The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Epilogue. There’s really nothing to summarize.

Author’s Note: Thank you for following and appreciating this story, I’ve enjoyed talking to several of you about it online and off, via my comments, IM’s, and my Livejournal pages. Thank you for being so vocal about a story that I started on a whim just based on a song that I like.

“What’s on yer mind?”

“Hm. Neh. Nut’in’.”

“No?” Logan looked down at him and nuzzled his temple. “Sure? That ain’t a ‘I ain’t got anything on my mind’ look. Yer mullin’ something over pretty hard.”

“Got a lot I gotta do. Tryin’ ta figure out what ta tackle first.” Remy’s sigh was heavy.

“Can we do it after Sports Center’s over?”

“Oui.”

“Popcorn?” Remy hated to let him up, but the sound of something salty appealed to him. He grunted in agreement, and Logan freed himself, gently righting Remy from where he laid across his lap. He “oof”-ed his way up from the couch, earning him a chuckle.

“T’ought I heard bones creakin’, mec.”

“That’s how it starts, darlin’. This’ll be you in fifty years. Maybe sixty,” Logan amended. Remy’s smile vanished.

“Quoi? Non…didja say in anudder sixty…?”

“Didn’t stutter,” Logan called back from the kitchen. “Joints ache today.”

“Ya jus’ tore out a bathroom yesterday. Ya oughta be flat on yer back.”

“Only if yer gonna join me in that endeavor. Otherwise, just lay yer pretty head back down, Rem.” Remy watched his retreating back incredulously. Aside from a few gray hairs that invaded his jet black waves and beard and the character lines in his face, Logan’s body and skin were firm and supple as a man one third his age. As if on cue, Remy watched Logan stretch in the kitchen as he reached for the cupboard, and he chuckled as he heard the loud crack and pop of his joints.

“What’s yer secret, mec?”

“Good genes,” Logan quipped. “And a healin’ factor that’s useful up to a point.”

“Dat’s why ya ain’ got any scars,” Remy supplied.

“Bingo. That don’t mean it tickles when I get hurt, though.” The loud hum of the microwave interrupted their talk, and Remy decided to wait, flipping channels briefly during the commercial.

“Bring somet’in’ ta drink,” Remy called out.

“Yeah, yeah…” Remy heard Logan’s low grumbles as he rummaged for glasses. His stomach grumbled back in approval at the smell of butter-flavored grease. Logan came back with a large bowl of popcorn wrapped in the crook of his brawny arm and two glasses of iced fruit punch.

“Dat’s de stuff,” Remy sighed as he munched a handful of corn and settled back against Logan as soon as he sat down. Logan arranged him so that he was half-reclined against him, head propped against the pillow. His long legs were curled back and Logan’s hand returned to his bony hip, stroking it absently.

They both needed some downtime in the worst way.

*

Belladonna paused and wiped her forehead, fanning herself from the sweat she’d worked up over the past hour of packing. She shook her head over the sight of the boxes of Julien’s belongings, wistfully running her hand over her own neat, Sharpied handwriting. She saved several of Julien’s shirts aside for Rene, as well as his scant few photographs and some of his baseball caps. She put aside a gold chain and his leather wristwatch, too, in her jewelry box, intending to give them to Rene when he was old enough to take good care of them. She wanted to give him something tangible that he could keep with him. Her son’s occasional blue moods resulted in Belladonna sharing stories with him more frequently about their childhood over Oreos and milk. Mostly, they just gave her the excuse to hug Rene more often, but she ached keenly. She hoped her brother was resting peacefully wherever he was, free of his demons and waiting for her until they met again.

Remy had been wonderful, a surprisingly sympathetic ear and a strong hand to hold when she needed it. The first few weeks had been the worst. He came into the house after knocking three times without response; he heard her music from outside, and the front door was unlocked. He found Bella sitting listlessly at the kitchen table, eyes red and swollen from another bad night.

“Chere?”

“Didn’t hear ya,” she murmured. He squeezed her shoulder and dutifully kissed the top of her head. She looked up at him, puzzled for a moment, then resumed her eerie stare.

“M’gonna pick up Rene from school today, if ya want. I wanna do it.”

“Dat’s fine,” she agreed, even though it was one of the few things she looked forward to all day. She hated the empty feel of the house once she was alone again, feeling none of the relief she’d planned on months ago when she urged Julien to leave during the peak of their problems.

“Got coffee?”

“Ain’ made any since dis mornin’,” she shrugged. Remy helped himself to the cupboard, finding her can of Yuban dark roast.

“Cream?”

“Cabinet.” He watched her, frowning as he retrieved his favorite of her mugs. She didn’t respond with more than a blank nod when he refilled her own cup, adding some of the vanilla nut creamer.

Remy sat across her, invading her visions. “Belle…gotta tell ya sumtin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Bout Julien…chere…I felt him leave. I know what he wuz feelin’. He wuz worried ‘bout you.” That shook her from her stupor, and her blue eyes automatically filled.

“Did he…say anyt’in?”

“He couldn’ speak much, Bella. All I could do was feel ‘im. Held his hand.” He pulled his chair alongside her and held hers accordingly, and she squeezed his so tightly he feared for his knuckles.

“He didn’t die alone, den,” she murmured.

“Non. Didn’ let ‘im.”

“T’ank you fo’ dat.”

“Couldn’ let ‘im go like dat.” There was an unspoken understanding between them that he forgave his brother-in-law and former lover. Remy longed for the early days among them, when he and Bella were so deeply in love and her brother was one of his closest friends, sharing a love of good beer and fancy cars.

*

BAM! Julien’s body jerked, and Remy watched in horror as his dark eyes bulged in realization of what happened, slapping ineffectually at the broadening red stain on his chest.

“Quoi…? Shhh…chere?” He reached out to Remy pleadingly as blood dripped from his mouth. “Chere?” he repeated as he stumbled, then tripped over his feet in a macabre dance until he tumbled lifelessly to the floor.

Remy couldn’t muster enough breath to scream. He heard Victor’s words and watched smoke rise in tendrils from the gun in Kyle’s hand but couldn’t process them.

Remy couldn’t accept it, minutes later, as he sat against the wall, wounded and flagging. Julien’s body lay nearby in an expanding pool of blood.

His leg twitched. Remy gasped painfully. “Julien?” he called out hoarsely. “Julien?”

“Hnnnn… …please…” Remy heard his low gurgles and his final breaths rattling in his chest, feeling his essence and emotions grow equally faint. He struggled, and his wounds burned, making him lightheaded and nauseous with the attempt to move, but he half-crawled to his brother-in-law’s side, dragging himself over with his good arm. He dreaded having to stare into that ruined face, watching the life drain out of those unsettling dark eyes.

For a tense, painful minute, he put aside his hatred and blanketed Julien with his empathic presence, even though Julien’s physical and emotional agony made him feel as though someone turned him inside out. Julien reached up one last time and shakily grasped Remy’s hand, clasping it against his ribs. Remy’s face was racked with anguish and tears dripped down his cheeks, mingling with the blood spreading over Julien’s dirty shirt. He shook his head.

“Chere…”

“De…sole…didn’ mean fo’ it…t’go dis far…”

“Aw, Julien…por quoi? Why like dis?”

“Sorry…fo’ ev’ryt’in…” Remy nodded numbly, then with more grace than he knew he possessed, he raised Julien’s knuckles to his bruised lips.

“Hate…me?” Remy closed his eyes against the bile rising in his throat and the pain in Julien’s voice.

“Can’t.” Julien nodded.

“M-mad, oui? F-fucked up,” he choked, lips growing blue as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Oui,” Remy nodded, but he kissed those battered knuckles again, hating the growing limpness in Julien’s grip. “Gonna tell Rene he ain’ gotta worry ‘bout his Oncle Julien no more. Dat ya ain’ havin’ troubles no more.” Julien’s eyes bulged.

“Don’ tell ‘im I went out like dis! Or…*kaaarrrggghh* B-Bella,” he pleaded. Remy shook his head, knowing it was futile to argue with him. Of course Bella would know.

“Shouldna been dis way,” Remy whispered, stroking Julien’s long hair with shaking fingers.

“Don’…leave me alone,” he rasped.

“Non.”

But he did, waiting until his chest rose and fell one last time and the light died from his eyes. Remy reached down and gently closed them, saying a silent prayer over him.

*

“He said he wuz sorry. Dat he didn’ mean fo’ it t’go dat far.”

“I know,” she sobbed quietly.” She squeezed his hand once more and gently removed hers from it. “T’ank you for dat,” she added. “Means a lot.”

“Couldn’t save ‘im,” Remy began, but she rounded on him.

“None of us could save ‘im, Remy! Dere wuzn’t anyt’in’ any of us could do! He t’rew his life away! His way of livin’ was all he knew! He didn’ know any better! I tried t’help ‘im, Remy! I tried,” she reasoned. “Dere wuzn’t anyt’in’ you could do, chere. If…you might not have been dere if not fo’ what he wuz mixed up in. But…he mighta died anyway, and…he mighta died alone. My brot’er…mon frere…he woulda died all alone…”

She fought him briefly, slapping at him with half-curled fists when he went to her. He caught her wrists. “Don’ push me away, Bell! Please!”

“Let me GO!”

“NON! I need dis! I need dis…don’ push me away, Bella.” Her rejection tore at him.

“No…nonono,” she pleaded. “Lemme go…lemme go…jus’ lemme go now,” she cried, but even as the words left her quivering lips, she bowed her face into his chest and hung onto him as though her life depended on it.

“Always gonna be sorry fo’ how I hurt ya,” Remy murmured into her hair, running his fingers through it for comfort, craving its tangible softness and sweet scent. “But we both lost ‘im. We all lost ‘im. It’s okay if ya wanna hate me, chere. Fo’ evry’tin’.” The words stabbed him, and he felt vulnerable, offering himself up as the target of her anger, knowing he couldn’t offer her justice except to let her shun him.

“Non.” She pulled back long enough to stare up at him with watery blue eyes and shake her head. “I don’t hate ya anymore, Remy. Yer all I have left of ‘im.”

*

Remy had been moody and depressed ever since his visit to Belladonna’s house, and he wasn’t sleeping well. Logan offered himself as a pillow after each of them returned home from work, fine with Remy’s sporadic naps that occasionally cut off their conversations mid-sentence when Logan would ask what he wanted for dinner.

Remy and Belladonna began family counseling for Rene’s sake and revised their original custody arrangement to allow Remy to have joint access to his son. In the wake of their tragedy, they needed to grow stronger as a family. Belladonna grew to accept Logan’s presence at family functions, actually sending Logan the invitation herself to Philippe’s birthday dinner. She had a hard time disliking the man her son held in such high regard; Rene worshipped Logan. Joining a support group for families of victims of violent crime helped her gain perspective, but she still missed Julien terribly, aching for him whenever she saw or experienced things that reminded her of him.

Logan wasn’t surprised to see that Remy had dozed off again. He sighed, turning down the volume with the remote and setting it on the side table. He set the half-empty bowl of popcorn on the floor and settled in for a cuddle, covering them both with the blanket he had folded over his couch. These were moments he cherished, absorbing Remy’s warmth deep into his bones, content with the weight of his body resting against him and hearing him breathe. Logan stared down at him, eyes tracing his stately, graceful features as his fingers stroked his chestnut hair.

“Everything,” he mouthed. “Yer everything.”

“Nnnnngh…quoi?”

“Nuthin’.”

Remy grunted, freeing his arm from beneath the blanket. He reached for the hand Logan had on his hip and dragged it down until it rested against his heartbeat instead. “Liar.” Remy opened the channel between them so he could taste his emotions, and Logan shivered at the bloom of warm and affection that seemed to stroke him. His heart filled with love for the man lying in his lap, insistently wrapping himself more deeply into his embrace and lacing their fingers together.

“I love you.”

“Dat’s what I t’ought ya said,” Remy yawned. “Sleepy.”

“Catch a few winks, baby. I ain’t stoppin’ ya.”

“Love you…too,” he said, letting his voice drift off. Logan’s eyes pricked.

They tried as well as they could to get back to life as usual. Scott made him his son’s godfather despite his ribbing that the kid thankfully took more after his mom. Charles Alex Summers had his father’s sense of humor, clearly, having an uncanny knack of loudly soiling his diaper every time his Uncle Logan held him. Remy spent more time managing the shop to give his uncle a much-needed break; Philippe named him as his successor when he retired in two years, and Remy planned to make Nate his partner. The next car Remy completed for show was nicknamed “Corona Kings” and was airbrushed with scenes of a Lousiana plantation and three figures wearing vintage outfits from the Prohibition. Lowrider featured it in their May spread; Logan framed the cover and hung it up in the living room over the TV.

Logan flipped channels absently, often watching the remnants of old movies that he walked in on just before they were over. The shadows lengthened over the kitchen window and the room gradually darkened until the television cast a blue glow over their skin. Remy slept on, his low snores underscoring the low hum of the set.

Logan had just dozed off himself when he felt Remy stir. He rose up from his lap in a hurry, jarring him. Logan looked up in annoyance at the sudden absence of warmth from his lap and the discarded, wadded up blanket as Remy trotted down the hall.

“What the hell?” The bathroom door slammed and he heard the sharp click of the vanity light, seeing its yellow beam shining out from under the frame. That was shortly followed by the loud hiss of piss echoing into the commode. “Sheesh. Kid had ta go.” Logan chuckled at the low thunk of the seat hitting the base and thunderous flush. Remy lived in an older apartment building that didn’t have low-flow toilets, so Logan felt like their neighbors heard them whenever either of them got up to relieve themselves in the middle of the night.

Okay. So he let him sleep a little too long…

Logan smelled hand soap wafting out into the hall as Remy returned, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Why’d ya let me sack out so long like dat, mec?”

“Ya were tired,” Logan shrugged.

“Ain’t gonna be able ta sleep tonight, now,” Remy complained, giving him a drowsy scowl as he reached down to help Logan up from the couch. He pried the remote from him and punched off the set, chucking the control back onto the couch. He dragged Logan after him to the bedroom.

“Can still rest,” Logan argued, knowing it was pointless to assuage his annoyance.

“Gonna just lay up and stare at de ceiling,” Remy grumbled, clicking on the light and automatically nudging off his socks with the balls of his feet. He shucked his tank and tossed it into the hamper while Logan turned down the bed. He stripped himself down to tank and boxers until he noticed that Remy was crawling nude between the sheets. He beckoned to him impatiently. “Come t’bed. Take dat off.”

“Ya sure?” Logan licked his lips uncertainly.

Intimacy. It was a sticky wicket and mixed bag. Logan never wanted to pressure Remy after their ordeal, and their couplings were sporadic and brief. Sometimes even foreplay halted when Remy broke down or grew sullen out of nowhere. Logan was a patient man, and the need to hold him took precedence over physical satisfaction.

Remy stared up at him. He sighed heavily. “Why so shy?”

“I just didn’t know if ya-“ Before Logan could even complete his sentence, Remy was up, rounding the bed and reaching for him. “Mmmmph…!” Remy fisted his hand in his tank and crushed his lips in a hungry kiss, steaming his skin with his breath. Logan moaned with need, responsive to Remy’s touch. Slender fingers cupped his face and held him immobile as he took from him, and Logan’s hands clamped themselves around Remy’s hard, narrow hips, pulling him against him fully. His skin felt smooth and hot to the touch and his manhood butted against Logan’s belly, already erect and leaking arousal.

Remy quickly divested Logan of his clothing, removing the last barrier between them as they stumbled to bed, groping and clutching at each other, control completely gone. Remy lay atop him, grinding and rippling against him, offering him the friction they both needed. Long minutes dragged by like that, just feeling each other, wrapped in each other’s heat, tongues lapping pulses or teasing nipples until they ruched.

Remy pulled Logan upright and fished in the drawer for the lubricant, preparing him in long, snug strokes. Logan took care of him in kind, kissing him with each press of his fingers as Remy straddled his lap.

“Need dis,” Remy hissed, covering his mouth and drinking from it with unholy thirst. Logan barely managed a nod of assent. He, too, needed it, that tangible proof of how much Remy completed him.

“I need you,” Logan grated out. “So damned bad, Remy.” He choked out a gasp as Remy shunted himself down upon his length in one hard thrust, and he held onto him, greedily stroking his skin as he began to ride him. Their coupling was perfect as each of them projected arousal, need, joy and fulfillment in turns, rasping endearments, prayers and their names into each other’s tender flesh.

Logan’s arms locked around Remy’s ribs like a vise as his climax claimed him. He bucked up, arching into Remy’s snug heat and receiving deep, drugging kisses like a benediction. He stared up at him in quiet awe, fingers trembling as he brushed back a tendril of sweat-dampened hair from Remy’s cheek.

“God,” he managed, only barely.

“Remy’ll tuck ya in in a minute,” he promised with a lazy smile, and his voice held dark, luscious promise as he urged Logan down from against the headboard, urging him to stretch out blood-starved limbs. Logan collapsed gratefully, then watched Remy in slight confusion. The bottle of slick was out again, and he watched incredulously as Remy prepared himself again, priming his own rosy, still swollen flesh.

“God,” Logan repeated weakly. The kid was going to kill him…why didn’t that bother him? He groaned in pleasure as Remy probed him and bent his head to his sensitive nipple. Logan spread his thighs apart to give him better access, arching his hips up in rhythm to his insistent thrusts.

Clearly, Remy had slept enough…that thought came to him, easily dismissed as Remy hooked Logan’s knees over his shoulders and entered him, nearly folding him in half.

Thank God I have a healin’ factor…and thank God fer Astroglide…

And it was so gooooooooood. The gentle teasing was long over. Remy’s hips shunted into him, pounding him into the mattress. He hit Logan’s prostate over and over again, driving him easily over the brink and staring into his eyes as he came again, this time taking Remy with him. His snug sheath pulled and sucked at him, coddling him in his heat, and Logan clenched up as he felt Remy cramp and stiffen inside him before drenching his insides with his release. He collapsed, shuddering and panting against him.

Love flooded them both, uncontained and immeasurable. If Logan died at that moment, he wouldn’t have felt cheated. The only thing he would ever fear was a life without Remy. It didn’t even bear thinking about. Brown eyes stared up into red, and he knew that Remy felt the same.

Remy lied. His eyes drifted shut as soon as his head hit the pillow, and it was Logan, instead, who tucked him in.

There were no more questions between them, no more guessing or assumptions, no more being afraid to give in, let go or hold on. They could be free to need. To love.

To just be.


FIN.