The Odd Couple
folder
X-men Comics › Slash - Male/Male › Remy/Logan
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,715
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
X-men Comics › Slash - Male/Male › Remy/Logan
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,715
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
The X-Men characters belong to Marvel Comics. I do not own them or the X-Men fandom. This is a work of fiction, I am not making any money for writing this story.
Too Much Information
Author’s Note: Sisterwine and I chatted about this idea one night and laughed at the thought of these two getting on each other’s nerves.
Logan’s coffee timer beeped at him in tandem with his alarm. AC/DC blared from his little clock radio as he slapped the snooze button. He rolled to his back with a groan. He wasn’t ready to start the day yet.
Logan stretched, rose and scratched himself on the way to the bathroom, listening to various joints pop. He wandered inside and flipped the lid up without even opening his eyes, pissing blind for the most part. Once his bladder was no longer full, his stomach reminded him that it was empty. He ignored it a little longer in favor of a shower. The pulsing, almost scalding spray felt good against the knotted muscles of his back and neck.
Logan’s day fell into place one piece at a time as he went through the motions. Catch the red line to work. Hassle Mac for that fifty he still owed him. Grab a roast beef on marbled rye from Moe’s. Renew his truck’s tags and take it for a lube and tune-up. Watch the game. Logan cracked his last two eggs into a small frying pan whose Teflon coat was on its last gasp. He drenched the yolks in Tabasco before pouring his first cup of coffee out of several for the day.
He donned his Dickies that he ironed the night before. His uniform was the only unrumpled thing in his tiny apartment. Logan liked his surroundings broken-in, “lived in,” if he had to describe it. Martha Stewart he wasn’t.
He gave his thick, dark hair a lick and a promise in the mirror by his front door before he locked up. Logan whistled tunelessly and spied his neighbor Anna Marie’s newspaper outside her door. He picked it up and skimmed the front page while he had a chance.
He was just about to chuck it back onto her doormat when he heard the jiggle of her knob. The door was jerked open, but instead of her wary green eyes, he was greeted by her roommate’s smirk.
“Allo,” he offered. He held out his hand. “Done wit’ dat yet? Don’ wanna rush yer enjoyment or anyt’in.” Logan made a low noise of irritation and handed him the paper.
Something about the kid always got on his damned nerves.
“Must be nice not ta have anywhere ta rush off to yet like the rest of us. Give ya plenty of time ta read the color ads, Petunia,” Logan deadpanned. “Looks like Penney’s is havin’ a sale on panties.”
He shrugged. “T’anks fo’ de tip. Only problem wit’ dat is, Remy prefers t’go commando.” He winked and saluted him with his coffee mug. “Cheers.” He closed the door on Logan’s look of disgust.
“Too much damned information,” he muttered under his breath on the way to the elevator.
Logan’s coffee timer beeped at him in tandem with his alarm. AC/DC blared from his little clock radio as he slapped the snooze button. He rolled to his back with a groan. He wasn’t ready to start the day yet.
Logan stretched, rose and scratched himself on the way to the bathroom, listening to various joints pop. He wandered inside and flipped the lid up without even opening his eyes, pissing blind for the most part. Once his bladder was no longer full, his stomach reminded him that it was empty. He ignored it a little longer in favor of a shower. The pulsing, almost scalding spray felt good against the knotted muscles of his back and neck.
Logan’s day fell into place one piece at a time as he went through the motions. Catch the red line to work. Hassle Mac for that fifty he still owed him. Grab a roast beef on marbled rye from Moe’s. Renew his truck’s tags and take it for a lube and tune-up. Watch the game. Logan cracked his last two eggs into a small frying pan whose Teflon coat was on its last gasp. He drenched the yolks in Tabasco before pouring his first cup of coffee out of several for the day.
He donned his Dickies that he ironed the night before. His uniform was the only unrumpled thing in his tiny apartment. Logan liked his surroundings broken-in, “lived in,” if he had to describe it. Martha Stewart he wasn’t.
He gave his thick, dark hair a lick and a promise in the mirror by his front door before he locked up. Logan whistled tunelessly and spied his neighbor Anna Marie’s newspaper outside her door. He picked it up and skimmed the front page while he had a chance.
He was just about to chuck it back onto her doormat when he heard the jiggle of her knob. The door was jerked open, but instead of her wary green eyes, he was greeted by her roommate’s smirk.
“Allo,” he offered. He held out his hand. “Done wit’ dat yet? Don’ wanna rush yer enjoyment or anyt’in.” Logan made a low noise of irritation and handed him the paper.
Something about the kid always got on his damned nerves.
“Must be nice not ta have anywhere ta rush off to yet like the rest of us. Give ya plenty of time ta read the color ads, Petunia,” Logan deadpanned. “Looks like Penney’s is havin’ a sale on panties.”
He shrugged. “T’anks fo’ de tip. Only problem wit’ dat is, Remy prefers t’go commando.” He winked and saluted him with his coffee mug. “Cheers.” He closed the door on Logan’s look of disgust.
“Too much damned information,” he muttered under his breath on the way to the elevator.