A Different Kind of Predator

A Different Kind of Predator

A/N: I wanted to work with a healthier, more integrated Logan than I usually write. Plus, I wanted to make a point about the characerization of Remy in quite a few Logan/Remy fics. Now, onto the story..


Yeah, I know what ya think: I don't like it. And I don't. I never wanted ta be a predator. The fuckin' Canadian government made me that way. Yer right. But I'm playin' the hand I've been dealt, and sometimes low-valued hole cards are suited, and the flop looks like yer only one ace of hearts away from a straight flush. Yeah, metaphor, ya didn't expect that, huh?

And no prizes fer workin' out who my ace of hearts was. That cocky bastard Cajun. He's hot, he knows it. Lotsa people ask why big bad Wolvie likes the girly chatterbox, well those people need a claw in their brain. Gambit ain't girly, and so what if he talks a lot, I can too sometimes. Still, wanted to say this, just ta make it clear why I got the hots fer him.

Love him? Love's not my style. But best friends with benefits? Suits me perfectly. And Gambit, well no one's gonna rope him inta some "two become one" "fairy tale" bullshit. He's got every prince and princess in Westchester beggin' for a taste and I ain't gonna stop him. Hell, sometimes I like to join in! Yeah, Logan ain't a possessive control freak. Didn't expect that, didja? Well maybe ya need ta read more about my experience with possessive control freak military organizations, or Remy's with possessive control freak so-called 'lovers.'

How did our hot torrid fuckfest begin? Like most of these things it involved some really hard trainin' in the danger room. That place is pretty much the hub of all our sex lives. And this is where I explain why I'm hot fer Gumbo. Well look, there's a list of things, the eyes, the voice, the hair, the hot agile muscle, the man's a fuckin' sex machine too, but I gotta stop before this ends up soundin' like something written by Stephanie fuckin' Meyer. Really, was during this one fight that I first started wantin' him real bad.

Ya all know about my whole problem with goin' feral. Hank calls it "dissociative identity," Logan and the Wolverine. Logan's the guy tellin' ya this, and the Wolverine, well, I wish I never met him. But Logan, he's always considered Remy a good friend. The Wolverine, he never really noticed the Cajun before what happened in the danger room.

We were sparrin', just like usual. Yeah, I know what yer thinkin', sparrin' against me is a lost cause, right? Nope. I don't have any ranged abilities, even if I can jump long, and my strength ain't infinite. Drake once put me into cryo fer a week and Cyke, well he once turned the danger room into a hall of mirrors. It hurt fer weeks after that... fuckin' boy scout.

Now Gambit, he's always a real challenge. I might be able to lunge but he can parkour his way across a city block in record time, and look fuckin' hot every second. And he knows that I can get worn out eventually. If that don't work, he'll reprogram the danger room or resort to who-knows-what trick. Call it cheatin', I call it 'cunning,' and he always has a lot of that.

But back to the spar. We were going fer best out of seven and were three-all. Drake was takin' bets and the rest of the team were watchin' on CCTV. No rules, hack anythin', yield counts anywhere. First hour was the usual evasion tactics. I get close and the thief backflips away, runs up the fuckin' wall like somethin' out of one of the Matrix flicks. An' usually lookin' just as stylish too, fuckin' hot Cajun.

But it was the second hour where he tried somethin' different. He got real close. Deliberately. And the second I was about to land a blow, he flipped out of the fuckin' way. I could smell him too, the salty bitterness of sweat mixed with his natural spicy sweet smell, and also, his aftershave. Yeah, he was wearing aftershave to a fuckin' spar! It had this soapy, powdery smell, almost feminine in its cleanness but somehow it was totally fuckin' masculine too. Mixed with his sweat and his musk, it was just fuckin' irresistible. I kept smellin' the air, taking bigger breaths, flarin' my nostrils when I got close to him... fuck, my control was slippin' away.

The Wolverine wanted the Cajun, an' I had to tell it to stop cloudin' my mind. Instinct may be good fer huntin' prey, but the Cajun... he's somethin' else. Too smart. Ya gotta be ready for any trick he's gonna pull, and trust me, he's got so many fuckin' royal flushes up his sleeve it's not funny.

I finally catch him and bring him down to the concrete. I could see the hurt in his face, but he just smirked at me.
"Ya gonna yield yet, Cajun?"
"An' disappoin' all my investors outside cher? Non."
He called me cher. That was a slight surprise. But then, those plush lips of his planted a soft kiss on mine.

That froze me up. The Wolverine wasn't fully in control yet, but Logan had nothin' in his head. Gambit used the time to send a charge up his staff and whack me right in the chest. Fuck that hurt. I flew accross the fuckin' room and landed in a crumpled fuckin' heap of adamantium and flesh. I should've expected it. Psychological warfare. Usin' psy-ops on me, that's like playin' with matches at a gas station. But Remy always liked takin' risks.

The realization hit me harder than his staff. The cologne, the gettin' close, the shameless fuckin' flirtin', all deliberate choices, all bait. I wasn't dealin' with prey here, but another predator. The incubus that stalked every piece of hot guy or girl he saw was stalkin' me. He was on the hunt just as much as the Wolverine was. And the Wolverine liked it.

Yeah, ya didn't expect that, didja? Predators usually see each other as competition fer food supply but... well, sometimes the Wolverine likes a challenge. Someone to rise to. Someone that won't just fold. And prey, well, it bores me. After the Wolverine has had fun with prey, there's nothin' left fer Logan.

We were both gettin' tired now. We circled each other. Every card he threw, I dodged it. Every swipe of my claws, he backed away just in time. That smell, fuck I was so on the fuckin' edge right there; yeah Cajun, hunt me and I'll hunt ya right back. Be my predator and I'll be yers. Stalk me across the city rooftops, and I'll chase ya through the woods. And when I finally track ya down and make ya yield, Logan will make it very, very nice. And if... when ya make me yield, I got the feelin' both of us will win.

Yeah, we had a stalemate in the danger room. And most of the team had money ridin' on the outcome. By now, Gambit had dropped the coat, and I pulled off my top half too. I couldn't take much more of his scent, his eyes borin' into my head. So I lunged again. This time the claws scraped Remy's cheek, just enough to draw blood. It made him smell even better, wet iron added to the sweat, powder and spice.

That did it. I growled and lunged; my cock was rock hard and I couldn't stop thinkin' about how his blood would taste. I wasn't fully feral but fuck I was close. And now Gambit was pinned under me; those demon eyes and that smirking mouth... I got in real close, right next to his ear, and growled.
"Give in Cajun. Yield. Ya put up a damn good fight, but if ya don't stop, I ain't gonna be able to control myself."

Then I licked the trickle of blood that was slidin' down his face. Sweet, metallic, salty and spicy all at once; maybe all the kinetic energy swirlin' around in him made it taste so damn good. The Cajun shivered under me. He ain't a coward but he's smart enough ta not want me goin' fully feral on him. Then he smirked and replied,
"Non."

I wanted ta kill him and fuck him and kiss him and thank him all at once. I licked my lips at the challenge, but thought him crazy fer drivin' me this far. Well Gambit, ya want ta see how far ya can push the Wolverine? It's yer fuckin' funeral, ya sexy bastard.

He used those long legs of his ta kick me off and vaulted up on his staff. I landed in a crouch, lickin' my lips and snarlin', smirkin' at the Cajun. He smirked right back, charged a card and threw it right at me. I rolled out of the way, growled angrily and lunged again. He slid under my lunge and jumped up behind me. I turned around quickly, but it was too late; his staff was conductin' a charge right inta my chest.

I lay there on the fuckin' floor, healin' the burn but still achin'. And Remy, he strutted over ta me, then got down on his knees and fuckin' crawled, yes, crawled his way up my body. He licked a trail up my neck, endin' at my ear as that sexy voice purred softly,
"Yield, cher?"
"Nope," I replied, my fist on his neck. I could pop the claws and kill the bastard. But his left hand was grasping my belt, and he could charge it enough ta blow me apart.
"Look like we have a Mexican standoff, mon ami."
"Yeah."
"Maybe we should call dis a draw?"
"Yeah.. I think so."

Drake said the odds on a draw were 90:1. Hank and 'Ro made a lot of money that day.

As fer back in the danger room, after the fight... well, I think I lost count of how many times we made each other yield.

The End