The Thrill is Gone

“Make y’self at home, mec,” Remy offered casually, pushing open the sticky front door to his apartment with some effort and ushering Logan inside. “Ya said ya wuz hungry, didn’tcha, homme?”



“Don’t put yerself out on my account, Rem,” Logan muttered, allowing his hooded dark eyes to roam the spare living room with interest. Remy’s home fit him, somehow. The overstuffed, brown denim sofa was battered and slightly threadbare, but looked comfortable. Logan could tell that most of Remy’s early paychecks went into the wide-screen TV and a sleek, black leather LazyBoy recliner in the corner. Remy flicked on a plain, brass floor lamp with a creased linen shade, bathing the room with soft light.



Vintage car magazines and issues of Low Rider were fanned across the coffee table that was slightly gray, as though he hadn’t the chance to dust lately, but there were no rings left over from lack of a coaster. A large, black-and-white MC Escher print hung framed above the sofa, and the room was free of knick knacks, save for a model of a classic blue and white Chevy with fins on top of the book shelf.



“Said I’d feed ya. Siddown, take a load off,” Remy nagged, flicking a smile that reached those compelling eyes over his shoulder. Remy stripped off his denim jacket and hung it from the back of one of his dinette set’s wicker-backed chairs and loped to the fridge. He hauled out a large, tin-foil covered bowl and rummaged in the cabinets for a plate. Logan heard the clink of crockery as he leaned down to get a better look at the model car.



“I love these old cars. My old man used ta have a whole mess of ‘em, painted and lined up along the mantelpiece when I was a kid.”



“Passed down his addiction, eh?”



“Ain’t broke the habit yet,” Logan agreed. “How long’ve ya lived here?”



“Couple years.” Logan listened to the crinkle of foil and another faint clink as Remy loaded a plate with leftovers and punched the power button of his microwave. After a minute of the low thrum, a rich, delectable smell of roasted meat filled the tiny kitchen.



“Whatcha fixin’?”



“Barbecued beef ribs. Made ‘em last night. Always betta de second day.” Logan hung his own jacket on a peg on the wall just off the corridor, piquing his curiosity as to whether the bedroom was that way. He dismissed it, mentally kicking himself.



It didn’t help that Remy tempted him, moving easily about his kitchen, the long, lean lines of his body emphasized every time he reached up into a cabinet. Faded denim jeans were worn to velvety softness and had fraying holes here and there, but they still looked made for him, encasing rippling, fluid muscle. His tee shirt was spanking clean, a deep scarlet that complimented his burnished complexion and auburn hair. He looked comfortable in his skin.



Logan plunked himself back into a chair just in time for Remy to set down two plates of ribs, each including a hunk of cornbread on the side and a portion of navy beans. He grunted his approval. “Not too shabby, Rem.”



“Man’s gotta eat. M’daddy taught me a thang ‘r two in the kitchen. Had to grab those ribs fast ‘fo’ dey disappeared.” Logan needed no further urging, and he tucked into his impromptu dinner with relish as Remy fetched two glasses from the cupboard. The beers they’d had at Harry’s left Remy craving something sweet, and the barbecue sauce with its healthy jolt of brown sugar and honey fit the bill. He poured two glasses of Sprite from a half-empty two-liter bottle, and Logan grinned at the Hooters trademark owl logo on the side of his. Remy sipped his from one emblazoned with gold letters announcing he’d been to Caesar’s Palace.



Remy stole looks at Logan from across the table, watching him tear at a rib with his teeth, which were large, even, and brilliantly white (sans the sauce). His canines were slightly prominent, but didn’t detract from his smile. He liked the wicked, rakish look it gave him, almost like his childhood visions of the Boogey Man.



It struck him as funny that he didn’t find Logan scary at all.



Logan was distracting him even more at the moment, peering down at the sauce smeared over his thumb. “Mmmm,” he rumbled, drawing it into his mouth and sucking it off with satisfaction. Remy smirked; he liked to see someone enjoying good food.



“Take it y’like it then, homme?”



“That’s what I call a rib. Damn.” Logan tore off the corner of his cornbread and mopped it through the sauce. “This is yer best kept secret.”



“Naw. Got a whole helluva lot mo’ secrets ‘n dat, mon ami.”



“So ya live alone?”



“Struck out ta live by maself when m’daddy passed away. He wuz a good man. Ain’t had much t’do wit’ Momma, or Bella since I left home.”



“She an old flame o’yers?”



“If ya wan’ call it dat.” He downed the rest of his soda in one gulp, and Logan watched his throat work before he thunked down his Caesar’s glass. “Didn’t wan’ de same t’ings, I guess.”



“Guess not.” They continued eating in relative silence, and Logan continued taking in his surroundings. Small sounds from the street leaked inside through the small kitchen window, badly in need of weather stripping, and they were underscored by the low ticking of the wall clock. “Makes me feel nosey, just askin’,” Logan admitted, scrubbing his fingers clean on the paper towel Remy offered as a napkin and throwing it atop the short stack of ribs that had been picked clean.



“Ask what y’wan’, mec,” Remy drawled. “Remy’s an open book.”



“Ya said ya were close with yer dad. What’d he die of?”



“Prostate. Passed away, two days befo’ his birthday. Woulda been sixty-two, three weeks ago. Poppa was always in m’corner,” he mused. “Always understood me, an’ he wanted t’make sure I could get by, so he taught me a trade I could take wit’ me even after he wuz gone from this earth.” Remy got up to clear away their plates, chucking the rib bones into the trash and rinsing the items before loading them into a mostly full dishwasher. “Poppa knew what wuz in Remy’s heart, an’ he didn’t throw any stones.” He tucked a dispersible dish soap tablet into the slot and capped it before clapping the door shut. Whooshing sounds nearly drowned out his voice before he waved Logan into the living room. He followed easily enough and made himself comfortable on the couch while Remy busied himself, tidying up items that hadn’t made it all the way to his bedroom or the laundry hamper. He shucked his work boots and dropped them beside the recliner, and Logan thought he would take up what looked like the best seat in the house.



He was wrong. And glad, when Remy seated himself next to Logan and grabbed the remote. “Got a preference?”



“Nope.”



“DVR’ed a Nicks game,” he suggested.



“That’s fine,” he replied, but his eyes still wandered over Remy, watching his movements. “Yer pop a Nicks’ fan?”



“From the cradle to de grave,” Remy chuckled. “Momma hated it when he lit up in de den t’watch. Tol’ Poppa he wuz a bad influence.”



“Was he?”



“I ain’t de one t’ask,” he retorted back, smirking as he tugged out a crumpled pack of Camels from his pants pocket. “Only influence he had on me wuz what brand.”



“My kinda pop,” Logan agreed. Remy’s eyes were drowsy, and he scrubbed at his face, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, and Logan noticed the faint smudges beneath them. The kid looked like he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep for more nights than he wanted to guess. He suddenly felt guilty for keeping him up, but he was loathe to leave his perch.



The faint pheromones of Remy’s hair and skin tickled Logan’s nostrils. He declined the cigarette Remy offered him, and then felt guilty again when Remy tossed the pack, unopened, onto the coffee table.



“I ain’t stoppin’ ya, Rem.”



“Don’ like havin’ a smoke unless I’ve got comp’ny.”



“I don’t wanna keep ya from it, if ya feel like it. Shit…ya look done in, Rem. Ya want me ta go?” Logan was already halfway up from the couch, thankful that he hadn’t removed his shoes.



Remy’s slender hand gripped his wrist before he could straighten himself and reach for his jacket. Logan felt wiry strength in the long, tapered fingers, so accustomed to handling tools and taking things apart. Logan’s mouth went dry at the feel of his warm skin, and the hairs on his neck stood on end.



“Non. I don’ wan’ ya t’go anywhere, homme,” he husked. All of Logan’s senses went on high alert, and he tensed beneath Remy’s grip, hearing the thundering of Remy’s pulse even as his own skipped. Logan’s coffee brown eyes raked over Remy, finally landing on his hand braceletting his wrist, before he allowed himself to look him in the eye.



Deeply, into those captivating eyes. Heat rushed through Logan’s core as he weighed the likelihood of leaving him now. The television droned on in the background, the widescreen shamefully ignored as Logan slowly sank back down to the sofa.



“Kid,” Logan rasped, but his voice wouldn’t work.



“Stay,” was the only reply Remy gave him before he punched the remote with his other hand, dousing the power with a sharp click and tossing it onto the stack of magazines. Logan couldn’t remember who made the first move.



All that he remembered was that the young Cajun with the face of a Renaissance angel kissed the breath out of him, his fingers fisting themselves roughly in his flannel shirt. His mouth was hot and greedy as it crashed down against his, practically bruising him, and he responded in kind, groaning with satisfaction. Remy slanted his mouth over his, and his palm crept up to cup Logan’s jaw, his thumb stroking the crest of his cheekbone. As he caressed the column of Logan’s throat, he felt the thickly corded veins jump at his touch.



He’d unleashed a maelstrom. Remy broke the kiss, floored by the hunger and unquenched need in Logan’s gaze. He sucked in ragged breaths as Remy staggered off of the couch, glad to see that he’d been just as strongly affected, but unwilling to let him get away with giving him a mere taste.



“Gotta lock up, chere,” he explained, turning his back on the sight of his burly guest looking thoroughly rumpled and aroused. He hadn’t heard Logan’s footsteps approaching him as he turned the lock and secured the deadbolts.



He felt him instead, warm, sultry breath bathing the side of his neck as Logan’s hands snaked around Remy’s narrow waist, tugging up the hem of his shirt and stroking his smooth, taut flesh.



“Ya don’t know what ya’ve done t’me, kid,” he growled, sending a sweet chill up Remy’s spine as he nipped his earlobe, followed by a rougher bite of his neck. Remy cursed in a mixture of pain and pleasure as Logan licked the superficial wound he made, and he felt the crotch of his denims become two sizes too snug. His apartment was warm enough, but he felt a rush of cool air as Logan deftly yanked Remy’s shirt over his head and chucked it over his shoulder. His hands were impatient and demanding, wanting to know the textures and planes of Remy’s sculpted body, and they roamed over him as he continued his assault of Remy’s neck. Remy shuddered and emitted a low moan of yearning when Logan nipped a blazing path down his nape and back, scribbling blunt fingernails over it.



“Bedroom,” Remy cried, his voice strangled and husky. Logan was pressed firmly against his back, and he felt every muscle of his solid chest as his forearms, thickly cabled with muscle and covered in a fine mat of dark hair embraced him. He ground himself instinctively against his prize.



“Hurry,” Logan hissed, and Remy pried himself loose from Logan’s grip long enough to face him, kissing him again before leading the way. He tugged Logan after him from the living room and down the darkened hall, not bothering to extinguish the floor lamp.



They stumbled into the master bedroom, and Logan cursed as he banged his hip against the laundry hamper. The last pink rays of the setting sun streaked across the sapphire sky, the faint light shining through the cotton curtains. Out of long habit, Remy kicked the bedroom door shut after them before Logan reached for him again, their lips meeting in a hungry fusion of need. Remy fell back against the door as Logan closed in on him, dominating him and plowing his thick-fingered, work-worn hands through Remy’s long, fine hair, tugging it back to expose his throat. He nipped a path from his mouth along his graceful jaw as Remy moaned endearments in two different dialects, neither of which Logan cared about at the moment. Remy tore at the hem of Logan’s shirt, prizing it free from the waistband of his jeans, but Logan wasn’t that patient. He tore it open, sending buttons flying across the hardwood floor and shrugging it off, following it shortly with his white cotton tank.



Logan was magnificent, his body a melody of rounded muscle and firm, tanned skin. More dark hair covered his chest generously and tapered down to a narrow trail that led below his waist. There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him, for all that his frame was compact, broad, and that he possessed a hearty appetite. Remy stared his fill.



“Like what ya see, Cajun?” he murmured wryly, nudging off his shoes with his heel and kicking them into the corner. He stole another kiss from Remy before he could reply, kneading his nape and plundering his mouth. Before he could savor the taste of him, he ended it, backing away to pop open the button fly of his Levi’s. He let them fall and shucked his boxers, stepping neatly out of them before kicking those, too, into the corner with his shoes. His cock was rosy and tumescent, even in the dimness of the bedroom, nested in the dark curls. He stood unabashedly naked, and tugged Remy away from the door by the wrist, leading him to the bed. Remy’s world spun around as he was playfully shoved onto the mattress, landing on his butt with an “OOOF!”



“Shit…slow down, chere!”



“Shut up and help me, Rem,” he ordered slyly, again pressing him back until he collapsed onto his back. Logan savagely pried open Remy’s zipper with a low grunt and grasped the hems just above his ankles, yanking them off with a swish that almost pulled Remy from the mattress. He heard Logan chuckle in surprise above him as his erection bobbed free.



“Commando?”



“Don’ like anyt’in holdin’ me back,” he drawled, then fell silent as Logan stalked closer, nudging Remy’s thighs apart and standing between them. Naked desire burned in the depths of his eyes, and his entire body thrummed with tension that even Remy felt in his gut. He cupped Remy’s jaw and tilted it up, kissing him deeply, neither of them sparing any quarter or allowing restraint. Tongues dueled, and their teeth inadvertently clicked together in their zeal. Logan flanked Remy’s thigh with his bent knee, kneeling onto the bed and urging him backward as they started a tangling, stumbling crawl up the mattress until Logan’s body lay flush against his, his flesh firm and hot. Remy nearly drowned in the tide of passion he experienced through their empathic link, despite the efforts he made at holding it back. He wanted to know Logan slowly, finding out his wants and needs the old-fashioned way. By touch. By feel. Hearing him grate out his name in his ear when he did something right.



Still, Logan’s emotions pulled at him, like undertow as he claimed him, fisting his fingers in Remy’s hair and jerking it back to expose his neck again, this time marking his flesh with his teeth. Remy bucked beneath him, pressing himself further into his heat and grinding against his hardness, creating delicious friction. Logan nipped his way down Remy’s collarbones, grazing his teeth along every nerve ending, then swirling his tongue over it to soothe and tease.



“Wan’ you real bad, chere,” Remy whispered, moaning as Logan’s hot breath steamed his flat, café au lait nipple. His body screamed for more of his touch, rough but thorough, the natural male tang of his skin wrapping around him as his mouth moved painstakingly over his pecs, his taut abdominal muscles, his tongue rimming his navel just to make him buck again.



“Ya’ve got me, kid,” he rumbled, and his eyes were hooded as he peered up at him to watch his face. His calloused fingers combed through the thatch of hair at the apex of his thighs, and his lips trailed along the crease where his hip and thigh met; Remy closed his eyes, waiting, hoping…



Logan’s mouth steamed the tip of his engorged penis as he lapped at the gleaming drop of precum slowly before engulfing him. Remy came undone. He made himself at home between his thighs, spreading them farther to give himself more room as he loved him with his tongue, his lips. Remy’s chest inflated sharply, heaving with each luxuriously slow bob of his head, and he tried to stifle the ragged sounds leaping from his mouth. Logan was having none of that.



“Wanna hear ya, Rem. Just let go,” he murmured, pinning him with his sultry gaze before resuming his consumption of him, pulling stronger cries from him this time as Remy dug his fingers into the coverlet beneath him, twisting it as his skin began to tingle.



“S’good…close…hot,” he chanted mindlessly. Logan was greedy, drinking up his flavors as his stubbled jaw scraped against the tender flesh of Remy thighs. He increased his pace, taking him to a new level awareness, allowing him to hear the wet sounds of his labors, the plunging of his flesh, finally wrapping his ankles across Logan’s broad, tapered back.



Remy came so hard that he nearly saw stars, his flesh engorged and tight, cramping as Logan drew him in firmly, milking him until he shouted his fulfillment to the ceiling. The mattress bounced as he writhed and bucked, nearly folding his body over Logan, clawing at his back to hold him there. Both of them were bathed in a faint sheen of sweat. He collapsed, every muscle wondrously limp, feeling replete. Logan caressed his legs tenderly, gifting his left knee with one last, brief kiss before unfolding his ankles from around his back. Before he could say anything, Remy mustered his remaining energy and reached over to the bedside table, yanking open the drawer with a jerk. He fumbled inside until he found a clear bottle of thick lubricant that looked new, with only a small amount missing.



“Bought it a long time ago,” he explained, even though Logan hadn’t asked.



“Been spendin’ a lot of time away from home?”



“Been spendin’ m’time alone,” he countered, boosting himself up on shaking arms and relaxing against the propped pillows. Logan crawled up onto the bed and eased himself between Remy’s legs once more, stroking lazy circles over his knee. Remy suppressed a chuckle; it tickled. Once his initial thirst for him was slaked, he was amazingly gentle, more than Remy would have suspected after their first meeting and judging by his outwardly rough manner. His fingers pried the bottle from Remy’s hand and he shook it up, flipping up the cap and squirting a generous rivulet along his fingers. Remy smiled up at him, watching his careful movements with interest. He closed it and set it aside, kneeling up on his haunches and slicking his fingers over the exposed valley of Remy’s buttocks, coating the crevice and easing his forefinger inside. Remy eased himself back down from his perch against the pillows, groaning at the press of his hand, probing him and stimulating the sensitive nerves. His body was relaxed, but his skin was still flushed and tingling with the sensations Logan was giving him. “C’mere, chere.” He collected the bottle as Logan obeyed, scooting closer and still kneeling, as Remy procured a bit more of the lotion and reached up to coat Logan’s member with it, feeling its thickness pulse within the snug ring of his fingers. It was Logan’s turn to gasp and curse under his breath, groaning for release.



“Rem…”



“Can’t wait no mo’, chere.” Remy righted himself long enough to kiss him again, dragging his tongue along the side of his neck and trapping his earlobe between his teeth, enflaming it. He suckled the morsel until Logan growled at him, neatly shoving him back and changing in an instant from calm and patient to desperate and driven. He hooked Remy’s knees neatly over his shoulders and pressed his fingers inside of him again, priming him deftly with long strokes before positioning himself at his entrance. He rubbed the plump head enticingly against him before pushing himself inside. His body spasmed beneath Remy’s tight, velvety grip on him, and his eyes drifted shut as ragged breaths were torn from him. He couldn’t fight the urge to move. His hips undulated slowly, testing the feel of his new partner and allowing his hands to roam over his pliant, sleek body.



“Oui, chere…mon Dieu! Nnnngh…” His body writhed, aching for more, craving his thrusts that couldn’t come fast enough, hard enough to stop the need for him, roaring through him like a freight train. Remy reached up to stroke him, his hands drifting and roaming over what parts of him that he could reach.



“Feels.So.Good.” Logan’s words were clipped, uttered fewer and further between as he reveled in the throbbing pulse of being sheathed in him, wanting to get closer…



…never wanting to let go.



A ragged, guttural cry clawed its way from his throat as he reached his peak, pulsing as he released, flooding his depths and making him jerk, hips pistoning those last few strokes as the tremors wracked his body. His climax rippled through him like a wave.



“Oh, God,” he panted, huffing and gripping Remy’s thighs as the aftershocks made him quiver. “God,” he repeated, making the silent covenant that at least if he died now, it would be in contented bliss. He nearly toppled over Remy, then remembered their awkward position and lowered Remy’s legs from around his shoulders, careful not to jar him as he disengaged himself. He ran his palm over his Remy’s stomach in a tender caress before stretching himself alongside him, waiting for his breathing to become less labored.



Remy didn’t fight it when Logan wrapped him within his embrace, tugging him until he lay across his solid, sweat-slicked chest, the top of his head tucked under his chin.



“Stay,” Remy murmured, his voice low and plaintive.



“Just as long as I don’t hafta move a friggin’ muscle. Cuz I can’t,” Logan agreed, and Remy heard the crack of his smile. Remy silently reached out with his empathy and basked in Logan’s sated afterglow, drinking in his peace and contentment like a nightcap. Their legs twined together and Remy’s fingers traced the muscle and sinew in Logan’s arm and shoulder. He leaned over and kissed Logan’s nipple; he grunted in response and tugged his head back down. Then he remembered how sensitive he was to touch and settled down.



“Will ya still respect Remy in de mornin’?” Logan barked out a hoarse laugh and craned his head to stare at the clock radio’s digital display.



“It’ll be morning in another hour. Ask me again then. If yer still up,” Logan amended. His blunt fingers combed through Remy’s hair and smoothed it back from his brow, and he felt his firm lips moving over his scalp, making him feel safe. He pushed down the pangs of uncertainty that he was treading on shaky ground, wondering if he could care for the roughnecked Canadian.



The drowsy languor flooding his limbs made up his mind to revisit the question in the morning. He counted Logan’s slowing breaths until he felt his own eyes drift shut, and he slept better than he could remember doing in a long time.



*



A low, rumbling snore stirred the hairs at his nape and woke him slightly before dawn.



At some time during the night, they’d changed positions, and Remy found himself spooned within Logan’s embrace, with Logan’s chest plastered against his back, enveloping him. Over the next sixty seconds, he let his eyes adjust and accustomed himself to the feel of him, tangled in the sheets. Logan’s arm spasmed and jerked him closer as his snore was cut-off mid-breath. He smacked his lips in his sleep, making Remy smother a chuckle.



He gently turned himself over, replacing Logan’s arm over him as he lay on his back, craning his face toward his lover. The character lines etched around his eyes and mouth softened and smoothed themselves out when he was in repose, and his face had a steadfast, rugged beauty that would last well into his golden years. His thick, bushy brows looked less imposing over his deeply set eyes. Even his familiar divot in his forehead was missing as he slumbered, only needing to rear itself when someone was bullshitting him.



Remy leaned in closer and nuzzled him, feeling the shift in him as he slowly regained wakefulness. His emotions were breaking through the surface of slumber, warm and sweet, devoid of tension. He hated to wake him up, but Remy needed to see his eyes.



They flickered open right before he emitted a leonine yawn, letting his joints pop and his hold on Remy momentarily tighten.



Remy sent up a silent prayer that apprehension wouldn’t be the first thing to greet him.



They gradually regained their focus, flitting jerkily around the room as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. When they landed on Remy, his body relaxed, and lambent brown eyes drifted over his face, studying him and rewarding Remy with his Bedroom Face. A frisson of delight bloomed in Remy’s gut.



You could tell a lot about that first-thing-in-the-morning look on a person’s face on the proverbial “morning after” a night of sin. Averted eyes and tightened lips were the kiss of death; the dawning realization of mistakes made the night before had a way of making the whole body clamp up tighter than a pair of shrunken jeans. Logan’s eyes didn’t avoid his; they merely studied him with slow and easy languor, exploring the planes of his face and his smooth, golden skin. The room was still cast in a cool, blue glow from the approaching dawn, and a faint, sweet smile spread across Logan’s lips.



“Mornin’,” Logan offered. Gentle fingertips grazed the crest of his cheek and combed through Remy’s soft hair, and he felt himself being shifted until he was cradled in an embrace that reminded him dimly of a bear’s. His sleep-warmed skin and crisp hairs on his chest tickled Remy briefly. “How’d ya sleep?” No questions about what time it was; no furtive search around the bedroom for his clothes or mumbled excuses about having to be to work, even though, Remy reasoned, the hour was ungodly. He suppressed a chuckle as he remembered mornings past of driving off in the morning with his shirt on inside-out. No walks of shame or hangovers this time.



And if worse came to worse, Logan could drive himself home.



Remy leaned up into a kiss, not caring about his morning breath. Logan’s mouth was hot and firm, and he wanted to sink into it again and feel the pulse and flex of his body again, moving in that irresistible rhythm. He twined his arms around the broad, sturdy back and caressed the bumpy pearls of his spinal cord, kneading his flesh.



“Mornin’,” Remy replied into his mouth, and he was once again lost. Blood flow was restored to his limbs and every nerve ending in their bodies awoke, thrilling to the now-familiar contact. Remy took the lead this time and slowly explored the secrets of Logan’s body, revisiting the places that made him gasp. He writhed beneath him as his velvety tongue stroked him, teasing a path down his neck and trailing sweet havoc along his chest. His abdomen jumped at the mischievous nips before Remy engulfed him. He savored him, and for the first time in longer than Remy could remember, he allowed Logan into the aura of his empathy, sharing as well as taking in his emotions. As Logan divulged with him what felt pleasurable and exciting, the hint of Remy’s own arousal caressed him and drew him more deeply inside. Without realizing why, Logan rode out the sensations of his companion’s touch that was in perfect sync with his needs, and with each arch of his hips, pushing himself further into Remy’s luscious, damp heat, he stoked the Cajun’s own passion and his need to claim him. Logan’s solid thighs were splayed open, creating a nook for Remy to relax and work. His fingers were slicked in Logan’s own sweat as they stroked the crease where his thigh joined his hip and skimmed over his perineum tenderly, carefully cupping his sac before mouthing each one. He returned to the shaft, thrusting itself wantonly toward his mouth, and he traced the veins with his tongue until he once again took him inside. Logan’s pleasure enveloped him; he didn’t plead, he merely accepted what Remy had to give. His head was flung back against the downy pillow and he fisted his hands in it from the overwhelming thrill. Pressure throbbed within him; he was engorged and screaming for release, even though his lips could only moan.



He sensed that Remy wanted him to lie back, without holding him yet. To let him take the lead. He struggled to maintain some semblance of control before he felt himself falling over the edge, joyously letting go…his release was powerful and chased away everything else. His thighs jerked and his abdomen rippled as he bucked, feeling Remy’s mouth swallow him again and again, his hands slicking over him to prolong his high and ease him down from it. His entire body went deliciously limp, and he shuddered when Remy gave the glistening tip of his member one final kiss.



He wanted to protest when he slid off of him and padded out of the room in the buff. His erection ebbed away as he craned his head off the pillows, leaning up onto one elbow. Remy had carefully withdrawn himself from their empathic rapport, leaving Logan alone with his feelings, and he felt slightly bereft, and rebuffed.



Remy came back, smiling at him from the doorway with a folded towel that he chucked on top of the hamper lid. He fumbled in the top drawer of his bureau and found himself a pair of boxers. “Kick back,” he suggested. “Ain’t gonna fall back t’sleep. Gonna brew up some coffee.”



“Ya normally an early riser?”



“Non. Remy like de snooze alarm as much as de next person,” he shrugged. “But if Remy don’ get up now, be likely t’stay in bed all day. Got t’ings t’take care of in de shop. Promised Oncle. Can’t break a promise.”



“Guess he’d have yer hide,” Logan grumbled, but Remy heard the smile in his voice, even when he turned his broad back to him while reaching for his own boxers and sliding them on. Remy admired the play of muscles beneath his skin and his tapered waist. Not surprisingly, Logan was well-proportioned, due in part to his rigorous physical labor and his compact frame. He wasn’t a man who neglected his lower body when he worked out, so his legs were as powerful as his chest, toned, sculpted and bulging, and he had an ass that made women do a double take. Remy didn’t find it too shabby, either.



“Oui, chere. G’wan, use de shower first; Remy gonna start breakfast.”



“Ya ain’t gotta trouble yerself, bub.” Logan’s efforts at being polite were dashed to bits by his growling stomach.



“I heard that,” Remy grinned. “Ain’t no trouble.” He waited for Logan to cross the room and gather up the towel before leading him to the bathroom.



“Shampoo’s already in dere, homme,” he informed him before nudging open the door and urging Logan inside, letting his hand linger on the slope of his upper arm. Reluctantly he head back into the kitchen, feeling Logan’s eyes on his back.



Minutes later, Remy was immersed in the scent of coffee and was enjoying the silky feel of biscuit dough beneath his knuckles as he kneaded it and prepared the counter with a dusting of flour to roll it out. Sausage links sizzled in the pan, and a carton of eggs sat on the counter, still unopened as he heated a second frying pan. Logan was quiet; all Remy heard down the hall was the spray of the water and the occasional groan as it soothed muscles knotted from sharing a bed during the night. He contemplated joining him, but he brushed the temptation aside.



It would be hard enough if they didn’t keep things on an even footing. So they’d had a good night. An amazing night. What did they have in common after the sheets grew cold?



Logan seemed like a proud man, and Remy had grown too used to guessing games and nursing his own wounded pride and broken heart. He longed to let him in, but he’d spent too long building up all those walls.



He just wasn’t ready.



The scent of steam and soap swept into the hallway and mingled with the cooking aromas drifting out from the kitchen as Logan stepped out, his body toweled mostly dry before he worked on his damp, unruly black waves. Remy enjoyed the view; his skin was rosy and burnished from the warm spray as he loped into the bedroom to dispose of the towel. He came back to the kitchen garbed in his white cotton tank and socks to stave off the faint morning chill. The heat from the kitchen kissed his skin and gave him a pleasant tingle.



“Yer makin’ me hungry. Ya said ya had coffee?” The question was unnecessary; his nose zeroed in on it as he rummaged through the same cupboard Remy had the night before for the cups. He chose a dark blue one this time with the name of Remy’s auto shop screened onto it in white letters and filled it with the fragrant brew, a woody French roast. He skipped the creamer laid out on the counter but added a healthy dash of sugar from the open box.



“Siddown, homme,” he offered. He dutifully took up the chair facing the stove so he could watch his host slide a pan of what looked like biscuits into the oven.



“I ain’t much of a cook.”



“Remy likes t’eat. Learnin’ t’cook made sense, non?”



“Oui,” Logan muttered over his coffee, and he shot Remy a look of mischief over the rim of his cup, cocking one of those shaggy brows. Remy chuckled and turned back to his roux in the skillet, pouring in milk and crumbling up bits of sausage into it. The eggs were ready in a few short whisks and flips of the spatula. He served them deftly onto two more mismatched plates. Logan smiled when he handed him a bottle of ketchup from the fridge. Remy dotted his own with green Tabasco sauce and tucked into it ravenously, not realizing how hungry he was until he ate the first bite.



“S’good,” Logan mumbled, forking up another bite.



“Don’ be shy.”



“Gonna head out ta meet Scott at eight. We’re finishing up with the appliances and the final inspection and appraisal today. I’m taking the weekend off fer some R&R.”



“Gettin’ ready t’finish detail paint on a mini truck. Gonna be airbrushed wit’ a mural tomorrow. Gonna be sweet.”



“Wouldn’t mind seein’ it when yer done.”



“Let Remy know if y’wan’ come see it,” he replied before he could stop himself. Damn it.



He’d presumed too much, and backed down from his promise. There was no easy escape. “Unless y’wan’ just see de car show itself. Two weeks from now.”



“That’ll work,” Logan shrugged, but he caught a change in Remy’s scent and voice. He suddenly seemed skittish and slightly restless. He fiddled with his coffee, stirring it just to hear the metal clink against the crockery. “Sure I ain’t keepin’ ya up?”



“Oui.” He got up again to check the oven and gave the gravy a stir with the spatula.



Tension crept into Logan’s belly. He went back over the events of the night before, searching for clues of what he might have done wrong. It had been a while since he’d shared a bed with anyone, and even longer since that “anyone” turned out to be a man. He didn’t want to leave yet; reality waited for him as soon as he opened the front door and inhaled that first breath. In the confines of this tiny apartment, there was momentary peace. The why’s, who’s, what’s, when’s and where’s of his past were nowhere to be found, and he felt easy in his skin.



“Can’t read yer flamin’ mind, kid,” Logan murmured. “I know there’s somethin’ on it, so out with it.”



“Ya always dis chatty, chere?”



“It ain’t just the hunger setting in; ya already took care of that.” Logan expelled a gusty sigh and leaned back in his chair. “This ain’t somethin’ I make a habit out of, let’s be clear on that. One-nighters. Ain’t my style.”



“Remy calls it de ‘random encounter.’ Much betta ring t’it, non?”



“Uh-uh. Not really. It ain’t me.”



“I’d like t’t’ink, chere, dat y’knew what was in store when ya came here last night.”



Logan scowled and ran rough fingers through the hair of his nape, which was gradually gaining volume as it dried. “In some ways, yes. Just didn’t think that far ahead.”



“Then ya thought right,” Remy announced, as he flicked off the burner for the gravy and then set it aside. He slid an oven mitt onto his hand and extracted the Pyrex dish of biscuits, perfectly browned and high. He brought them to the table and set them on a trivet. Logan helped himself to one, and Remy held up the pan of gravy in silent invitation. Logan nodded, and he spooned a generous river over the split halves of flaky bread. “Remy stopped t’inkin’ ‘bout anytin’ beyond de ‘mornin’ after’ a long time ago. Ain’t no such t’ing as ‘happily ever after.’ Not in Remy’s vocabulary.”



“Those ain’t words I throw around, anyway. Ain’t gonna start now.” The gravy was savory, and he blew on it to avoid burning his mouth. “Sometimes ya’ve gotta settle for ‘the next day’ as a jumpin’ off point and go from there.” He combined the rest of the scraps of his eggs with the gravy and loaded his fork with it. “Or call it quits. But ya can’t make much of a call based on one night. At least I can’t.”



“Neh. Call it random, den move on.” Remy’s tone was cavalier, but his eyes told a different story.



“Yeah. Movin’ on’s bout what I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t look back.”



“Be betta if y’didn’.”



“Can’t get away from it.” Memories of dreams that kept his slumber restless, at best, twisted his lips.



“Y’ain’t runnin’ fast enough, chere.” The endearment puzzled him. He was still baffled when Remy refilled his coffee cup.



For someone whose words were chasing him out the door, his actions beckoned to him to stay right where he was. He still couldn’t read Remy’s mind.



He settled for clearing their empty plates before Remy could get up. “Go shower,” he suggested. “I can get this.”



“Don’ hafta.”



“No biggie.” He turned his back on the sight of Logan’s reaching for the dish soap. The clink of the plates followed him to the bathroom.



When he came out with his towel wrapped around his waist, Logan’s clothes were long gone, and the kitchen was spotless, as though he had never been there. Remy felt relieved, but he was dogged by a sense of loss as he dressed for the day.