Found You

The cover of night was his friend. Remy trusted the moon and the stars never to fail him. He’d learned long ago that he couldn’t trust anyone else, even though he was relying on the occupants of the expansive house to do just that for him, once more.

It was daunting, and risky.

His letter to his Stormy had been clipped and brief. Coming back, if you’ll have me. Say the word, though, and I stay gone. Miss you. And I’m sorry. He left his post office box address on the missive and suggested a time when he could call her at the house, when no one would be able to overhear.

She didn’t completely surprise him when she found him instead and showed up on his doorstep. In the middle of the night, no less, like a sneaky thief. One more reason why he loved her so much.

He woke up that night to her husky chuckle.


*

“You need better locks, my friend,” she murmured. The faint scent of jasmine permeated his tiny rented studio, thanks to a small bundle of them that she brought inside with her and laid on his shabby table.

“Whozzat…merde. Wha’ time is it?” he muttered. He rubbed the sleep from his red-on-black eyes and watched her swim into view. Joy replaced annoyance and he bolted up in bed, grabbing her wrist. “STORMY! Padnat! Y’here!” She didn’t resist when he tugged her to him, practically crushing her against his chest.

“Oof,” she protested lightly, but she returned his hug, sharing her warmth and affection. He was starved for it. Ororo sighed, cuddling him for a few moments while they both got their bearings. All he could feel was Ororo’s emotions, flooding him like a tidal wave. Concern, coupled with relief and joy that he was all right. He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair, allowing himself to just feel.

“Wuz afraid y’hated me, padnat.”

“Never. Ever. I was angry.” There was still a trace of it drifting along their empathic link, but it was tempered with patience. Thinly stretched, but patience, nonetheless.

“And?”

“I got over it.”

“Did a bad t’ing, sweetness. Did a whole buncha bad t’ings.”

“So have I, brother.”

“I hurt. S’all I do now. I jes’ hurt.”

“I know.”

“Can’t take back what I did, padnat.”

“No. All you can do is face it, and own it, my friend.” She moved to rocking him gently and stroking his long, lean back soothingly.

“Can’t. Can’t face ‘em all.”

“I’m here, and the world hasn’t ended, has it? Look at me, brother.” She drew back from him, but his arms wouldn’t let her go until she became more insistent, leaning her forehead against his. They were so close that they nearly shared breath, and her eyes probed his. “If you don’t face us now, you never will. These things break us, Remy. They tear us apart bit by bit. This kind of guilt. You know how I know. I’m as much as fault as you.”

“Stormy…” he argued, swallowing a lump and fighting the hot tears pricking at the back of his eyes that threatened to show themselves from the moment he heard her voice. “Ya didn’ have any t’in t’do wit’ what happened in de tunnels!” His palm cradled her cheek, and she leaned into his touch fondly. She shook her head, making her snowy hair rustle over her shoulders.

“Oh, but I did,” she pointed out. “If I had been there where I belonged from the start, leading them, helping them, they may have made it out. They were my people to protect. When they needed me, I was nowhere to be found.” Guilt colored his connection to her, and he hung his head, realizing how deeply it was shared.

“Wuz picked fo’ de job ‘cuz I can work my way in anywhere. Y’wouldn’ have found me. Wouldn’ have stopped me, chere.”

“Braggart.”

“Ain’ braggin’. Woulda happened even if Stormy were dere, cuz I wuz just de guide. De eyes an’ ears.” Her eyes were mournful. He released her slowly, and she took his hands instead, stroking his fingers.

“You met me when I was helpless.”

“Bet y’regret it now, eh?”

“Non.” The corner of her mouth curled, and her eyes held that familiar twinkle.

“Can’t go back, padnat.”

“Never tell me that you can’t, when we both know that you mean you won’t.” She watched him thoughtfully. Moonlight and the dim illumination from street signs outside settled on her signature platinum hair and was reflected in her azure eyes. “I spoke with Logan.” Remy stiffened and his heart briefly stopped. He felt clammy and lightheaded.

“Dieu! What’d he say? How was he…damn it, chere, what’d he SAY?” He hated the desperation in his voice, but the voices in his head screamed for the answer.

Logan. Merde!

“Only that he found you. And that you didn’t want to be found.”

“Didn’ stop ya none,” he muttered.

“You couldn’t if you tried,” she replied cheerfully, patting his cheek and kissing him by the corner of his mouth. “You’re alive. That’s all that I took from our conversation. And from your letter.”

“Wolvie acted like he wanted ta finish de job Rogue started, chere. She ain’ gon’ wan’ Remy t’darken her doorstep.” Remy finally pulled his hands away from hers and leaned back against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees. He closed his eyes in defeat, hiding their ruby brilliance from her as he gathered his thoughts. “Didn’ go well ‘tween me an’ Logan. Gotta unnerstan’ dat befo’ y’ask me ta come back, padnat. Might end up dat de whole house feels dat way ‘bout Remy comin’ back.”

“Remy…Logan wants you to come back.” His eyes snapped open and followed her across the room as she perused his meager things.

“Non…don’ lie t’Remy, petit! Logan don’ wan’ nuthin’ t’do wi’ me. Remy knows betta den t’believe dat.” To her consternation, his hands shook as he plowed them through hopelessly tousled dark hair.

“I would never lie to you,” she said quietly. “You know that.” And he did. Shame prickled over his flesh, the unspoken sentiment lying between them: But you lied to me. She wouldn’t pay him back in kind. “You have unfinished business, mon frere, so I suggest you plan an itinerary.”

“Gon’ take a while t’gather togetha’ de funds t’come back.”

“Foolish boy,” she chided him as she reached into her long, black leather duster and extracted something, chucking it onto the table. “You know I never show up without bearing gifts. No excuses.”

“But…”

“No buts.” She gave him a sad smile. “Just bring yours back to the mansion.” She glanced around his shabby accommodations and sighed. “Don’t hide in the dark forever, Remy.”

“Dey hate me.”

“Only because they loved you so much. And you never forget that you loved someone. The feelings never truly leave.” She returned to the edge of the bed, standing tall, regal and beautiful. He felt the soft, fleeting caress of her finger sliding over his stubbled cheek. Her emotions wrapped around him comfortingly with the touch. He wanted to cling to it, but true to form, she locked him out before he could take too great a liberty. No one took the Goddess for granted; this much, he knew. Ororo, like Logan, took the matter of sharing her thoughts with telepaths very, very seriously, and delicately. “Keep in touch.” She strode out on whisper-soft footsteps, baiting him with the impressions she possessed like a carrot before a donkey.

He didn’t pick up the roll of bills from the table until she was long gone.


*

Some old habits died hard. Remy didn’t even attempt his old access code at the front gate, choosing to leap over the gate. He charged the remainder of his cigarette and flicked it at the lens of the security cam. It squawked and sizzled following the loud crack of impact. He still had that touch…

He surveyed the lawn and courtyard, letting his memory guide him as to where the sensors were in the lawn. Nimbly he skipped, hopped and flipped over each one, evading the laser-guided scanners and resulting alarms. Remy chanced whistling a tune as he made his way to the west wing of the mansion.

He bypassed the familiar window that led to Rogue’s suite; her light was off, but he did hear the faint strains of her compact disc player that she sometimes used to fall asleep by. She was wearing out her old Stevie Ray Vaughn collection, as usual. For some reason, that made him smile.

His slight pleasure faded as he read a hint of turbulent emotion from her. Frustration, sadness and anger, tinged with guilt made him gulp back bile.

He’d caused that.

It hit him in that instant that he wasn’t ready. Stormy was wrong, after all.

He felt cold, shivering slightly at the faint chill in the air that penetrated his heavy duster. Remy sank down to his haunches and closed his eyes, suddenly dizzy and overwhelmed.

He hated the snow, and there was miles of it in every direction. Barren. Lonely. Dark. She knocked the wind out of him and left him in a place where he could see his breath and only had his own voice for company. All alone. No feelings.

No feelings!

Don’t go!

DON’T GO!

He plowed his hands through his tangled hair, struggling for air. Panic filled him and curdled his stomach…he couldn’t let it up and swallowed back his gorge in great, gulping breaths.

All he could see was Rogue’s retreating back, watching her become a tiny dot in the sky.

He pushed it back, almost recovering himself.

That was replaced by the memory of Logan, lying sated and tangled in the covers on the shabby fold-out couch, still smelling like sleep and basking in peace. He’d abandoned him and skipped out. Left him alone…

Remy gave up the fight and cast up his accounts onto the dewy grass, heaving miserably until he his flesh was clammy and his throat grew raw.

He finally mastered himself and spat out the foulness in his mouth. He made his way toward the balcony he was looking for and flung his light duffle over the rail with a strong heave.

His staff felt cool in his hand as he unsheathed it and snapped it open, admiring its sheen under the moonlight. He planted it against the ground and guided his body in a neat arc, vaulting over the rail and landing light as a cat on his feet. He retrieved the duffle and, out of courtesy, wiped his boots before picking the lock on the patio door.

The faint scents of jasmine, lavender and sandalwood permeated Ororo’s loft, greeting him as he closed the doors behind him with a nearly silent click. Ororo was in the middle of a shallow sleep; she was still a true thief, keeping “one eye open” for threats in the night.

“Took you long enough,” she mumbled groggily.

“Hey, padnat.”

“Hullo, Remy.” She blinked up at him, and her face was slightly puffy and relaxed as she drank in his haggard appearance. “Settle in. And make yourself at home in my shower.” She wrinkled her nose, pulling a face at his aroma. He huffed back a laugh.

“Unna’stood, Boss,” he replied casually as he dropped his duffle on a wicker chair near her adjoining bathroom. He stripped off his duster and laid it over the small, round table where he and Ororo often played cards. She hadn’t beaten him at five-card stud yet.

His clothing held the odors of travel and two days of lean living in the meantime. He’d covered his tracks, abandoning his studio and leaving the month’s rent under the landlady’s door with a note; after he’d charmed her, she’d rented it to him under the table, no applications processed, no questions asked. He left just as easily. He left the keys with her and told her to take what she wanted of his belongings, since he preferred to travel light. Now, he left his clothes in a small heap atop the commode as he ran a shower hot enough to steam the room’s tiny window. He knew Ororo wouldn’t mind; she so seldom used the shower indoors, deeming it too claustrophobic and preferring warm summer rains enjoyed up on the roof.

The spray pelted his lean body, easing soreness from his muscles and warming his cool flesh. He sighed long and deep, letting the sound echo off the walls as he planted his palms against them and stared down at his toes. Water drizzled and poured in runnels through his hair, loosening the grit that accumulated there from sleeping – badly – against dirty bus seats. It was a baptism of sorts, rinsing away his sins, even if only on the surface.

He retrieved her bar of soap, not caring about its girlish scent, and he lathered it in his palms, slicking it over his shoulders and torso.

Logan’s hands on him flashed in his mind, slowly running a dried-up stub of soap over his pectorals and flat belly, and he slowed his own, taking time to knead his neglected flesh. Remy turned and tilted his head back into the spray, rinsing his hair. It didn’t match the satisfaction of thick, work-roughened fingers plowing through wet locks and massaging his scalp, scraping away the foam. Remy’s gut clenched with need and remorse.

“Mon Dieu,” he whispered. “What’ve I done, chere? How could I do dat t’you?”

He increased the pressure of the shower massage, letting it beat against his back until it ran cold.

Remy spied the thick, soft towel Ororo kindly left folded on top of the toilet lid, thoughtfully removing his clothes and moving them to her hamper. He reached for it, giving his hair a rough scrub before wrapping it around his hips. He had no qualms about Ororo seeing him indisposed; she just didn’t see him that way, and his charm stopped at her front door. Each of them appreciated the other’s unique beauty, but it was “look, don’t touch.” That made things easy.

Her bed was empty; the sheets were still warm and bore the impressions of her lithe body in their folds, and a dent remained in her fluffy pillow.

He dug a pair of boxers and a light gray, ribbed undershirt from his duffle. Ororo’s loft was slightly cool since she didn’t need to turn up the thermostat to stay comfortable. He remade her bed and turned down the edge of the covers, fluffing her pillow after he saw the note on her bedside table beside the lamp: Gone flying. Get settled. Hope you smell better now… Brat.

He eased himself into bed with a groan. Merde, it’d been so long…the mattress was yielding but still slightly firm, and the sheets smelled like her. Remy snuggled under the thick duvet and closed his eyes, which were so tired that it hurt to blink.

Logan. Impressions of him flooded his mind and followed him into sleep.

One t’ing, mon ami. Remy sleeps in de buff… Those words echoed in his thoughts. He’d savored the look on the older man’s face, containing both shock and lust as he dropped his borrowed robe. His wantonness with the feral didn’t drive him off. He’d dared him to take what he wanted, and to take him, hard. Remy knew what he was doing; Logan never backed down from one of his dares before. Ever.

What surprised Remy was the complete abandon with which Logan opened himself to him, and the thoroughness of their coupling. Consuming. Satisfying. Complete. Remy shuddered and moaned in his sleep.

His dreams rolled along and gathered steam, pulling him through every relevant encounter he’d had with his teammate and wary friend. Friend… could Remy even call him that anymore? Really?

Poker nights. Binges at Harry’s. Arguing over who got the last drumstick at dinner.

Shouldering each other inside the door on nights where they’d scarcely made it home, counting each other’s scars. Sessions in the Danger Room.

A random night when Logan confessed to him that he didn’t remember his own birthday. Their toast with whiskey when Remy admitted the same.

Another moan joined the first, this one plaintive and full of longing. It wasn’t the gentle whisper of a caress from Rogue’s gloved fingers that aroused his passion, but the sure, rougher, thorough stroke of Logan’s strong hands. He craved the low, husky growl escaping his firm, wide mouth. His skin was pulled too tightly over his body. Remy tossed and turned beneath the covers, restless and unable to find peace. He flipped onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, but the dreams and images still came.

Lust for the feral wrapped around him, flooding him hopelessly. He still smelled his musk, driving away the sweetness of Ororo’s flowers and the lingering scent of her soap in his hair. Remy longed for the rasp of coarse hair creating friction against his chest, his belly, his thighs…

“Need ya, homme. Need ya right now,” he muttered in his sleep. “Touch me, chere.” In his dreams, Logan complied, giving him a probing look before reaching for his mouth, stroking his lips with his fingertips. His mouth pursed in sleep; he tasted the slight saltiness of his skin as he drew the thick digit into his mouth and suckled it, moaning at the feel of wrapping his lips around any part of his lover, whichever one was nearest, as long as there was the promise of more.

His finger slid free and trailed his own damp heat along the column of his slender throat, teasing the cords of muscle and tendon, winding its way down the seam of his chest, between the divide of his gracefully narrow ribcage, teasing his navel in a sweet, lazy circle…Remy’s hips bucked, and he flung his arms over his head in pleasure at the electricity of his touch. Logan’s fingers feathered over his belly until he flattened his hot palm there, slowly kneading his way down to the dark thatch of coarse curls between his legs. He throbbed for him. Hard. Only for Logan.

Those deep, fathomless dark eyes challenged him. He beseeched him with one word: Please. His phantom lover nodded and acquiesced, combing his fingers through the wiry hair, lightly scraping the flesh beneath with his fingernails and making him jerk convulsively. More. Please. His hot, snug grip engulfed his shaft, sending Remy straight to a heaven he felt he’d never deserve. It was like finally coming home.

His features twisted and changed like quicksilver, one moment relaxed in rapture, the next choked in sudden passion and desperation. He reflexively opened his legs more widely in entreaty. Closer. More. Logan loomed over him larger than life, a towering pillar of power and masculine grace. A rough, sharp bite on the tender flesh of his inner knee made his legs cave wide open to allow him full access as he lowered his head. A short trail of nipping bites, marking each can of his six-pack with his heat and lips, found him breathing over his pulsing flesh. Anticipating. Waiting.

Please, Remy grated out in his slumber.

Tasting. Logan’s mouth pulled at him, feasting on him so hungrily and with such rapture that he couldn’t draw breath.

M’sorry, chere…desole. Desole, mon ami! Neva wanted t’hurt ya. Left ya alone. Hate m’self fo’ leavin’ ya alone! Need ya. Need ya so much right now! His hips worked of their own accord, rutting into his mouth, pressing into that luscious heat as he flattened his tongue against the head of his cock. He lapped and suckled at him, making sounds of pleasure in his throat. Remy’s abdomen jumped and twitched. He couldn’t appreciate that Logan had found those expressions and sounds coming from him more beautiful and precious than anything else he’d ever known. All Remy knew, for certain, was that he was only like this with him. For him.

His phantom lover released him too soon, sliding his mouth from his weeping cock. No! STAY Remy struggled up, groping at him before he could fade away. Logan watched him with a questioning look that seemed to mock him.

He opened those beautifully masculine lips and whispered I ain’t done yet, Cajun. He flattened his hands and ran them over him, treasuring his taut flesh as he crouched before him, kneeling between his legs, which were already spread impossibly wide. Remy “oophed” as his thighs were jerked up, and Logan pulled him into himself, hooking his knees over wide shoulders bulging with hard muscle. His grip was sure and insistent while he jerked him closer, abrading his back with the covers beneath him, lifting him until his ass laid just over Logan’s cock. Thought I was finished already?

Helplessly, Remy shook his head, eager for him to continue. Logan’s answering smile was wicked.

Maybe next time ya’ll think twice about leavin’ eh? He enveloped Remy’s silky cock in his fist again, squeezing and jerking him until drops of pre-cum leaked from the tip. His fingertips dug into Remy’s thigh as he worked him, eyeing his body with want and need. Remy moaned and cried out, moving his hips against him, nearly in agony from the burning pleasure and delayed gratification. He begged him in broken French and abbreviated English to end his torment; for all he knew, he could have been praying in the tongues of the angels, if only his lover would…

Thick, burning pressure invaded his vulnerable crevice as Logan probed him slowly, using only the tip of his cock to prime him. Pain mingled with pleasure made Remy’s mouth drop open, drawling curses and words of love…

Love. Non. Not now. Not yet…

Guilt and terror quickened his pulse and made his fingers and toes feel like ice. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when they had so much to say, so many things to work out…

He’d hate him. Logan would tear him apart if he thought he came back pleading to him, if he claimed that he loved him now.

It was too late. He was already lost on a tide of passion and fulfillment when Logan entered him, filling and stretching him to accommodate his bulk before he backed out and thrust. Remy’s toes curled while Logan growled in approval at the snug fit of his sheath.

Chere…

Feel me, Rem. Feel all of it. All o’ what I hafta give.

Chere…please!

Ya left all this behind. Bet ya wish ya hadn’t. I know I wish ya hadn’t. Wouldn’t a had all those lonely nights…

God, chere, don’t stop!

In the cold. All alone in the dark. No one ta hold ya, take make ya feel like I made ya feel…

Someone ta make ya feel…

Remy’s dick cramped and throbbed; his flesh was swollen and rosy, erect and feeling plump in Logan’s unyielding, knowing grip. His cock slammed into him, shunting in and out of his ass in a rhythm that had him in ecstasy, making his sac draw up tight. His nipples pebbled into hard little pearls when Logan’s free hand grazed one of them to enjoy his reaction. His body shook with the motion of Logan’s body, fluid and beautiful, and he felt tremors building inside him that wouldn’t rest until he reached completion. Remy’s flesh tingled as Logan tormented him.

No one makes me feel like y’make me feel! Nobody, y’hear? Ever. Need ya so much. S’cold an’ dark inside of me, chere. M’all alone. Come t’me. Please!

I ain’t the one who left, Rem. Logan’s voice hissed out through his pants, attempting to speak between thrusts. If ya want me…ya can’t hide from me. Ya ain’t gonna prove that ya care fer me if ya just run away. Been alone long enough, you an’ me both, Rem. Logan’s face was strained, and Remy read hurt in his eyes that broke through the passion there. He felt Logan’s need, his own pleading for honesty and the promise that he’d take good care of his heart.

Remy reached that fever pitch, that moment of can’t-go-back as his climax waxed and stirred. Coming…aw, God, chere…gonna come, gonna come, feels so right…DIEU! Don’ stop, chere! Don’ stop Logan’s hand and his hips tugged, thrust and rolled over him, through him, wrenching long, rusty cries from him as he came. He writhed and jerked back into the pillow, clutching handfuls of it around the sides of his head. The cords of tendon in his throat were drawn tight, and his clenched teeth were exposed as his lips peeled back to free the emotions that wouldn’t stay silent. Remy was through with silence. He dimly felt the molten spatters of semen lace his abdomen as Logan milked him, letting his juices lubricate those final tugs. He gave up his essence willingly for the feral’s assessment.

Logan expressed his enjoyment of him with a long, slow taste of his fingers, coated with the by-product of his pleasure, right before he took his thrusts to a crescendo. He pistoned and rutted harder, faster, nearly overwhelming him until he, too, roared out in the dark. Remy felt his cock stiffen and jerk as his fluids filled him with lush heat. Logan’s body whipped and arched, letting the sensations ripple through him like a wave. He clutched Remy’s quivering thighs through it, whispering fervent prayers and curses that damn it, Rem, he felt so damned good…

When Remy woke up, a muted shout broke from his lips.

Cold air bathed his belly from where his shirt rode up and the covers were kicked free. His hips jerked in response to his hand, still firmly wrapped around his cock.

What the hell?

He groaned weakly, spent, as he gently shook off the accumulated, slick stickiness from his fingers. He fell back into the pillows with an exhausted sigh, not caring that his pelvis was still exposed, his creamy flesh and flaccid member illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through Ororo’s skylight. He thanked any god or angels listening that his Stormy hadn’t come back and caught him in such a delicate condition.

It took a few moments for his breathing to regulate and slow and for the dizziness to pass. The ceiling still seemed to spin when he closed his eyes.

“That all ya’ve been doin’ since ya left me ta wake up alone in that cold little dump?” Remy’s eyes flew open, landing on the dark, shadowy figure leaning in the doorway to Ororo’s loft. Logan folded his arms across his burly chest and sighed.

“I wanna say ‘welcome home,’ Cajun, but yer gonna hafta make up yer mind if this is home or not.”