I'm the Only One to Blame

“Whaddya want me ta say?”

Remy stood across the room, not wanting to face him. He looked like a sullen, hurt little boy, shirtless and arms clasped across his middle. Logan’s words washed over him, eerily calm and tired, but he would have almost preferred it if he’d been shouting at him. He could vent and feel justified in his own anger if he did.

Instead, Logan’s slow, even words cut into him and stabbed his heart.

“I don’t know why ya did what ya did. I don’t know how ya want me ta feel. I ain’t happy about what happened.”

“Yer not happy wit’ me,” Remy said dully, throat tight.

“I’m scared shitless. I’ve been worried that I ain’t enough for ya, Rem. That I can’t keep up with ya. And tonight, I think ya proved me right.”

Dread washed over Remy in a rush, and his heart seized in panic. His eyes snapped open wide, and he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. His mouth wouldn’t work right and he began to stammer.

“What? No. Uh-uh. D-don’t say dat, mi. Non. Ain’t true. D-dat ain’t true…” The flush of heat from the alcohol was gone, and Remy started shivering now that his shirt lay on the floor. He ached to crawl up against Logan to get warm, but Logan sat bolt upright against the headboard, watching him with a calm, stony stare. He cleared his throat, swallowing around a lump. “Remy went too far.”

“Yeah. Ya did.” Logan agreeing with him didn’t calm the terror in his heart.

“Logan, listen t’me, all right? Ya gotta listen t’me, mec-“

“Ya ain’t gonna say anything I wanna hear right now.”

“Oui; m’gonna say what needs t’be said, cuz ya hafta understand me.”

“Good luck,” Logan told him cavalierly. He continued to sit there, not relaxing a bit, and he folded his arms with a heavy sigh. Remy was tired and wanted so much to be near him that it was killing him, but there were so many words that he’d held back for so long.

“Sometimes ya shut me out. Ya get so damned moody, and…I wanna be close t’you.” He shook his head, and he felt his eyes prick but mastered it. “Ya just close up…and it’s hard. I wanna do t’ings t’cheer ya up, and I suggest t’ings we could do…never seems t’help.”

“We don’t always have ta like the same shit, Rem. It ain’t yer fault. Sometimes I’m just down.”

“I hate it when yer down. I wanna take it…away from you.” Remy’s voice faltered and caught. He took a deep, strained breath. “Today was one o’ dose days. Been more frequent, lately.”

“Yeah? Wow.” Logan was contemplative for a moment, and his frown softened slightly, but Remy could feel how set he was against him, how wrong he felt Remy was. He hated those emotions of denial, but he had to make himself heard. So much depended on it, even though Remy had been the one who did wrong tonight.

“Feel like…nut’in’ I do is enough, and when dat happens…I can’t take a breath. When yer sad, I feel sad, mec. I wanna lift it off you. Ya won’t let it go. I need ya ta let it go, Logan. Need it real bad.” A lone tear dripped from his eye before he could catch it, and Remy cleared his throat again.

“I can’t. And yer just gonna hafta face that, Rem. I can’t let it go, and there ain’t much ya can do about it, except be with me. When things are goin’ well between us, it’s good. Ya might not know that I’m happy, or at least ya don’t think ya do, but I’m happy.” Something in his tone was plaintive, but he was also matter-of-fact and blunt. “I ain’t all sunshine and giggles. Ya know that about me by now.”

“Never wanted ya ta be. Jus’ wanted t’know if what I can give ya is good for ya. If it makes ya feel good t’be wit’ Remy.”

“Whadda ya think?” Logan snapped. “I wouldn’t be if ya didn’t!”

“Dat ain’t enough,” Remy pronounced.

“Then what’s enough?”

“Gotta be open wit’ me. Can’t be like what it wuz today, or even lately. Ya are who ya are. Dat’s why I fell in love wit’ you.” Logan stiffened, and his nostrils flared. His breathing was deep and noisy, filling and lowering the broad, barrel chest in hard bursts.

“Don’t sit here an’ tell me ya love me now,” Logan muttered. “Ya ain’t gonna use me or sway me that way, Rem. Love don’t give ya the excuse ta bring me drama.”

“Den yer gonna be disappointed in ol’ Remy. I ain’t perfect. Gonna hafta occasionally expect a lil’ drama. I feel t’ings, mec. Real damned sensitive about it, too. Ya don’t open up. I get dat.” He kept his voice even and his back straight and proud, fingers clenching periodically as he gathered his thoughts. “But I need ya t’be open wit’ me. Not jus’ me feelin’ what you feel. I don’ like feelin’ like I gotta pry or read yer mind, mec.” His features twisted a moment, but he fought letting them crumple. “Ya gotta share it wit’ me. When yer sad…it leaks out. I sop it up like a sponge. Can’t help it, an’ I can’t shut it out. Ya got strong emotions. I can’t resist ‘em or shut ‘em out, but sometimes, ya contradict yerself. Remy don’t know whether he’s comin’ or goin’. An’ it’s hard. And I need a release.”

“What? Ya wanna go, then go!” Logan insisted, finally cracking, even though he was trying to contain it.

“Dat ain’t it!”

“Then what? What is it?”

“I don’t wanna go. I want you. I want you,” Remy insisted, his voice growing weaker as he spoke. Staying composed was futile at this point. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, and he could only seem to find all the wrong words. He just kept digging himself in deeper. He shook his head. “I want you,” he repeated, and on the last word, his voice finally broke. “I never said I didn’ wan’ you.”

“I don’t think ya wanna be with me if ya could do something like what ya did tonight. Ya did that because ya needed a break from me.” Remy shook his head.

“Dat’s not it!”

“Yes it is!” Logan demanded. “It is! Ya don’t wanna admit it! Ya think I ain’t been through this before??”

“I…I needed ta f-feel…”

“What? What the fuck did ya need ta feel?”

“Like I make a difference,” Remy whispered. With that, he fled.

Logan suddenly didn’t feel justified. He felt horrible.

*

Remy took long, agonizing minutes to indulge his grief. He’d lost him. They’d barely won what they had, and he’d thrown it away, on one foolish night. Remy hated himself.

He craved another drink but knew it wouldn’t help. He’d collapsed by his bed, not even bothering to crawl beneath the covers, and hot tears rolled down his cheeks in torrents as he knelt and sobbed into his folded arms. His knees were sore from the position, and he was still chilled from his lack of a shirt, but he couldn’t do anything but wallow in the misery he’d brought on himself.

He ignored the sound of low footsteps in the corridor. A low tap on the door didn’t slow his low, hoarse sobs. “Rem. C’mon.”

“G’wan. Get into bed, mec. Yer tired. Ya told me dat already.”

“Let me in.”

“Ya…wanted…t’sleep in yer own bed. Don’ hassle yerself, mec.”

“Ya even left yer stuff in my room.”

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” Remy hiccupped. “Jus’ leave it alone. M’done. Ain’ gonna bot’er ya anymore tonight.”

“It’s too fuckin’ late for that. I’m bothered.” He heard Logan’s low, aggravated sigh. “And I’m pissed. I ain’t gonna go ta bed feelin’ like this.”

“Don’ wanna talk about it anymore. Don’ know what ta tell ya.” Remy hated talking to him through a door, but he was so tired and so torn up. He kept shaking his head, musing to himself that he’d ruined it all.

He heard his door crack open and felt Logan’s dark, intense eyes staring holes into his back. “Rem.” His voice wasn’t muffled by that barrier anymore. “Remy, look at me.”

“Non. Can’t.”

“Remy. C’mere.”

“Please don’t.”

Logan plodded over to the bed and Remy felt the edge of it sink down from under him with Logan’s weight. A large, heavy hand settled at Remy’s nape, giving it a brief squeeze before he stroked his rumpled spill of chestnut hair. “Damn it, Remy.”

“Leave me alone,” Remy whispered. “Jus’ leave me alone. Does it make ya feel any better that I wuz…wrong?”

“No.”

“Ya hate me.”

“I could never hate you.” Fresh tears followed the cooling tracks on his cheeks and dripped onto the comforter.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I drove ya to it in some ways. But ya can’t play with me when it comes ta that shit. Remy…I don’t know what kinds of relationships ya’ve had before. I know ya like yer freedom. I’d never hold ya back, but…ya just ran out. And the thing is…I know I took ya fer granted today.” Remy heard Logan swallow roughly as he continued to stroke his hair, and by extension, his long, smooth back. His warm palms felt so good skimming over his chilled flesh. Remy’s breath hitched. “Ya did try ta draw me out. Today wasn’t the only time. I felt that. Don’t even feel like I don’t notice ya makin’ an effort. We’re just so different. Alike in some ways, but different when it comes ta a lot of heavy shit.” Remy didn’t resist him when Logan’s hand wrapped around his, lacing their fingers together in a tight, needy grip. “I know I ain’t the life of the party.”

“Ev’ry once in a while, ya are,” Remy said weakly.

“Thanks,” Logan chuckled mirthlessly.

“Never cared about dat. Always ‘preciated dat ya were strong.”

“I ain’t strong. I’m hardheaded, too stubborn ta die and hard ta knock down, but that ain’t the same as strong, kid.”

“It is. Remy ain’ into sunshine an’ giggles.” Logan huffed.

“Good thing. Gonna hafta knock on someone else’s door fer that.”

“Don’t wanna knock anywhere else.” Ruined, bleak eyes stared up at him, and if his schlera weren’t so dark, Logan knew they’d be bloodshot. His eyes were still puffy and red-rimmed, and he hated that. “I don’t wanna go somewhere else fer what I get wit’ you.”

“Then don’t run from me. I hated that. I felt like shit.”

Remy recoiled, pulling away, afraid to give into his own need for Logan’s physical contact. He didn’t deserve him…

Logan snatched at Remy’s hand, not allowing him to pull it away. “No ya don’t,” he insisted. “Remy…damn it, quit it, come back here.” They struggled and Remy pushed at the wall of Logan’s chest, unyielding, hard and so temptingly warm…

He collapsed against him and Logan engulfed him, embracing him where he knelt with his whole body, hooking his calf around Remy’s thigh. Hot tears dampened Logan’s chest, matting and slicking the dark layer of hair there. Beneath the hitch of his voice, Remy heard Logan’s drumming, rapid heartbeat, and he realized that he had been scared, too, of losing what they had. He felt his flagging anger and frustration, confusion and bleak, desperate fear. It floored him.

He hated himself anew for making Logan feel that way.

“Ya stayed out so fucking late,” Logan rasped. His own voice sounded foreign to him. “I thought ya might’ve changed yer mind. That ya weren’t gonna even come home.” Remy shook his head against him and released a ragged sob. “No. I know. Ya came home.” Remy clung to him so hard he wondered briefly if he’d snap him in half. “I know yer sorry.”

“Oui,” came the hoarse whisper.

“I can’t think about someone else puttin’ their hands on you. I ain’t gonna step ta anyone if they look at ya, Remy. I ain’t the only person in the world lookin’ atcha. People have eyes. But I can’t…I don’t want ta think about anyone gettin’ with you. Don’t make me do that. Don’t come home smellin’ like someone else. I can’t deal with that. I can’t.”

“Okay,” Remy replied miserably. He’d agree to anything as long as Logan kept holding him, as long as he didn’t take away that comforting, addictive warmth or let go of him. Logan’s fingers clutched Remy’s hair, tangling in its soft, voluminous mass, and he rocked him gently, cradling him and tracing his brow with the feathery press of his lips.

“Tellin’ me ya love me ain’t gonna mean anything if ya don’t show me,” he murmured thoughtfully. “Ya gotta show me by bein’ steady. I hafta be able ta trust ya. I’m a hard case. I know that. I do. But I ain’t gonna play games with ya, Remy.”

“No,” Remy agreed. He pulled back gently and disengaged himself from Logan’s embrace, even though he didn’t want to.

“Come back.”

“Gimme a minute.” He was still too raw, too wrapped up in Logan’s emotions and his own urge to keep punishing himself. He still smelled the tequila that was sweated from his pores while he danced that night. It was clogging and offending his senses, and he understood, briefly, why Logan was so annoyed. To a man with enhanced senses, the stench must have been torture…

He turned the shower spigots on, getting the water hot enough to steam the bathroom mirrors quickly. Remy shucked his jeans and briefs, glad to be rid of them, and he ducked under the spray. The pulsing, pounding water soothed his aching muscles and washed the scents of the club from his skin, soothing away the noise in his head.

The bathroom door creaked open. Remy was bowing his face into the spray, wetting his hair and leaning forward against the shower wall, so his back was to Logan as he climbed inside the tub and gently drew the curtain. He felt his hands tenderly drawing his hair back into his fist, helping him wet it more thoroughly. The scent of his shampoo tickled his nose as Logan squirted some out and began working the lather into his long, tangled locks. Logan had a fixation with his hair, something that always amused him, but Remy groaned at the tactile luxury of Logan running his hands through it, scraping it back from his face. Dollops of stray foam drizzled down Remy’s back, slicking his skin, and Logan ran his hands over him, kneading away tension wrought by the night’s confessions and outbursts and his own excesses.

Their caresses were languorous, contemplative and slow, and their kisses followed the same rhythm. The emotions between them were finally tranquil, even though there was note of hesitant caution just this side of doubt, but they were so relieved to be together that they could put that misgiving aside. They basked in each other, their troubles literally flowing down the drain.

They returned to Remy’s bed, smaller and more cramped then Logan’s king, but they were both worn out and ready to collapse. Remy didn’t care that he was going to bed with damp hair. He plastered himself against Logan and just listened to his heartbeat and low, even breathing.

He cracked open one drowsy eye as Logan’s emotions leaked into his rapport. He leaned up from him and sighed.

“If it’s gonna be too hard for ya ta stay here tonight, mec, ya don’ hafta.”

“The only thing that’s gonna be hard is leavin’ ya alone.” Those maddening hands were back, pulling on him, teasing him so skillfully, and he swallowed Remy’s low sigh when he leaned down to kiss him.

He brought Remy off just by rocking into him, pressing himself to the juncture of his thighs and building up just enough friction, just the right frequency, wringing a climax from him that shook him all the way down to his toes, curling them. Moments later, Remy was draped over him like a blanket, completely limp and out cold.

*


His claims that he was going to bed rang false in his ears. Logan lay awake, troubled and genuinely fretful.

Remy had run from him. That knowledge would always haunt him. He wanted to promise that it wouldn’t taint what they had, but that didn’t change or undo what happened. His inner darkness and demons came between them, something he feared from the moment he realized he cared about Remy.

The ugly thing that happened between them was no longer an “if.” It became a “when could it happen again.” Logan didn’t want to borrow trouble and ponder the possibilities of more breaches in the foundation they built.

It felt as bad as actually losing him. He lay awake in the dark, feeling Remy’s slumbering bulk against him but bereft of their empathic link, nearly the same as being alone.

FIN.