered.

His tongue. Oh, Dieu… His tongue.

It was back. It was undoing him. It was fucking him so sweetly, seducing him like a lover itself. Logan’s breath was hot, steaming him open and dampening his tender tissues as he worked himself inside.

“Mmmmmph,” he groaned, voice garbled but filled with need. Remy grew weak in the knees and clung to the hood for support.

Logan’s mouth was finished too soon. But Remy felt him clap his broad hand around the scruff of his neck, taking ownership as his cock butted against his crease.

“Ya want it?” he whispered. “Ya want it, Rem? Wanna feel me inside ya?”

“Oui,” he pleaded, almost whimpering. “Please, chere…”

“Want my cock? Huh? Like it when it’s inside ya? Pumpin’ ya and poundin’ ya hard? Want me ta make ya scream, darlin’?” His breath crept in sneaky tendrils around the shell of Remy’s ear, stirring wisps of his hair. Even as he spoke, the head of his cock was already pushing at him, dilating him slowly, urging the supple little knot of muscle to give way.

Logan continued his wicked words, taunting him. “I don’t think ya want it enough.” He was barely inside him, breaching him no farther than the swollen head. He wiggled his hips, barely flexing. The breeze felt heady as it stroked their naked bodies in the dark. Remy butted back against him, craving him, wanting him sheathed inside him.

“I wan’ it! C’mon, baby, please!”

“I don’t believe you.”

He wanted Remy to talk dirty to him, even though Remy could feel how hard he was already. The ring of tissue at Remy’s entrance burned and strained around the flesh probing it.

“Wan’ ya t’fuck me so badly. Fuck me long an’ hard. Don’ wanna be able t’walk straight when yer t’rough.”

“Yeah?” Logan’s voice was shaky. He nipped Remy’s neck and swiveled his hips, barely giving Remy an inch, then taking it away. He whimpered. Logan was killing him…

“No’tin’ feels as good as when ya take me. Not’in feels like you,” Remy panted. Logan gave another brief thrust, then another, barely adding another inch. Logan found Remy’s sensitive nipple and tweaked it. “Remy can’ get enough,” he admitted.

“Ya can’t, huh? Like this?” He shunted inside him with a swift, hard thrust, dragging a guttural cry from Remy. “Or like this?”

“Yeah, like dat, chere. Jus’ like dat.”

“Ya like that, darlin’? Want more? Want more of my cock, just where ya like it? Huh? That feel good?”

It felt fantastic.

Remy answered him with a string of syllables that deteriorated into a long, shuddering groan.

“Didn’t catch that, darlin’. Tell me again how ya like me inside this sweet ass. Sweet, tight ass…damn it, Remy, feel so right…nice…nnngghh…” Logan was coming undone himself, squeezed by Remy’s luscious heat.

He reached his prostate. Remy sang out, slapping the hood of the car until his palms stung as Logan now rutted and pounded into him.

“Yer all mine now,” Logan whispered.

“Don’ stop.”

“Never.”

Logan gripped Remy’s hip, fingers nearly bruising his supple skin; the other hand closed around his nape snugly, declaring ownership. Remy loved his rough possession of him, taking control of his pleasure. Sensations flooded him, tingling through every nerve in his body.

Logan realized in that one vulnerable instant that it was true. He couldn’t get enough of him. It dogged him for weeks, that Remy leaked into his system like a drug, and that craving him became a habit. A monkey on Logan’s back.

This was never supposed to happen. The most that he’d ever expected, ever even asked was a roll in the hay. Maybe more than once, the kind where the only effort you put into being with someone meant remembering their name the next morning.

Conflicting voices in his mind, in his heart fought, clenching his jaw and quickening his thrusts.

Nothing feels like you, Remy had told him.

No one makes me feel like you do. He heard the voice plain as day in his head, and realized it was his own. But he felt it, so intensely and with a depth that shook him.

Because it was shared.

Logan heard the hitch in Remy’s voice and breathing, body tensing beneath him, realizing Logan discovered the link between them, the connection Remy made. It was instinctive.

Yet invasive.

Logan pummeled him raw, ruthlessly. Remy drowned in a tide of emotions, all of them tearing at him and pulling him under.

Logan’s denial tinged the rapture between them bittersweet.

“Come fer me,” Logan rasped. “Come fer me, damn it…”

Remy obeyed.

Logan followed.

They pitched into abyss together, thrilled, terrified, speechless.

Moments later, both of them were shuddering and twitching, still engaged. Remy’s strength was nearly gone, reserved only for the task of propping himself against the hood. Logan’s breath gusted over his ear.

Sensory overload threatened him when Logan was in such a state, exhausted and still unable to get his bearings. Sounds of crickets and birds mingled with the wind. He still smelled a hint of the cloying vanilla air freshener, a sacrilege against the cleaner, purer scent of apple trees. He smelled and tasted Remy’s sweat, nearly – but not quite – missing the hint of saline in the air, missing the pungence of perspiration.

One hot tear was all Remy allowed himself. It dripped from his eye, hitting the hood with an indiscernible tap.

Logan still embraced him like his life depended on it.

He hated himself for it.

But he kissed him. Wherever his lips landed on Remy’s bare skin, he kissed him, and his hand captured Remy’s, which was trembling. Remy reflexively spread his fingers apart, waiting for Logan to lace his between them. Their grip on each other was so tight it defied blood flow and whitened their knuckles.

Neither of them wanted to let go.

*

They rose shakily to their feet, separating to stretch and retrieve lost clothes.

Remy eased into his jeans and composed himself, only then noticing the icy tear track on his cheek. His back was to Logan as he threaded his arms through the sleeves of his tee. Hastily he wiped it away, glad it was dark out and Logan wouldn’t be able to see anything was wrong with his eyes.

Strong yet gentle hands stopped his progress with the shirt.

“Rem, look at me.”

“Still wanna see de movie, chere?”

“We’ve missed this much. It ain’t gonna matter if we’re a little later.”

“Suit y’self,” Remy shrugged cavalierly. Logan was also only half-dressed. He tugged Remy’s tee from his grip and chucked it onto the hood of the car, then tugged him over to lean back against it.

Logan held his hand, lacing their fingers together again, knowing anything more was too tempting, that he already felt too exposed. It was the easiest thing in the world to succumb to the call of what lay between them, but Logan needed straight talk, something he wouldn’t get if he continued to attack Remy’s mouth.

“Whatsamatter, bub? I do somethin’ ta bother ya? Hurt ya?”

“Non, chere. Not’in’ ya did.”

“I ain’t convinced right now.” Tension thrummed in Remy’s forearm, and Logan tightened his grip on him. The kid was trying to pull away from him. He wouldn’t make it easy. “Ya know things have been gettin’ kinda heavy between us.”

“It’s been fun,” Remy pointed out.

“Damn right it has. I ain’t gonna lie.” Remy cleared his throat.

“And ya don’ hafta. No matter what ya ever hafta tell Remy, ya don’ ever hafta mince words or leave anyt’in’ out.”

“Rem,” Logan blurted out. “Maybe this is goin’ too fast.”

The damning words were out in the open.

“Ya t’ink so.”

“No. I’m wonderin’ if you think so.”

“It ain’t dat Remy t’inks it’s goin’ too fast. Jus’ dat he wonders where ya were wantin’ t’see it go. ‘Cuz I ain’ dat sure m’self. An’ Remy got a lil’ secret, mec.”

“Okay.” Logan stiffened. He hated secrets.

He braced himself. Whatever it was, it was either something they could surpass and overcome together with the truth, or it would provide him with the easy goodbye that he searched for the moment they met eyes, when they felt that electricity.

But goodbye was never easy. Only inevitable…

Remy felt the emotions brewing within Logan, the anticipation, that…unhappy sense of satisfaction a person had when they realized I knew it. I knew this wouldn’t work.

Remy spoke, not wanting to leave Logan in suspense. “I can feel you. What yer feelin’, homme.”

“So ya just have good instincts.”

“Non. More den dat.” Logan’s chuckle died.

“Whaddya mean?”

“I mean I feel what ya feel.”

“Like a friggin’ mind reader?”

“Non.” Remy eyed him levelly. “An empat’.”

“Are ya shittin’ me. Tell me yer shittin’ me.”

“Non.”

“So…what? Does that take the guess work outta bein’ together?”

“Hell, naw. Jus’ said I ain’ a mind reader, mec.”

“But ya know my feelin’s.”

“Oui.”

Logan suddenly felt hollow, like someone indeed carved out his insides with a shining ice cream scoop, gouging through him and dumping the contents out on the ground for the world to see.

“So as an empath…ya feel what I do. There anything else to it?”

“Like what?”

“Well, c’mon, Rem…” Logan carefully removed himself from their bond, shaking his fingers loose. “Ya read feelin’s. How about controllin’ ‘em?”

“Excuse de fuck outta me,” Remy murmured incredulously. “Maybe I’m hearin’ t’ings, but did ya jus’ accuse me of manipulatin’ how ya feel? Jus’ so’m not mistaken…wanna run dat by me again?” Heat crept into his cheeks, along with an ugly buzzing in his ears. He sat up from the hood and took back his shirt, jerking it back on. Logan was almost grateful not to have the distraction of his bare chest tempting him to touch him again. He sighed heavily, rubbing his nape.

“Whaddya want me ta think?”

“I wan’ ya t’trust me, mec,” Remy said flatly. “But m’ gettin’ de impression dat ya might not be down wit’ dat.”

“It ain’t that I don’t wanna trust you,” Logan argued.

He emphasized you like that made a difference.

What they had was more tenuous than Remy wanted to admit, still so much more fragile than he’d even guessed.

“I’ve dealt with bullshit before,” Logan continued. “It’s been a while since I’ve had ta deal with anyone else’s but my own. If we take this any further…”

“Because Remy’s tossed so much shit on yer doorstep up until now,” Remy hissed, interrupting him. “My mistake. T’ought I kept m’own dirty laundry to m’self.”

“Ya have, kid…damn it!” He tossed Logan his shirt, practically throwing it in his face.

“G’wan. Get in. No point hangin’ ‘round fo’ someone t’turn on de lights, non?” Remy was back in the driver’s seat in a flash and had the key in the ignition, door slammed lickety-split. Logan blinked at the sudden glare of the headlights and the radio’s blare as the car rumbled to life. Frustration swamped him.

They drove back onto the freeway, both content to just listen to the radio once a game came on. Logan didn’t trust himself not to talk over music or to be even a little irritated over whatever song that played while he felt like this.

Their first argument. Possibly their last. He already wanted to erase the taste of it from his mouth, rewind, delete, anything to negate the past twenty minutes.

Absently Remy caught sight of the air freshener still tucked into the grill. He punched the window control and rolled it down, snatched the clip loose and tossed the cartridge into the rushing wind.

“Didn’t hafta litter,” Logan mumbled.

“Don’ give a shit right now,” he replied, leaving the window down so the fresh air could clear his head.

A few minutes later, as Remy found the exit for downtown, Logan roused himself from the spell woven by the racing, flickering lights of the line of cars and streetlights when they neared the intersection.

“Rem, I’m sorry.”

“Ya tol’ me how ya feel. Don’ be sorry.”

“I didn’t mean ta sound like an ass in the process.” Remy shrugged, but he wouldn’t look at him.

“Eh. Guess ya can’t help it if de truth sounds like shit, non?” Remy glanced at him briefly, then deprived Logan of his glowing ruby eyes when he turned back to his driving. No distractions, this time. Logan read his intent loud and clear.

They pulled into the movie multiplex parking lot and found a spot up front.

“What’s that smell?” Logan murmured, wrinkling his nose again.

“Not’in,” Remy insisted as he set the parking brake.

“It ain’t just the vanilla.”

“Shoudn’t be anyt’in. Car’s clean,” he shrugged.

“I guess…” They got out of the car, and Logan put that thought aside. Remy almost appreciated the change of subject. Almost.

They shrugged off the ticket clerk’s observation that they’d already missed a chunk of the seven o’clock showing, and wouldn’t they prefer the nine?

“Two,” Remy argued, shoving a twenty under the slot. The clerk sighed and counted off his change with a rapid flick of her long, hot pink nails.

“Enjoy the show.”

“Merci,” Remy said with a wink that made her mouth drop open in lust. Logan scowled at his back as he followed him into the lobby.

He ordered the popcorn and sprang for it before Remy could take any more money out of his wallet.

“Extra butter? And an extra large 7-Up?”

“Remy don’ wan’ anyt’in’.”

“If ya change yer mind, we share. If not, no big deal,” Logan said matter-of-factly. His voice was overly patient. Remy snorted under his breath.

“Jamie?”

Logan jerked his head toward the familiar voice and his gut wound itself into a hard knot.

Walt.

His former lover’s blue eyes were riveted on him, quickly drinking in every detail before they darted to Remy. They narrowed.

The closer he came, the more Remy found himself tipping his head back to look up…then up…

“Damn,” he muttered. Logan was right. Walter was huge.

“Small world,” Logan offered. “How’s it goin’.”

“Some coincidence, huh? Hey.” He automatically thrust his hand out to Remy. Remy juggled the soda to his opposite hand and gripped it, then nearly regretted it. Walt apparently didn’t know his own strength. Remy’s fingers throbbed when Walter was done pumping his arm off in greeting. “You are…?”

“LeBeau. Remy.”

“Walter Langkowski. Which show are you here to see?” he asked Logan. Remy’s brows drew together.

“Terminator.”

“We got seats right in the middle. Showed up early.”

“Almost didn’t make it,” Logan admitted. His face flushed with the memory of why.

“Always used to be pretty punctual.”

“Ran into a few obstacles.” Namely Remy’s pants…and his sneakers…and his briefs…and his- “No point in missin’ any more of the show. Don’t let us keep ya.”

“I’m just getting a refill on the popcorn,” he said nonchalantly, holding up the empty bucket. Out of the corner of Remy’s eye, something in blue and black swam into view from the roped-off entrance.

“Walt! Shake a leg! Thought ya were just gonna get a refill, not the whole damned counter.” The owner of that gruff, raspy voice lumbered over and clapped a large hand over Walt’s shoulder, a clear sign of possession. His chest grazed Walter’s back, and Logan and Remy were astonished to see that this new visitor was easily as tall as he was, with thick blond hair clubbed back in a ponytail. He was dressed casually in a black ribbed wifebeater and faded jeans. Snakeskin cowboy boots shod his feet.

“Hold your horses,” Walt offered, smirking. He snaked his arm around his waist and never took his eyes off of Logan as his friend leaned in and bit his neck. “Vic…Logan.” He nodded to him. “And…?”

“Remy,” he repeated, fighting the urge to walk off without any further pleasantry. His cool red-on-black eyes whispered Fuck off.

He felt a tug at his waistband, felt his body being shifted slightly as Logan’s finger threaded itself through one of his belt loops. He was suddenly close enough to feel his warm breath fanning over his shoulder as he spoke.

“We ain’t gonna keep ya.” Logan nodded to Vic. “Don’t be a cheap date.”

“Bye, guys,” Vic purred, saluting them. Scorn dripped from his smile. Walt’s eyes followed them, full of questions.

Remy felt his disappointment radiating from him and fought a tiny smile of triumph. He squelched it when Logan’s frustration drifted around him, but it was tempered by relief.

The movie was in full swing. Explosions and Dolby sound assailed them as soon as they made it to the aisle, wisely sitting up in the back. Remy noticed Walt and Vic making their way back toward the front not even two minutes later, without the popcorn, but Vic leaned his head back and popped what looked like a Mike and Ike from the box he held into his mouth.

The tension drained from them bit by bit as they watched the escapism before them, getting lost in the story and special effects. They munched the popcorn down to the dregs and shared the soda, parking it in the armrest between them.

Before that night, they would have held hands, teasing each other.

Walt. Just what Logan’s night needed. Great.

“Be back in a sec,” Logan murmured. “Men’s.”

“Lemme let ya out.” Remy leaned back as far as he could against the seat to let him get by, as though his touch would scorch him. Logan read him loud and clear. The kid was still mad at him.

He counted the pattern blocks in the carpet on his way to the rest room, remembering his theater number. He made a beeline for the urinal, wincing at the scent of the air freshener that wafted up to his nostrils, but at least it was justified.

He’d no sooner unzipped then he heard heavy footsteps behind him over the sound of his own stream hitting the porcelain. He felt eyes on his back, then saw a lumbering, large figure in his periphery, unzipping at the basin next to him.

“Small world, eh?” Vic stared straight ahead, but Logan still felt scrutinized.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“Thought about the later show, but Walt has ta get up ta make a few mornin’ appointments. Know how busy he is, eh?”

“Can’t nail him down. Hardworkin’ man.”

“Didn’t say I couldn’t nail him down.” Logan’s expression didn’t change.

He knew when he was being baited.

“Hard ta convince him when it’s time ta take a load off. Gotta remind him when ta eat, sometimes.”

“I bet.”

“He still likes havin’ someone ta come home to. Work at a lumber yard, myself. Up early. Home early. He always knows where I am.”

“Lucky fer Walt.” Logan ignored the feel of blue eyes sizing him up…literally…as he glanced down, over the partition between them.

Vic huffed. “Don’t wanna keep a good man guessin’. Not when he treats me so well, y’know?”

“Then yer probably good fer him,” Logan agreed. He gave himself a brief shake, flicking off one last droplet before he backed away. The hands-free sensor triggered itself just as he zipped up and headed for the sink.

“So why were ya really late, bub?”

“Don’t see why ya need t’know.”

“Guess ya wouldn’t see why. I can smell him all over ya.” Logan punched the button on the soap dispenser needlessly hard and scrubbed his hands briskly under the warm spray.

“Then why even ask? Ya already think ya know everything, even though there ain’t anything ta know.” If Logan was even remotely surprised about Vic’s observation about his scent, he didn’t give him an inkling.

He thought better of it as he took his leave, eyeing Vic’s reflection beside him at the sink. “A word?”

“Shoot?”

“When he stops bein’ happy with yer reason fer why ya show up late, even if it’s just gettin’ caught in traffic…pack yer shit.”

*

Logan didn’t know why he bothered warning him. Walt was a big boy, he could take care of himself. Ditto for his new squeeze. Logan almost feared for his ex’s safety.

Logan and Remy didn’t stay to read the credits. They nimbly skirted around the crowd, cutting through rows of seats until they made it to the exit ahead of Walt and Vic. Remy felt jarred by the sudden dispersion of emotions as the crowd filed out of the theater. They returned to the lot, much to Logan’s relief.

They said little as they climbed into the car.

“Looked like the Bobsy Twins,” Logan muttered.

“No shit,” Remy agreed, but he wasn’t smiling. Then he added “He actually reminded me of you.”

“Get outta here with that shit.”

“Naw. He did. Had that same hard, wild look ‘round de eyes dat y’get sometimes. An’ somet’in bout de set of his mouth.”

“Hard an’ wild. Geez.”

“Ain’t an insult. Jus’ once in a great while, homme, ya change. Ya seem to retreat inta yerself. Don’ let anyone in.”

“I ain’t Fort Knox. I just ain’t a pushover. Not anymore.”

The niggling scent was back, irritating him. Where had he smelled it before?

It wasn’t incense, thank goodness. Silver had loved that crap, and she’d even tried to bring his apartment in line with her feng shui kick for a while. Logan clearly remembered having to rearrange his furniture after they broke up. The incense sticks were the first thing he threw out.

It wasn’t potpourri. It almost reminded him of cigarette smoke, but it wasn’t any tobacco that Logan had smelled. His own taste ran toward a good Cuban cigar once in a blue moon.

It was just…strange. Definitely organic.

“Ya haven’t carried fertilizer in yer trunk lately?”

“Last I checked, I live in an apartment, chere,” he pointed out.

They had more pressing matters laying between them, but Logan focused on that, giving it more attention than it deserved.

His nose never lied to him. Unlike people.

Then it came back to him.

Before Logan met Walt, shortly before he’d dropped out of college, he’d dated a girl named Mariko. International student, gorgeous smile. Her father made his fortune in wholesaling, or so she said. Her roommate Itsu ran a little wild. Between the two of them, she was the slob who drank the last of the milk without buying more.

Sometimes, when Mariko invited him to stay the night, Logan grimaced at the smell lingering in the living room, or emanating from Itsu’s bedroom that often made him want to take Mariko back to his own place. It reminded him of burning hay, even slightly reminiscent of the pet food sold at the grain mill down the road.

“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” Mariko tsked.

“Do what?”

“Get high.”

“Yer kiddin’.”

“Nope. She keeps it in the medicine cabinet. Little Ziploc baggies. I even caught her with some plants she was keeping for someone else. I almost kicked her out.”

*

“Shit,” Logan murmured.

“What?”

“Shit,” Logan repeated. “That’s what that is.”

“Run that by me again?”

“Pot,” Logan asserted.

“Naw it ain’t.” Remy scowled and impatiently tapped his fingers to the radio, this time tuned to an oldies station.

But he breathed in that scent more objectively. Logan caught his chest expanding more broadly, nostrils flaring as he tried to determine what he smelled.

“Ya know I’m right,” Logan said quietly.

Remy said nothing.

Inside, he panicked.

Julien. Bella protected him again. Remy washed his hands of him, time and time again, only for the stain to remain.

He felt Logan’s feelings of betrayal and shrank back. Those dark eyes accused him one more time before he turned away, staring out the window.

They were miserable the rest of the way home.

Remy gave it long, hard thought, arriving at one conclusion that could compromise everything. It was the only way.

Remy parked in the street, letting Logan out. He was already reaching for the keys to his truck and crossing the street, not planning to kiss Remy goodnight.

He reached his truck and paused.

Hope flared in Remy’s chest, fleeting but precious.

“Rem? Don’t ya have anything ta say?”

It’s better this way, chere.

“Non.”

Logan drove off without another word.