With Every Beat of My Heart

Summary: Logan finds insight into what he’s lost and how to approach what he could gain.

Author’s Note: I think this might be the first time I’ve juggled three LoMy fics at once, both two that are in progress and one that I just concocted yesterday. I think I’ll be hearing Logan and Remy’s accents in my sleep, eventually, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

I’m imitating myself a bit in this chapter, since I used a similar plot device in one of my RoLo stories called “Rubbing Me the Wrong Way” out on the Realm a couple of years ago. But I’d rather imitate myself than steal from someone else.

*

Sometimes he still talked to her.

Logan nursed a cold Molson on the couch, stocking feet propped on the coffee table while he watched Die Harder on cable.

Daisy lounged beside him, curled in a ball and laying her head in his lap. He reached down periodically to scratch her ears. He felt her contentment, but Logan was restless.

The gallery show still lingered on his mind, and Logan couldn’t forget the images of Jean-Paul lovingly captured in Remy’s photographs. There was something so compelling about those eyes. His regard for Remy came through in the photographs, even though he seemed to merely tolerate having his picture taken in some.

It was so clear to Logan that Remy lost the love of his life. That made the question of how to approach what he had with Remy…what he didn’t have with him yet…even more vague.

The feelings were frightening, because they were long forgotten, reawakened by his budding friendship with Remy.

You’ve never been shy before about going after what you wanted.

If Logan closed his eyes, he could almost feel the faint heft of Jean’s head leaning against his shoulder in the dark and hear her light breathing, smell her shampoo.

Things weren’t this complicated before.

Who ever told you that you were complicated?

Brat.

Hey, I’m just telling it like it is. He heard her chuckle in the back of his mind and smirked.

I’m having second thoughts about somethin’, darlin’.

Poor baby. Lay it on me. Jean curled her fingers around his and kissed his shoulder.

Back in the day, I didn’t know what I was doin’…

Sure you did. You were just taken for granted, and then taken for a ride. Not everyone’s like Mac.

That left a bad taste in my mouth.

I don’t blame you. I’d show up at his front doorstep with a bat if he’d done to me what he did to you, sweetie. Doesn’t matter that I’m a straight woman. I’ve never put up with a man treating me like that. Logan dipped his head and brushed his lips over her forehead. You spoiled me. You never did that.

Never. That’s not how I’m made, darlin’. I love you. I always loved you.

I couldn’t help but love you. You’re a teddy bear.

Am not!

Are too.

Don’t tell anyone.

Zipping my lip, now.

I just don’t wanna get too cozy and end up bein’ told I was just a fling.

He doesn’t seem that type to me.

What do you think, anyway?

Seems kinda fun. I like his taste in clothes and coffee. Snappy dresser, nice sense of humor. Seems kinda cocky.

No shit. He’s definitely that.

That’s good for you, you know. You always retreat inside yourself. Bottle too much up.

Never did around you.

Sure you did. You even let me have free run of the house with my girly décor. I flowered the heck out of every square inch of the place, and never heard a peep from you.

That wasn’t a big deal. Made ya happy.

And you always do that for other people, sometimes at your own expense. But I know what it did to you when Mac broke it off with you. That was hard on you.

It was hell on him.

Mac Hudson was the one who slipped past Logan’s defenses. Athletic and confident, outspoken and popular, he was the one who planned the keggers and who everyone called first to ask what the plan was.

He singled out Logan frequently to tease him, since he was the strong, silent type. It was so much fun to get a rise out of him, even though it was difficult.

Hey, Logan, the beauty shop called. They’re out of hair gel.

Half of his day to day contact with Mac involved taking umbrage. Mac loved pranks, whether it was dropping an ice cube down Logan’s collar, kick me signs on his back, nabbing him with a Super Soaker as he rounded the hall or pantsing him on the lawn outside their dorms.

So it came like a shot out of the blue when they were joking around in the showers. Mac snapped his towel at Logan’s vulnerable rear with a loud crack.

“Sonofa…!”

He chased him. It didn’t matter that he’d had to hop stumbling on one foot to struggle into his boxers, nearly slipping on the wet tiles. Logan ran through the bathroom suite, towel rat-tailed and intent on getting his revenge.

Mac stumbled. Logan practically fell on him.

They wrestled. Both of them were slippery and damp, not yet dried off.

They knocked each other down. Gave headlocks. Indian burns. Wet willies. Kidney punches.

Mac’s dark blue eyes dilated once he realized how close Logan was. Before Logan realized what was happening, his dorm mate leaned down and kissed him. It was unexpected and experimental, just trying Logan on, tasting him.

Once the initial shock left him, Logan moaned and kissed him back in kind, letting his fingers creep into Mac’s soft, damp dark hair.

He’d always known the feelings were there, but never knew they were returned. Misgivings that Logan had since he was a boy fell away in the silent shower room, fixtures dripping in the background and echoing off the tile.

Their arrangement was tentative, and their meetings were furtive. Mac lived three doors down. His roommate, Walter, was huge and was there on a football scholarship. They made use of his frequent absences and endless hours at the gym. Hesitant, awkward encounters blossomed into passion, kisses grew bolder as boundaries fell away between them.

Logan put aside everything he thought he knew about himself, every self-preserving urge and threw caution to the wind. He fell in love with James McDonald Hudson, and he fell hard.

It wasn’t always easy.

Mac was a neat freak. Logan was a bit of a slob. The bottle of Astroglide was often hidden under pairs of dirty socks on his desk; once Mac winced in disgust when he found it lying in a pizza box. Logan never explained what they had to his parents, but his brother John had a clue. He said nothing.

He grew lost in Mac, even as he told himself that it could end any time.

And it did.

Heather came along one night, showing up with her friend Narya. She introduced her as one of her sorority sisters. She was striking. When Logan was attracted to women, his preferences ran toward redheads, and she was a petite strawberry blonde.

He shot Mac hurt glances throughout the night as she hung on his every word, plying him with compliments and double entenders. Despite his occasional interruptions, Mac was riveted by her easy charm. Nothing could tear them apart.

A week later, Mac broke it off.

What truly stung was that it meant so little to Mac. That he’d only been experimenting, he said. That Logan shouldn’t have taken it so seriously, he said, because he wasn’t.

Logan was quiet over the next few weeks, licking his wounds in silence.

It was hard. It was ugly. He felt raw.

He told himself that it would have almost been better if he’d never known what it was like to kiss a man’s firm lips or feel a hard, angular body against his, hearing a deep voice murmuring in his ear, urging him to come. Mac was his first.

And somewhere along the way, Logan decided he would be his last.

The break-up wasn’t as fresh by the time Narya introduced him to Jean Grey.

*

…you were so cute back then.

I ain’t cute, woman. I’m ‘handsome.’

Whatever. You were too cute. I loved your ears and your little grin that you always had when you were up to something.

Me? I was innocent as a lamb…

Yeah, right, buster.

You gave the best hugs.

Happy to oblige, darlin’.

You made me feel safe.

Logan shuddered slightly, then felt shame drift over him.

Don’t. Don’t feel that way.

I wasn’t there when ya needed me, Jeannie, I…

You couldn’t be everywhere at once.

I wanted to be able to protect you!

Things happen, sweetheart. Life happens. As soon as you walk out that door in the morning, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that you won’t walk back alive.

Jean…

Never, ever feel guilty about what you can’t change.

It wasn’t your time.

Maybe it was. He turned and found her green eyes shining with tears, found his own filling in response. Everything happens for a reason.

You can’t give this a reason. I’m dying without you, Jeannie. Love you so much. Hurts so damned much.

I’m with you. I love you. You carry that with you. I’m alive as long as you keep me in your heart, Jamie. I never would have left you if I could have helped it.

I don’t know if I can love anyone else the same. Not even close.

You’d be surprised. Jamie, I don’t want you to be lonely. It’s fine if you want to carry a torch for me. And one day, you’ll see me again.

Everything feels so empty…

But Remy makes it easier, doesn’t he.

Logan mulled that, digested it.

There’s something about being with him…I can’t explain it. I just feel lighter, somehow. That weight on my chest doesn’t hurt as much.

It hurts because you won’t let it go. He could lift it from you, if you let him.

He doesn’t need my pain.

You don’t need your pain, either.

I miss your laughter.

You always did need to smile more, you know. Always such a poker face.

That’s just the way I am. Can’t help it.

That Remy’s a kick in the pants.

Logan smiled in the dark.

Yeah. He is, isn’t he?

Daisy yawned, breaking their reverie. Logan gave her a hearty scratch. Jean sighed, sounding resigned.

There’s something I need to tell you.

You can tell me anything.

I know. That’s why it was so easy for me to wrap myself up in you. You’re an easy man to love, James Howlett.

You’re the only one who’s ever thought that.

Liar. But listen to me. I’m with you. In more ways than you know.

Jean…

Let me finish. There will be moments when you feel me, not just remembering what we had. You’ll even hear me. Taste me. You might have already.

It dawned on Logan that another piece of the puzzle had been solved.

Half a shot of vanilla, half a shot of almond.

Right as rain.

Ready, Freddie.

Jeannie…how will I know-

I’ll never truly leave you. Good night.

JEANNIE!


Logan jerked awake, bathed in his own sweat. Daisy whined and yawned again, panting for attention and thumping her tail on the sofa cushion.

“Shit.” Logan ran his hand over his face, trying to clear away the cobwebs.

“Shit,” he repeated. The television droned an infomercial for male enhancement pills, telling him that his movie was over. He had a crick in his neck and his mouth tasted like paste.

And he felt more alone than before.


*

He woke up a dawn, without even setting an alarm. He was restless.

His feet automatically took him into the kitchen to make coffee. He picked up the phone out of instinct and dialed Remy’s number.

He answered on the first ring.

“H’lo?”

“You runnin’?”

“’Course.”

“Want company?”

“More the merrier, chere.”

“Be there with bells on. Gimme fifteen minutes.”

“Shake a leg,” Remy quipped. Logan heard the smile in his voice before they rang off.

He felt giddy. Satisfaction seemed to fizz inside him, like bubbles. It was such an odd feeling.

The coffee fueled him, and the day was perfect, validating his early trip. Remy was waiting for him, garbed in his windbreaker again and a pair of long shorts. He was chipper as he greeted him.

“Lookin’ alive.”

“That won’t last long, if ya run me like ya did the first time.”

“Admit it, yer gettin’ used ta it.”

“Nah.” Logan bent down and re-tied his laces. “The pain just seems ta mutate and move ta a different part of my body.” Remy snickered.

“Dat’s de spirit. C’mon!” They stretched, and five minutes later they were off.

Normally, Logan would have tried to conserve his energy by not talking. He hated the choppy breathlessness of his voice and the squeezing, hitching sensation in his lungs, not to mention the stitch he inevitably got in his side. But it felt good to talk to Remy. It was so easy to let the words tumble out.

“I enjoyed yer show. Feels like ya keep surprisin’ me with how good all yer work is, every time ya show me somethin’ new.”

“Yer butterin’ me up, chere. Don’t t’ink I’m gonna run ya any less.”

“I ain’t bullshittin’ ya.”

“Why, chere, yer gonna make dis ol’ Cajun blush.”

They ran just as long and hard as before. Logan’s shins and calves protested and his feet soon joined the chorus, but it invigorated him. The ocean breeze breathed new life into him as the sun came up in all its glory.

Remy was impressed at how Logan kept up with him, noticing that he didn’t have to slow his own pace as much for them to stay within elbow’s breadth of each other. He tasted his own sweat on his upper lip, mingling with the salty air. The pain was a good burn, even better because it was shared. They kicked up motes of sand and left behind jagged sets of prints, spaced almost the same.

This time, Logan came prepared.

“Where ya goin’?” Remy inquired once they returned to the lot. Logan hobbled to his car, still euphoric from their jaunt.

“Back in a sec.” Remy watched him curiously as Logan popped his trunk and fished in it for something. He emerged and returned with a small navy blue duffle with white piping. Logan flung it in the sand and removed his sweat-soaked long-sleeve shirt, glad to let his skin breathe.

“You stickin’ around dis time?” Remy inquired, watching him in surprise.

“Yep.” Logan continued to strip down before his courage left him. He hastily kicked off his shoes and shucked his tank. “You comin’?” He unzipped his duffle and tugged out a rolled-up beach towel. He snapped it open and laid it out, weighing it down with his sneakers.

“Yeah…I just wasn’t expectin’ ya ta take a chance.”

“Feel free ta stop me before I do anything stupid.”

“Not on yer life, mec.” Remy was quick, shucking his windbreaker and tee in one smooth motion and nudging off his shoes with his toes. Moments later, he was darting into the surf with a whoop.

“Shit,” Logan muttered right before he followed him. He braced himself for the shock of the water, knowing he was about to give himself a heart attack.

“HOLY…!!!” Logan was about to change his mind by the time he ran in a few inches past his knees. His feet slapped mounds of wet seaweed and scraped along hundreds of pebbles on his way in, toes sinking into the slushy sand. The wavelets were already lapping at him, splashing his bare legs. Each drop felt like an icicle.

He tripped. The momentum and the sucking waves carried him forward three more steps. Remy doubled back and grabbed his hand with a grin.

“No, you don’t…” Logan threatened just before Remy dove into the surf, jerking Logan in after him. Logan’s voice was swallowed up by a rush of water and foam.

Bone-snapping, blood-chilling cold water. Oh, yes, Logan was definitely going to kill him.

He emerged, gulping in hungry, desperate breaths, arms instinctively hugging himself. He bobbed up and down in the waves in an effort to warm himself. “Damn it, Remy!’ Remy’s head popped up, slick as a seal’s, and he grinned at Logan ear-to-ear. “Bastard!” he hissed. Remy ducked when Logan indignantly swatted a handful of water at his face.

“Nice, ain’t it?”

“You’re a sadist. There’s somethin’ wrong with you.”

“Awww, c’mon. It’s bracin’, makes ya feel alive!”

“This. Will. Kill. Me.” Logan hadn’t planned on giving himself hypothermia that morning. Betsy would curse him ten ways from Sunday if he didn’t show up for inventory, and it wouldn’t matter if an ambulance carted off his blue-lipped carcass sopping wet on a stretcher, either. Betsy would have her revenge.

“Water’s fine,” Remy assured him cheerfully as he began to backstroke. Logan wandered in a few feet farther, treading water to get his bearings.

“Yer used ta this,” Logan accused.

“Gotta be. Got an Iron Man competition comin’ up.”

“Hey. I forgot about that.”

“Gotta train,” Remy shrugged.

That explained his seeming invulnerability to the frigid water. But Logan gradually grew used to it. He sidestroked as Remy switched to an easy crawl stroke. Logan had forgotten how buoyant he was, how much he used to enjoy swimming. It was nice to feel weightless. Weightless, in more ways than one.

*

An hour later, they lay stretched out and basking in the now warmer morning sun. Logan was dry again but his skin was slightly crusted with sand. Remy’s hair had sprung into damp curls from their swim. The wind played with it, making it blow around his face.

“I can’t move,” Logan murmured.

“Want Remy t’carry ya?”

“You an’ what army?”

“Need de workout, anyway,” Remy claimed.

“Nah. I could toss you over my shoulder, kid. Stiff breeze’ll blow ya away.”

“Like hell!” Remy was lean, certainly not bony, but he was all long limbs and had an enviably narrow waist.

“Anna Marie ain’t feedin’ ya?”

“Pfft.” Remy shook his head, smiling. “Tante Mattie feeds me. I’ve got a hollow leg, ot’erwise, I’d be de size of a house.” Then Remy remembered something. “Speaking of which, dere’s a matter of dinner.”

“Hm.”

“Pick a night.”

“Friday?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Non. Just be prepared ta stagger away from de table. Better yet, jus’ bring a bigger pair of pants.”

But Logan didn’t have any spare fat. His normal work clothes added bulk that he didn’t have, Remy realized. He was laid out, loose shorts clinging to him while they were still damp, hugging the slope of his sturdy thighs and narrow hips.

In his own rugged, off-kilter way, Logan was beautiful.

His skin was slightly tanned. Remy guessed that his natural skin tone always held a ruddy, olive cast year-round. A dark layer of hair covered his chest and tapered the further it traveled down his abdomen, dwindling to a narrow strip just shy of his navel. His shoulders were invitingly broad and solid. The kind that you wanted to lean on while breathing in the scent of a man’s neck, or while caressing his pulse…

Other small details of his body distracted Remy. Beige, flat nipples were shaped like perfect little dimes. His navel was an inny. Logan had a faded scar on his left knee and he had long, wide feet for someone who was relatively short.

He still wore his platinum wedding band. Remy noticed it when Logan reached up to scratch his nose. He opened his eyes and squinted up at him while Remy leaned back on his elbows.

“What? What’re ya lookin’ at?”

“You,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“Because I felt like it. I like it. Like what I see.”

“Why?” Logan repeated hollowly. He felt unnerved beneath his scrutiny, and his heart began to pound.

“Because I can’t help it. And that scares me.”

Logan swallowed hard. His mouth went dry and he felt a bubble of anxiety rise up in his gut.

“Yeah? Well, it scares me, too,” he blurted out. The words escaped him. Remy’s eyes darkened with intensity. Logan couldn’t, wouldn’t believe what was happening, playing out in slow motion. He didn’t want to jinx it. It was surreal and beautiful and terrifying and he didn’t want it to end, didn’t want anyone to jump out from the background and laugh at him for it being a lie.

His breath hitched as Remy flipped onto his side, staring rapt into his eyes, letting his own take in those minor details of his looks, the flare of his nostrils and the aquiline bump of his nose, the faint laugh lines and the warm flecks of gold in his irises that kept Logan’s eyes from being a flat brown.

“Chere,” he whispered. His breath steamed the corner of Logan’s mouth, making him realize how close he was, how he carefully leaned over him, shielding his face from the sun’s glare as the shadow fell over him.

All he could see was the sun limning Remy’s hair in gold before he teased the corner of his mouth with his lips. Logan’s heart throbbed so hard he thought it might burst from his chest.

“Logan,” he whispered this time, letting his lips drift to the opposite corner, barely brushing it. It was erotic, making Logan’s body tense in anticipation and crave more. His lips were soft. Logan wondered if they tasted salty…

Logan whimpered. Whimpered. His face leaned up toward the fleeting contact, and the next time Remy’s lips brushed his, his own gently pushed back, welcoming him.

Warmth and energy and the rightness of it flooded Logan as Remy sucked his lower lip, urging him to open for him. They both began to tingle as they measured each other with the kiss, feeling something electric come alive inside them.

They focused only on the kisses, low moans of satisfaction mingling with their breath. But when Logan reached up tentatively to stroke Remy’s cheek, then let his fingers trail over his pulse, he felt it pounding, throbbing, and it became impossible not to touch him, not when his bare skin was calling to him. His hand snaked around Remy’s nape, cupping it and clutching his hair, tangling in it as the kiss grew hot.

Relief washed over Remy that it wasn’t just a dream, that Logan was actually beside him…beneath him, now, arms twining around him to stroke his warm back. Yes. The word was a feeling, echoing in his consciousness as Logan’s tongue caressed his, smooth as velvet. Damp shorts were the only barrier between them as Remy’s body shifted, movements sinuous and addictive against the man under him, making him desperate for more. So he tasted him, drank from him, reveling in him and the hope of what was to come.

They came up for air, inevitably. Logan realized that Remy’s lips did taste like sea salt, and now, they also tasted like him.

“What’s dat look for?”

“What look?”

“Dat sexy lil’ smile,” Remy accused softly, nuzzling him. The corners of Logan’s mouth spread more broadly.

“Nothin’.” His palm cradled Remy’s cheek. His eyes were full of mischief, the kind that told Remy that there was more to that smile, indeed, than he’d let on.

“So it has not’in’ t’do wit dis, den?” Remy emphasized his point with a roll of his hips. Logan’s gasp was strangled as he felt Remy’s erection pressing into him, nearly bruising him with his hardness. His own arousal throbbed and ached, craving more of Remy’s attention.

“It might have somethin’ t’do with that.”

“How ‘bout dis?” Remy dipped his lips to the side of Logan’s throat, and Logan groaned, leaning away to give him better access. Remy lapped up his saltiness and the distinctly male flavors that had taunted him for so long, making him wonder if Logan tasted as good as he looked.

“Please,” Logan whispered. “Please, Remy.”

“Please Remy, what?”

Logan didn’t know what. His body shuddered under Remy’s briefly before his world was turned upside-down. Logan rolled them over neatly, unexpectedly, and Remy found himself staring up into his dark eyes, into that dear, rugged face that had haunted his dreams at night, right before Logan’s lips descended and took his in clear possession. Logan almost laughed at Remy’s startled “mmmph!” and was glad he didn’t make him bite his tongue.

Thank you, God! Remy sighed in contentment as the kiss grew liquid, deepened, then became endless. Logan’s thigh pressed Remy’s legs apart, and he ground against him wickedly, giving him but a taste of what they both needed.

His lips traveled over Remy’s face as he spoke.

“I don’t know how it happened.” Kiss. “But I care about ya.” Kiss. “A lot.” Nibble, nibble.

“Took ya long enough, chere.”

“I just want ya ta understand why. I loved Jeannie…loved a woman, for so long…”

“Ya t’ought dat de next time ya fell in love, it’d hafta be wit’ a woman, too?” Remy finished for him.

“Yes,” Logan admitted, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against Remy’s. “And even then, Remy, I never thought I’d be able to love someone like that again. No matter who they were.” His eyes held pain when he opened them again. “I still don’t know if I can.”

If his honesty wounded Remy, he didn’t show it.

He did the only thing he could at that moment that transcended words, and he kissed him again, the arched brows, his eyelids that felt like flower petals, the tip of his nose, the crowns of his cheeks, and his tender earlobes, suckling them until he gasped.

The waves crashed against the shore, heralding high tide.

I still don’t know if I can.

Well, then, Remy decided, it was up to him to prove that Logan could.