The Thrill is Gone

Summary: Remy tries to avoid treading a dark path once more, and missteps.

Author’s Note: This is a long time in coming. Ideas for Remy/Logan one-shots keep coming to me and getting in the way of this story, even though I haven’t done anything with those, either.

Logan hated laundry day.

His work clothes were about to walk out of the hamper, crawl downstairs to the Laundromat and fling themselves into the heavy duty machine if he didn’t do something about it. He avoided punishing himself, not bothering to examine any of his clothing by smell, even items that landed on the floor while they were still clean. All of it went into the baskets, barely sorted. He hefted them, one stacked on the other, and shouldered his way out the door. His small pouch of quarters created a bulge in his pocket.

The breeze was inviting, making him wish he didn’t have to spend time inside. He rode down the street with the windows down, not caring that Lulu needed a beauty treatment. Once he washed his clothes, he could wash her. His favorite car wash had a vacuum hose; he could clean out the mounds of dust and grit left from his work boots.

He was unabashed as he loaded his dark colors into the machine, pouring in Febreze-scented Tide with a heavy hand. He knew his work clothes looked like heck. A couple college girls still young enough to be jail bait peered up at him from their history texts and diet sodas and wrinkled their noses at his stained shirts.

Logan sat near the television and listened to the game while he checked his voice mails and texts.

No calls from Remy. That made four days in a row. But he wasn’t counting. Honestly.

Logan had left him one voice mail. One. It was Remy’s turn to be “it.” He knew it was childish, but he was who he was. Logan was old enough that the prospect of chasing someone didn’t appeal to him so much anymore. He needed someone who wouldn’t play games.

Yet the Cajun’s eyes tempted him – no, invited him – to play every time they connected. And they had connected.

He sighed, then rose to grab a Power-Ade from the vending machine. He kissed more of his pocket change goodbye as a niggling thought pulled at him.

He could simply go see him.

Nah.

His body argued with him. What would it hurt?

Better yet, why not invite him to his place?

Logan took stock and decided that yes, he was ready. Why not?

Weeks ago, he would have read off a miles-long list of why-nots, all of them beginning with Walt. Some of his clothing had still smelled like him, and his pillows, for a while, after he’d come by one night…Logan had been vulnerable, and it cost him. Despite a night of hungry, needy sex, he laid awake in the dark, Walt’s blond hair tucked beneath his chin and his long legs dangling off the end of the bed. Logan regretted it immediately. Their goodbyes the next day were bitter. Logan felt like shit.

He’d put away old mementos. Deleted old emails from his computer and erased penciled-in contact numbers from his black book.

His home was his sanctuary, too personal and dear to be squandered. His bills were neatly tucked into a rack by the kitchen phone. He bought honey nut Cheerios with no one to lecture him to eat oatmeal or soy milk or any other such crap. He didn’t have to share the remote. No one else occupied his favorite leather recliner.

Most of all, he didn’t feel smothered.

…then again, why did it bother him that he was suddenly annoyed that no one tried to smother him, lately?

No. Logan didn’t want to lose himself in the process of loving someone else.

He imagined Remy’s smooth voice filling the space and his long, lean legs sprawled on his couch. He contemplated what he could feed him. Logan’s refrigerator was appallingly bare.

*


The second cigarette didn’t help him any more than the first.

Julien. Motherfucker.

Seeing the careless disarray of Rene’s room, contaminated by his presence took Remy back to a bad place.

They’d almost lost Rene. Remy’s face was dark with remembered anger and helplessness.

An expired lease pushed them down the road to ruin. If Remy had to name the one point in his life where it went to hell, it was the day he’d decided not to sign on at his old two-bedroom unit for another year.

The place had been a dump. Their landlord, Nate, was a hard man with flinty eyes and a tight fist who refused to patch a big hole in the drywall left by the previous occupant’s head during a party gone wrong, or to fix leaky faucets and the broken garbage disposal. Remy thought he enjoyed toying with them.

Remy walked in on Belladonna as she was nodding her way off the kitchen phone, murmuring several “mm-hms” and “oui’s” into the handset. Her eyes lit up as she saw him, and she raised her cheek for his kiss. Her breath smelled like the root beer she’d been drinking and she didn’t even bat away his hand as he groped her breast, persuading her to hang up.

That was how it was back then. Easy. Sweet.

The young couple was dirt-broke. Belladonna Boudreaux dropped out of her first year of college, claiming it was a waste of time when so many of her friends who had degrees were working at Starbucks. She decided to cut out the middle man. Remy knew it was because she had problems paying attention but didn’t argue with her.

He loved her beyond reason. It consumed him.

He backed her toward the wall and took the handset from her, cradling it as he gave her a more proper hello. She giggled beneath his lips, then opened for him. Her fingernails scraped his scalp as she clutched handfuls of his hair. Her sigh resonated through him, bringing him in sync with her satisfaction.

They came up for air long enough for her to lay her idea on him. “Got a place we might be able ta have.”

“Have ya now.”

“Stop that…” she muttered futilely as his hand crept beneath her shirt. “Got a three-bedroom lined up on a quiet street.” Remy drew back and frowned.

“Three? Don’ make much sense when we can’t even afford two, petit.”

“It does when ‘three’ makes ‘we,’ chere. Talked t’my brother. He might move in wit’ us for a while.” Emotions crept over Remy’s features one at a time. He cradled Bella thoughtfully as she plied his neck and face with kisses.

“How much rent can he afford ta pay?”

“Half,” she grinned, enjoying his look of surprise.

“Naw!”

“Yeah, baby! So whaddya think? Are ya up fer packin’ our bags?”

He had his misgivings, but Remy was out the next morning before work looking for broken down boxes behind apartment dumpsters and outside the shop. It was too good to pass up.

Bella made them a surprisingly lavish dinner of shrimp cocktail, Spanish rice, pinto beans and ceviche over crisp tostadas with crumbles of Casero. Julien brought the Corona. That was the first mark in his favor.

It wouldn’t be the only one. Julien loved cars. In no time, Remy was uncapping his bottle for him and ushering him into his favorite chair. They ate the delicious food and joked all night while Bella told outrageous stories of his childhood. If Julien was occasionally protective of his sister, it was subtle but understandable. Every now and again, his lips would tighten if Remy became too familiar with Bella, making him remove his hand from her hip and chasten his kisses.

They were out of their unit and moving boxes into the spacious townhouse-style, upstairs apartment that had a view of the pool. They didn’t have to throw a yard sale or consolidate their belongings to a bare minimum; Julien hardly owned anything aside from his clothing and a few bedroom items. He lived like a man who detested putting down roots.

He was as good as his word. Julien paid half the rent and made himself scarce. The first three months were idyllic. Bella’s family made periodic visits, usually entering without knocking, a quirk that Remy quickly grew used to but not fond of. Slowly they added to the sparse furnishings, buying things on credit once their funds were less strained. Julien contributed generously enough and offered no complaint when Bella sat down and divided up the utility bills among them. He never complained about being broke, despite only working part-time in the automotive department of Sears.

Bella and Remy married in September in a cozy traditional ceremony.

Julien watched him during the reception, almost too closely. Every time Remy turned around, he found Julien’s dark eyes following him. He raised his glass to the groom in salute. Remy smiled and winked back, but he shook off an uneasy flush. Bella scooted him onto the dance floor, distracting him. But he couldn’t focus himself entirely on his bride.

Bella hardly noticed. It was her day.

Some days found Julien returning home earlier than Remy expected. He’d grab himself a Corona and head back to his bedroom to smoke and watch his tiny TV. Remy noticed he began keeping to himself. If Bella noticed, she didn’t mention it.

“Don’ fret ‘bout mon frere,” she chided him as she stirred dinner in the frying pan. “Sometimes, he jus’ keeps ta himself.”

Yet he didn’t. Julien began to have a slow trickle of visitors during the evenings. Typically they were male. Many of them claimed to know Julien from the automotive department when Remy inquired.

They left Remy feeling unsettled and uncomfortable. They barely made small talk even when they were waiting for Julien to emerge from his room. Often they would watch a little sports in the living room, but they ended up back in Julien’s room, nodding a terse goodbye to his sister and brother-in-law.

Then there were the phone calls. The voice mail was full of hang-ups. Julien’s friends only wanted to know when he would be back or if he was carrying his cell. They never parked in the uncovered parking by the apartment. Remy came home most days and saw them trekking from the street outside the complex. It puzzled him.

Ignorance was bliss.

Remy came home sick one day; Philippe’s injunction to go straight to bed still rang in his ears as he trudged upstairs.

The kitchen was a mess, but he ignored it. Empty cases of Corona overflowed from the trash and all of the snack bags laid empty on the counter, dropping crumbs.

Music.

Remy heard it throbbing down the hallway as he made his way past the bathroom. Julien was singing at the top of his lungs in the shower, filling the air with the scent of his Axe body soap, but it didn’t cover the odd stench floating around Remy.

“What de hell?” Remy fanned the air impatiently, wrinkling his nose. The odor was pungent, a burning smell that reminded him of the incense he hated whenever he took Belladonna to the farmer’s market. It was also reminiscent of wet straw. Remy was afraid that the neighbor’s would complain about it, so he went into Julien’s room to open a window.

The room was a shambles.

The smell was strongest there, making Remy’s puffy eyes water and his stomach churn. The floor was littered with discarded clothing, some of which didn’t look like Julien’s. Remy didn’t have a problem with that; his brother-in-law obviously wasn’t as pure as the driven snow. Men had needs.

But the more he looked, the more his stomach twisted, making him break out in a cold sweat.

Piles of money lay atop the dresser. Large bills. The bedside table was strewn with burnt-out matchsticks and three lighters.

Beside his clock were two burnt stubs of what looked like hand-rolled cigarettes. They leaked gray ash, but the ground leaves were a strange shade of sage green.

“Shit,” Remy hissed. He decided against opening the window, but again noticed how dark the room was.

Tin foil was taped over the windows, even though there were perfectly good Venetian blinds in the room. Remy stumbled through the piles of clothing and slowly turned around.

How much had Bella skipped telling him?

“Whaddya need?” Julien barked behind him. Remy’s throat seized in surprise. He spun on him, eyes wild.

“What’re ya doin’ in here, homme? What’s dis?” He waved to the mess on the bedside table. “What’ve ya been doin’?” Julien’s appearance embarrassed Remy.

He lounged indolently in the doorway; his towel was draped around his hips, slung low enough for Remy to see the dark happy trail and the crevice of his groin. Julien huffed and his lip curled in a lopsided smirk. He was unabashed and dripping, but Remy could only stare, unnerved.

“See sometin’ ya want?”

“Naw,” Remy replied. “Jus wuzn’t expectin’ dis.” He threw up his hands. “Why?” Julien shrugged.

“Ain’t nuthin’,” he offered. He stretched languorously, still heedless of the towel. He scratched his stomach, again drawing Remy’s attention where he didn’t want it to go.

Belladonna was beautiful with blonde, wholesome good looks. Julien wasn’t hard on the eyes, either, but he was a horse of a different color. His skin was ruddy and tanned, and he was tall and lean. His forearms were well muscled from working on cars, much like Remy’s, but he was rangier, giving him a hungry look. His eyes were so dark they appeared black. His sable brown hair was slicked back from his face and clung to his neck in damp streamers.

Julien and Bella had almost the same mouth, wide and full with a deep notch in the upper lip. Julien’s eyes were slightly bloodshot and drowsy. The bed sheets were rumpled, as though he’d just rolled out of them. Or like someone else had…

“How long have ya been at dis?”

“A while. Jus’ every now an’ again.”

“Bullshit.”

“Got a problem? Didn’ seem like ya minded it when I paid rent on time,” Julien pointed out, folding his arms over his chest and pushing away from the wall.

“Lemme out, homme,” Remy snorted, annoyed.

“Non. Seriously. Ain’ got a problem wit’ de money I give Bella, huh? Do ya now, Remy?”

“Makin’ an honest livin’?” Remy shot back.

“Jus’ helpin’ out.”

“Christ, Julien! Whaddya t’ink, de neighbors ain’ gonna figure it out? Got a line of folks comin’ an’ goin’ through dat front door? Place smells like shit!” he swore. Remy was flushed with anger. “Ya always into dis? Back when Bella asked ya ta move in? An’ she’s okay wit’ dis?”

Julien sobered. “I don’ tell Bella everytin’. Ain’ no reason ta start now.”

“Sonofabitch,” Remy hissed. He backed down and raked his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes.

“Look, mec…she don’ know ev’rytin’,” he hedged, suddenly nervous. “She…Bella don’ know I use. Jus’ dat I sell.”

“T’ink dat’s so much better, neh?”

Julien shrugged. He moved toward Remy. He backed away instinctively, but Remy was compelled by those unsettling dark eyes.

“Get dressed!” he hissed.

“Ain’ in a big hurry,” he sniffed. His proximity made Remy edge backward, toward the window. He didn’t know why he didn’t try to move around him, for the door.

“Gettin’ a lil familiar, non?”

“S’my room.”

“It’s a pigsty.”

“I’ll tell dat ta the cleanin’ lady.”

“Ya can’t live like dis.”

“I’m a grown-ass man. No one’s tried ta tell me how ta live since I wuz sixteen,” he scoffed. His eyes flicked over Remy. He could smell Julien’s shampoo and the faint residue of the grass he’d smoked still in his hair.

He couldn’t stop looking at his mouth.

“Might be betta fo’ all of us if we didn’t live under one roof anymore, homme.”

“Ain’t any reason ta change anytin’.”

“Plenty of reason right here.”

“An’ what? G’wan back ta dat dump ya’ll lived in before?” Julien chuckled and shook his head. His voice was dark as syrup. “I can think of ten good reasons why ya don’ need ta go anywhere, Remy. Top one on de list is dat I can see yer rock-hard right now.” Remy’s eyes dilated. He swallowed sharply and his mouth was dry.

He mustered his focus and shoved him back. Shock mingled with anger. Julien’s slick, cool skin burned him, but he also felt how solid and hard he was.

“Got a lotta brass tellin’ me dat, homme! Outta yer fuckin’ mind!”

“Dat right?”

“Case it escaped ya, mec, I tied de knot wit’ Bella. Ya ain’t my type.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“I don’ t’ink yer thinkin’ clearly right now, Julien. Ain’ gonna tell Bella about dis, cuz it never happened, understand? Dis never happened.” He pronounced it with finality, but Remy’s heart was pounding its way out of his chest. Julien’s eyes challenged him.

“Dat’s how ya t’ink it’s gonna be, eh?”

“Ain’t any room for argument. M’done.” His scowl never wavered. “Put some clothes on!” he snapped.

Julien’s laugh mocked him.

They stared each other down. Remy’s breathing was choppy and adrenaline was still running through him. He attempted to leave the room again. Julien feinted, conveniently stepping into his path and invading his space. That slick, firm chest bumped Remy again.

“Ain’t in the mood t’get dressed yet. M’ all clean, Remy.”

“I don’ give a fuck, get back, mec!” He slapped Julien’s hand away when he reached for his neck. He dodged each grab for him that Julien made for him until Julien launched himself into him, knocking him back into the sill. Remy was easily stronger than Julien was in his muddled state, but Julien was quick and knocked him off balance. He grabbed and tugged at Remy’s wrists, trying to hold them back above his head. Even when Remy jerked one limb loose, Julien’s hot mouth dove at his vulnerable throat. Remy roared in defiance. “GET OFF, YA FUCK!”

He tripped Julien’s feet out from under him and pushed him back. Even as Julien fell, his dark laughter filled Remy’s ears, and he clung fast to Remy’s fleeing legs. He weighed him down and dragged him back until Remy’s knees buckled.

Remy’s loose jeans gapped at his waist, giving him a draft as Julien attempted to pull them off. He experienced anger mixed with shock. Julien’s shabby carpeting was giving his hands rug burn. Remy flipped himself to take umbrage, to hit him, but Julien whistled between his teeth.

“Mmm,” he muttered. “Damn, mec, dat’s gotta hurt.” He was right. Remy’s hard-on hadn’t subsided from their rough struggle. If anything, it throbbed even more from the tension in the room. He wouldn’t admit that Julien’s proximity, his male scent mingled with shampoo and the heat of his body was responsible.

Julien’s towel was gone, and the evidence of his arousal buffeted Remy’s thigh as he crawled over him and started fighting with Remy’s clothing. His button-fly was jerked open. Remy punched him squarely in the temple.

Julien looked surprised, then froze Remy’s blood in his veins with his glare. He swung out and backhanded Remy, knocking him back. Remy reeled. Pain exploded across his jaw, distracting him from Julien’s busy hands that were jerking his jeans down his thighs.

“Guess I know why Bella picked you,” Julien groaned, reaching for the smooth column of rosy flesh. Remy’s skin felt silky and hot in his grip, which was unrelenting. He squeezed him and pumped, making sounds of satisfaction in his throat.

Remy’s body reacted fiercely to his touch. His legs kicked out and he struggled to flip over and buck him off.

“Non!” Julien barked, slamming a fist into the center of his chest.

“Sonofabitch!” Remy hissed, but Julien never released him. If anything, he’d begun pumping him faster, longer, in a snug grip that felt too much like his own. “Son…of a…” His voice died. Remy’s breathing hitched in his chest as Julien stroked the thick vein on the underside of his dick with his thumb.

“Ya’ve done this before, man. Don’ try lyin’ t’me,” Julien purred as he splayed Remy’s legs open further, jerking his jeans around his ankles. Remy’s taut, fair skin was exposed. Fine dark hair covered long, toned and muscular legs. Remy tried crawling back on his elbows, away from Julien, but he had him where he was most vulnerable. He could risk hurting himself…

His body had other ideas. He felt his flesh grow hot in Julien’s hands and all the blood rushed from one head to the other. His hips arched and bucked from the floor as Julien pumped him again and again.

“Aw, Gawd,” Remy breathed. His gaze grew hazy for a moment, then his red-on-black eyes snapped open wide as Julien eased himself over his body. He caught his own dick in the ring of his fist, fitting it against Remy’s. He thrust against him, groaning at the feel of him. Remy ignored his squallid surroundings and the cloying aroma of pot smoke and let lust consume him. Julien’s breath steamed his lips, and Remy leaned up into his kiss. It was hungry, even obscene, invading him.

He shouldn’t have wanted it; the concept preceded and overrode that he shouldn’t have done it.

Julien had him naked and crying out, fists twisted in the sheets as he pounded into him. They fucked and drained each other until they were limp. Remy didn’t lounge long in Julien’s rumpled bed. When he rose, he was trembling. Julien’s dark eyes cracked open and he watched him as Remy fumbled with his clothes.

“Ya don’ hafta…”

“I know. I ain’t sayin’ a damn thing, mec.”

Remy’s euphoria vanished as soon as he closed the bedroom door after him.

Belladonna.

What the fuck had he done?

Cold dread suffocated him. He didn’t hear another peep from Julien during the little time he spent in the apartment that afternoon; he lay passed out in his room.

From then on, they engaged in a bizarre song and dance. Remy willfully turned a blind eye to Julien’s “business.” Belladona assumed that their living arrangement continued as long as it had out of convenience.

“We get along just fine, peas in a pod,” she answered to anyone who asked about how the married couple could live with her brother for so many months.

If only she knew.