Remy and Logan's Vegas Vacation 2

Remy and Logan's Vegas Vacation 2: Because I Can't Come Up With New Premises

A/N: I think I need to write something a little more lighthearted. So here's me doing another Vegas Vacation, same basic premise, but more detailed and the like. Please note, this fic is Vegas Fantasy and whilst I can confidently say I have portrayed the advantage gambling techniques used in the fic with reasonable general accuracy, this fic should not be used as a "how to" guide or considered perfectly accurate as to things like how much someone will receive in complementary offers from a casino. Additionally, the gambling conditions at various casinos as discussed in this fic may change in the future (although at the time of publication, its pretty accurate to the best of my knowledge). There are plenty of free resources on the internet that give a much more comprehensive overview of these issues. Also, a general familiarity with the game of blackjack may be helpful for some readers. Some real-world places and products are mentioned in the story so if you find such a thing "offensive" or "materialistic" you may not like this fic. Then again, a Vegas Fantasy usually is materialistic and offensive in the first place! Plus, mentioning real-world stuff helps ground the fic in reality.

This fic also contains some OC's in minor roles.

Part One
Logan strode out of the mansion with a large grin on his face and threw his gaze in the direction of his favorite thicket of trees.
Long weekend. Thank fuck. Nothin' gettin' on my nerves fer four whole days.

He dashed towards the grove; his gait loosened and his posture slackened slightly. His smirk bared his sharp eye teeth.
No Cyclops. No crises. And I ain't got any other teams beggin' fer me ta be on em...

He lept up into the first tree and sank his claws into the trunk. Quickly, he dragged himself up and perched atop a thick branch. He surveyed the small grove; he leaned back against the trunk and smiled. He lost count of how many times he came back to this place. His bones creaked as he stretched out.

And suddenly a familiar smell hit his senses with a lack of subtlety completely uncharacteristic to its owner. He instantly sprung onto his haunches and scanned the ground below. He sniffed the air again; different aftershave this week. His target entered his line of sight; the tall being strutted through his domain with a casual swagger.

Logan eyed his prey and licked his lips. His teeth were bared but the playful spark remained in his eye. In one quick movement he pounced downwards and collided with his target; the two bodies crashed into the ground with a muffled thud.

The demonic eyes of the man beneath him were open; the plush lips below grinned smugly.
"Bonjour mon ami... I knew you'd be here," Gambit purred back in a deep voice that belonged on the other end of a phone sex line. Cunnin', cocky, handsome bastard..

"Really?" He heard Logan growl back to him as he gazed up at those grin-framed fangs.
"Oui," he replied as he hid his delight that the body armor absorbed most of the shock. "You know mon cher, Remy gotta surprise for you," he smokily drawled and reached into his pocket.

As soon as the slight motion teased at the edge of his vision, Logan moved his left hand from Gambit's shoulder to the drifting forearm. His grin stayed in place as Remy chuckled.

"Cher, I t'ink you enjoying dis too much," Gambit replied as he struggled beneath Logan's grip, "don' you wan' your surprise mon ami?" And with what appeared to be no effort, Remy levered his legs and flipped their bodies around. He now had the feral on the ground beneath him; those cobalt eyes remained locked on his own.

Yeah Cajun, that's why yer fun... ya don't let anyone hold ya down. "If that's meant ta be a surprise, I'm disappointed," Logan snarled back with a chuckle behind his tone. He noticed how the sunlight filtered through Remy's hair; the rays ignited the auburn-brown strands.

"Non, Logan, i's much more fun den dat..." Remy smiled as he removed his hand from his pocket. He held plane tickets between his fingers. "Because dis is my long weekend off as well, and dis Cajun wanna spend more time wid my bes' friend."

Part Two
"This is your Captain speaking," came a crackly voice over the PA system, "we are descending into McCarran International Airport, local time is 7.26pm. Welcome to Las Vegas."

A gaggle of drunken cheers emerged from a few seats back. Logan cringed at the sound, a bunch a jerk jock fratboys out ta lose a lotta money, and probably not at tha fuckin' tables. The flight attendant removed his empty glass; he subtly glanced at her cleavage. Good way ta distract yerself from tha fuckin' air sickness.

He glanced over to the seat next to him. Remy's face was gazing out the window at the lights. Ya think he'd be tryin' ta flirt with tha hostess... "Savin' yerself fer the dealers at tha party pit, Cajun?"

Gambit didn't respond. He gazed down at the lights; the neon rays were diffused by the perpetual cloud of cigarette smoke that hung over the Strip. A phosphorescence of candy-colored gaslight tempted him, invited him to indulge himself in every debauched manner he could contemplate.

Twenty minutes later, both men were strolling through the terminal. It didn't take them long before a very familiar face smirk subtly at the sight of Remy. More swanky hotels. Fuck, ya think after last time they'd stop invitin' Gumbo?

Alissa Du Lac smiled at the tall man in those dark shades. And his short, stocky companion. He brought Mister Logan this time.... last time it was Mrs Summers and Miss Braddock... and they all shared the same suite... I wonder how he looks under that shirt... oh stop, he's a customer!
"Welcome back to Las Vegas Monsieur LeBeau." She smiled warmly, as per company policy. "The Wynn Las Vegas is delighted to welcome you again. Your limousine is waiting outside."

"Alissa, ma chere," the tall Cajun drawled smokily as he fixed his gaze on his casino host. Blond hair in a French bun, pursed lips, long legs and a habit of wearing her pantsuit with one or two buttons undone; he wondered if he'd get free theater tickets if he managed to give her an orgasm during the limo ride to the hotel. Damn shame de ride's so short... he thought to himself with a smirk.

That familiar scent reached Logan's nose instantly. From both of them. That's Rems fer ya... has, is, or will be fuckin' his own casino host. Gotta admit, she's a looker too.. And then the sharp angles of her face moved to face his own unshaven, heavy-browed visage.
"Mister Logan," she began in a voice that he could tell was required by company policy.

"Just Logan, thanks darlin'" he cut her off quickly.

"My pleasure, Logan," she continued smoothly, as if the interruption did not happen, "it's wonderful to welcome you back as well."

Logan was momentarily perplexed as he remembered a shredded mattress that wiped all of Remy's comp points. No, wait, I gamble too. 'Course they want me back. "Thanks," he nodded.

"Please, follow me," she replied and turned. Both Remy and Logan's eyes drifted directly downwards to the slightly-swaying ass in front of them. It protruded slightly from the lean torso above it; it's shape seemed to resist the demands of the fabric constraints. Both men subtly licked their lips as their following stride began to morph into a stalking gait.

The limo ride was uneventful. Regrettably to all of them, especially Alissa; damn company policy she thought as she imagined what lay under both men's clothes. The slight smirk on her face remained as she passed filled glasses of champagne to the men. She surveyed her clipboard; Monsieur LeBeau's favorite champagne; Perrier-Jouet Belle Epoque 1998. She made a mental note to buy more; that vintage is getting more expensive... and I won't lose this client to another casino.

Part Three
Logan's vision could see through Gambit's mirrored shades. The Cajun's eyes were smoldering; they scanned the room before them with a sniper's vigilance. The smirk on Remy's face was that of a wolf salivating over an unguarded flock of fat lambs. Logan recognized the face, he knew what lay behind it; yer a ruthless predator Cajun. He felt his own heart pick up the pace as Remy's burning gaze brought some of his own instincts into play. Careful Logan... relax just a bit... not too much. What Happens In Vegas ain't gonna include a shredded bed this time.

They stood at the threshold of the Wynn Las Vegas High Limit pit. Each felt a thick wad of money pressing against their thighs. Remy wore a rich purple silk shirt, with an extra button undone, black leather ankle boots with silver flames around the heel and toe, and jet black designer jeans. A thin silver chain lay around his neck. Logan stood stoutly in his leather jeans and jacket, polished motorcycle boots and a matching black t-shirt which made no secret of his thick musculature.

Remy's gaze was already drawn to a table to the left. He always picks tha dealers with a great rack, Logan thought near-reflexively before hearing the players at that table. There was anger in their voices; Chinese. They been playin' fer a while, gettin' long hands. he looked closer and saw all the players and the dealer had drawn many-card hands this round as well. And then he realized Remy wasn't mentally undressing the dealer.

***

"Card coun'ing ain' magic, mon ami," the tall Acadian drawled, "an' you don' need to be Domino to do it."
Logan felt blood rush below his waist at the subterranean, intoxicating purr of Remy's voice; ya said ya wanted ta teach me Blackjack before we went, and ya sound like yer tryin' ta seduce me.

"I's a simple trick. If de shoe's full of tens an' aces, de game's in your favor. If i's full of low cards, den de house is gonna win. So, all you gotta do mon cher," Remy leaned across the makeshift blackjack table and licked his lips only an inch from Logan's face, "is know when de remaining cards are in your favor."

Logan growled back with a dangerous, metallic rasp; "if ya keep makin' me this horny Gumbo, I won't remember a fuckin' thing."

A slow, sinister chuckle emerged from Gambit's plush lips as he smirked back; "well here's de simple version for big, bad Wolvies..." He quickly drew six cards from the shoe; all were low-valued spot-cards. "Now, de res' of dis shoe is in your favor on average. More tens an' aces, less low cards. De house busts more often, de player blackjacks more often, an' you make more money. So keep an eye out for long hands..."

***

"One, you lock de target," the taller man mused as a teeth-baring smirk crossed his lips. He reached into his pocket for his bankroll and player's card.

"Two, ya bait tha line," Logan growled back as both moved towards the table in a familiar stalking gait.

"Three," Remy smugly said as they both slid into the recently vacated seats, "you slowly spread de net..."

The dealer smiled and subtly leaned forward as she accepted the stacks of bills presented on the felt. She efficiently exchanged the money for chips and waited with a small smile on her face for the men before her to place their bets. Now work's getting fun, she thought as she willed herself not to blush, I love when I get hot players.

"So, what's four?" Logan rasped through his smirk as both himself and Remy placed their bets.

"Dat's for later, mon ami.." he purred through a mischievous grin as he drew a cigarette from the packet in his jeans pocket and lit it. His lighter bore an inlaid Ace Of Hearts.

Oh god.. I'm going to have to change my panties when I get home! She thought as she felt her face suddenly go red. She quickly drew the cards; two face up for each player and one-up-one-down for herself. The scanner came back negative; "dealer does not have blackjack," she said with a slight shake in her voice. She glanced at her upcard; seven. Her delicate index finger pointed at the black-haired man, "twelve."

"Twelve, huh?" He softly rasped back with a playful glint in his eye, "then hit me, darlin."

She removed the card from the shoe and slid it across the felt expanse more slowly than usual. She quickly exhaled once more before she flipped the card over. Eight. "Twenty, sir."

"I'll stand," Logan replied as he waved his hand appropriately.

She then turned to the taller man and instantly wanted to see what lay behind those shades. He's so handsome... she imagined the feel of those plush lips against her own as she spotted the two fives that made up his hand. "Ten, Mister LeBeau."

Remy's smirk widened; dat's even be''er. Less fives in de shoe now... "Double me down, ma chere..." he slid an additional chip forward.

She felt almost giddy as the sultry depth of his voice massaged her eardrums. She quickly regained attention and sent him the final card of his hand. An ace. "Twenty One, sir! Congratulations."

She then flipped her hole card over. Nine. Sixteen. She flipped another, Seven. "Twenty three, dealer bust." She quickly slid the used cards into the discard tray and dispensed the winnings towards the players.

Part Four
"Five uni's up..." The Cajun smirked as he set the pace down the curved hallway. His arrogant stride and wide grin were mirrored by his shorter companion.

"Woulda been six if ya didn't give tha dealer chick a hundred buck tip," Logan replied.
"Dis Cajun t'ink she earned dat, non? She was blushin' like a schoolgirl over us."
Logan nodded, "yeah, she earned that."

They reached the door of their suite. Remy quickly opened it and licked his lips when he saw a bottle of Perrier-Jouet La Belle Epoque 1998 sitting in the icebucket. Merci, Alissa Ma Chere.

"So, what's four, anyway?" Logan asked with a familiar gleam in his eyes. He followed the taller man into the suite; he quickly pinned the Cajun against the walls of the hall as the door shut behind them. "One... ya lock tha target..."

Remy chuckled knowingly as he saw the hunger in Logan's smile. "Two, you bait de line..."

"Three... ya slowly spread tha net..." His grip on Remy's wrists tightened slightly; his nose picked up the adrenaline rising in the thief's sweat.

"And four..." the Cajun locked his eyes onto the ravenous gaze of the Canadian, "you catch de man."

Several minutes later, Logan found himself lying on his back on the bed. His eyes moved up the thief's body; a lean abdomen, hard and flexible like it was made out of steel cable, gave way to a broad-shouldered chest with just the finest dusting of cinnamon-colored hair. Even further up lay Remy's stubbled jawline and deep-set, burning eyes that locked on to his with a mixture of challenge and playfulness.
"Jeez Rems... I wantcha so fuckin' bad right now..."

Remy smirked as he knelt there; his long legs straddled the elder man's body. His manhood stood achingly-hard as he felt the iron shaft of the feral pressing between his cheeks.
"Well mon ami, you got me.." he whispered as he sank backwards. His head snapped back and his eyes clamped shut as he felt the thick cock of the feral move into him; the pressure and heat moved deeper into his body as he descended.

As Logan let himself be drawn into the willing warmth, his fingers kneaded the sculpted globes of Remy's ass. The Cajun's leonine purr of pleasure made the knot in his gut tighten; the sound was nearly hypnotic. The heat and pressure around his shaft sent his pulse into overdrive. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight; the strands of auburn hair clinging to the stubbled jaw, the droplets of sweat that lazily snaked down the muscled flesh, the single drop of pre-seed that slid down the thief's long manhood. He let out a deep, contented growl as his synapses smoldered with sensation.

As Remy finally felt the hilt of Logan's length against his ass, his eyes opened again and he locked his gaze at the man below him. The sturdy, stocky body was a study in violent terrain; intimidating ridges of muscle bulged from beneath a forest of black hair. The man's cheeks were flushed. He lay atop the Canadian and let the wildman's generous body heat radiate into his own flesh; the friction of his refined, polished torso against the rugged one beneath him was almost as intense a sensation as the shaft stretching and filling his tight butt.
"You t'ink i's good now, mon frere," he growled playfully, "dis is jus' de beginning..."

Part Five
His eyes, concealed behind mirrored shades, peered at the cards from over the rim of the Martini glass. A seven and a six.
"Thirteen, Sir," the dark-haired dealer's voice said. He could hear the slight breathlessness in her words, I don' blame you for wan'ing me, ma chere, he thought with a smirk as he eyed her upcard. A six. He waved his hand horizontally,
"I'll stand, ma cherie.."

Her pale skin made no secret of her slight blush as she flipped her hole-card over.
"Sixteen," she drew another card. Another six.
"Dealer bust."

Oui, he grinned as his gaze trickled down from her high cleavage to the two green chips that were being slid over to him. No more den double de bet... jus' coun' aces versus fives, dey'll never know an' de comps keep coming.. the smirk on his face was the same one he wore whenever he managed to walk out of someone's vaults with the contents in his pockets.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the familiar form coming from the elevators. Black jeans and leather jacket as usual; under-dressed by the venue's standards. And yet, in spite of that and the form's shorter than average height, it walked towards him with long, purposeful strides and head held high.

"Eleven, Sir," the dealer said.

Remy didn't reply. He focused on the sight; uncowed, unconquerable... so much unlike when he first saw the man...

"Sir? Are you alright?"

Remy quickly turned back, "desole, ma chere." He glanced at his cards, and the dealer's ten. He slid forth another two green chips, "double down." He received a nine.

The dealer flipped over her hole card, "ten, stand off." She returned his bets as she saw the stocky, leather-clad man slide into the seat next to Monsieur LeBeau.

"Mornin' Rems," Logan said with a smirk on his face as he slid a green chip onto his own betting circle and handed over his player card to the dealer. "Just puttin' in tha hours fer tha room?"

"Oui..." Remy replied before he subtly licked his lips.

***

"De mos' impor'an' t'ing a blackjack player ever learns is basic stra'egy... de bes' play in any possible scenario.."

Logan looked at the intimidating chart the Cajun handed to him and felt sick in his stomach. He quickly glared back at Remy and rasped in reply,
"I ain't bein' drilled like a fuckin' army rat, Cajun!"

Remy nearly laughed. "Mon frere, dat's de las' t'ing I'm planning..." Jus' have de card wid you in de casino, he thought. "Jus' planning on showing you how to save money... an' have a good time on de way..."

Five minutes later, the feral was on his back on the green felt surface of the blackjack table. His fingers were clamped on the dealer's edge with white knuckles. His legs lay atop the wide shoulders of the smirking thief standing above him; Remy's gaze moved up and down his body like a starving man viewed a meal.

"C'mon Rems.... ya know ya wanna fuck me... gets me so hot thinkin' about that big cock o'yers in my ass... plow me handsome.."

Remy smirked and slowly began to let his hips drift forward.

The feral let out a growl through his gritted teeth; his grip nearly ripped the felt as he groaned. His muscles flexed almost randomly as he yelled, "fuck yeah! Right there Cajun... god-fuckin' dammit that feels good..." He took a gasping breath as the Cajun's manhood moved ever deeper; the pressure welling up inside him was almost too intense when Remy's cock settled inside him and ground against his prostate.
"ARRGH! Dammit Rems... shit ya know where ta put it..."

Remy's eyes feasted on the writhing of the elder man; he felt Logan move into every thrust he made. The feral's eyes were clamped shut; he watched the heavy-browed face twist in ecstasy as he moved in and out of the Canadian.
"Oui, Logan... dis Cajun gonna fuck you' long, drive you mad, make you beg for more... never resis' pleasure, mon ami, don' deny wha' feels good..."

"I ain't gonna!" Logan practically roared back as his left hand grabbed Remy's waist and dragged the Cajun towards him, burying the younger man's shaft inside his body to the hilt. He shuddered as the sudden shock of pleasure lanced through him. Droplets of sweat fell from his face and onto the green felt.
"More gumbo... don't think o'stoppin... fuck me..."

"My pleasure, mon frere..."

***

An hour and several drinks later, Remy looked back towards Logan with a smirk on his face.
"T'ink we should raid de poker room?"

"Never hurts," Logan replied through a ravenous leer.

Part Six
After leaving the poker room with considerably larger stacks of chips in their pockets, the mutants quickly strode towards the steak house.

"We won enough in dere to pay for everyt'ing on de menu..." Remy observed with a grin.

"Shit, Cajun, yer givin' me ideas... rare meat drippin' in heart-attack sauces..."

"Mmmm," the taller man moaned in a deliberately depraved tone, "sounds delicious..."

Remy's voice slithered up Logan's spine. The feral simply grinned as they were shown to a table.
"So, we played enough ta get tha comp?"

"Prob'ly... o'course, Alyssa may need some convincing..." he licked his plush lips again in a slow motion that left no question about what method of convincing Remy was thinking about.

Logan's knowing laugh was underscored by a soft grunt. His hungry grin grew wider and made a small flash of his elongated canines. "If ya need help convincin' her, can I join in?"

"Always," Remy replied casually.

Logan then looked Remy in the eye, damn shades he thought before he asked, "so Cajun, ya could win more cash at tha poker tables... ya can play people like a fuckin' violin... why blackjack? Apart from more comps, o'course.." only a buck an hour fer poker..

Suddenly, the Cajun's smirk shrank almost imperceptibly; only Logan's senses could recognize the micro-gesture.
"You alright?"

"Oui," Remy replied before he put his smirk back into position. "Poker, well dat's de game I'm bes' wid... i's all lies an manipulations." He then broke eye contact for a second.

So that's why ya'd rather play blackjack...

Remy's eyes moved back to Logan's, "blackjack, well, everyone knows everyone's cards. No bluffs, no lies. No one gonna backstab moi, dere's de house and dey de enemy. You know who stands where. You're damn good wid poker, mon ami... bu' you remind me more of blackjack."

A small smile began to tug at Logan's mouth. He nodded politely; he didn't need words to acknowledge the gravitas of what Remy had said.

Part Seven
The stream of caramel-colored liquor descended from the bottle and landed on Logan's naked chest. The velvet-smooth tongue of the Cajun lapped the bourbon up with a grin.
"Mmmm, a bi' more sal'y den usual mon ami..." he growled to the man he was straddling. "Bu' jus' as delicious as I remember..."

The resonant purr from Logan's mouth quickly changed to a chuckle as he flipped Remy around; now it was the Cajun lying beneath him. He looked down at the granite ridges of the thief's washboard abs and poured more of the Reserve bourbon onto the luscious skin.
"So Cajun..." the Wolverine playfully growled, "how about some aggressive countin'? Big bet spreads... I wanna watch a pit boss squirm..." Logan quickly lapped up each stream of whiskey on the taller man's body.

"Can' do dat here," Remy replied as he slid out from under Logan's grip and pinned the feral back onto the mattress. Yet another slug of bourbon was poured onto the stocky man. The Acadian incubus slurped it up with a smile before he continued, "wanna keep my comp... o'course, we can always go somewhere else..."

"How about tha Venetian?" Logan suggested with a slight indifference. "It's close."

Remy gently placed the half-empty bottle of bourbon down on the nightstand before scoffing. "Dat overpriced exercise in high camp? Wid average a' bes' games? Are you trying to piss me off jus' so you can ge' some angry sex, cher?" No' dat I mind, he thought as he leaned back down and licked the last stray drop out of the forest of black fur.

Logan smirked and chortled at the soft tongue working its way up his chest. "Well, ya got any ideas?" he asked before flipping Remy back onto the bed and straddling the lithe, wide-shouldered form.

"Games are be''er a' Bellagio..."

"Aww jeez Rems... more swanky joints? This place is bad enough..." He groaned as he poured and licked up a shot down the thief's broad chest. The salty-smoky-sweet cocktail of aged bourbon and the Cajun's sweat sent his blood rushing downwards.

"Mon'e Carlo's nice widou' being over de top... an' dey offer grea' games midweek.." Remy laughed at the feeling of chapped lips grazing over his nipple... "Bu' I nearly blew my cover on Aria's opening. Dis Cajun don' wanna lose my MGM card..."

Logan placed the bottle back on the table and looked at the tall man; he observed each movement of each muscle beneath the Cajun's skin. He didn't know what he wanted more at that moment; to clean out a high limit room or to have Remy yelling his name alongside a chewed up mess of French and English profanities. Nope, we can do that after we make some money... the casino thinks they can always beat us, huh? Guess we both like showin' 'em we ain't their victims... anyone's victims.. The tense, flexible cords beneath Remy's flesh only made that clear.
"How about Paris?"

Remy's face instantly twisted into an expression of nausea.
"C'mon... tha cocktail girls wear tha smallest fuckin' dresses... sound fun?" he heard Logan cajole him.
"De games are even worse dere... non respli' your aces!... Dey t'ink dat pu''ing "le" in fron' of de name of a burger makes it French!"

A malicious grin then spread across Logan's face as he continued. He looked out the window at the false Eiffel Tower down the Strip. His stare towards the place was the same one he saved for a kill he wanted to relish. "Yep. It's another trap ran by Harrah's. I think they deserve ta lose some cash... whadda ya say, Remy?" He turned back to his Cajun friend, who now had the exact same malicious smirk tugging at his lips.

Harrah's. Dey ruined Caesars Palace... dey have de wors' games in Vegas... and dere Loyal'y program... dere's a reason Harrahs is de Evil Empire...
"Mon Ami...." he said in a smooth, icy voice, "le's make dem pay."

Fifteen minutes later the threshold of the high limit room at the Paris Las Vegas was darkened by the shadows of a tall, agile thief and a short, stocky brawler. The taller man's eyes were concealed behind shades; the shorter man's were a ruthlessly cold blue. The thief's plush lips were in the shape of a dangerous leer; the brawler's a grim line.

They approached the nearest blackjack table; their footfalls carried the heaviness of inevitability, a deserved retribution. As the men slid into the seats, they reached into their pockets and pulled out thick stacks of hundred dollar bills. The slam of each stack onto the table was like the banging of a judge's gavel.

Forty-five minutes later, the thief descended the stairs leading to the exit of the property. His coat fluttered around him as his smirk asserted itself. Beside him, the feral stood proudly, head high and lips held in a grin. Both were thankful for the deep pockets of Remy's coat.

"Twenty units up," Logan mused.

"Dat was a lucky shoe, mon frere, bu' oui. A li''le luck an a lo' of card coun'ing makes for a winning session."

Logan chuckled; the rough, warm timbre of the sound was only enhanced by the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. His head spun as he walked out onto the Strip; yer overreactin' Canucklehead, wasn't a big victory... it was tha meanin' of it that mattered.

He remembered Remy's ruthless, even risky bet-spread; the quiet shock of the dealer at each increase in the stack of chips behind the Cajun's hand. And he remembered the smirk Remy had glued on his face at every moment; ya don't let anyone hold ya down.

Part Eight
The Canadian grumbled as he pulled himself up that staircase. Goddamn Cajun bastard... his fuckin' strategy trainin... like that'll do anythin'... He thundered down the Xavier Institute's hallway and almost tore Remy's door off of its hinges. Suddenly his jeans began to feel tighter as he witnessed the sight before him.

The thief lay there; his flexible form was sprawled across the blackjack table. He lay on his side with his smirk fully in place. Only a very tall pile of packs of cards obscured his manhood from the feral's vision. His irises burned into the shorter man.
"Logan, mon frere..." he purred as he licked his lips.

Logan closed the door; the scowl had long been replaced with a ravenous grin.
"Hey Gumbo," he growled back playfully, "thought ya wanted ta give me more strategy trainin'?"

"Fuck me, Logan," Remy smokily demanded; his voice contained not a single stammer or molecule of uncertainty.

The warm timbre of Remy's demand made half of Logan's blood supply rush below his waist. He smirked and tore his singlet off before he prowled across the room.
"No problem, hot stuff."

Five minutes later, the thief was lying back on the table. Logan knelt between his long legs; the feral's smirk was a picture of hunger. Remy felt the rough face of the Canadian move up his body. The warm tongue licked its way through every valley along his ripped torso; the shorter man's lips left trails of kisses along the thief's skin. He felt the stout cock of the elder man press forward slowly, not forcing him but convincing him to yield to the intrusion.

The Cajun moaned as he felt the shaft spread him wide and slide into him. The feral's warm arms surrounded his torso and held him close. Logan's teeth began to chew lightly on his neck; his own aching cock ground into the hairy abs of the savage.
"Mon dieu," he gasped as delicious friction spread through his body, as if his own cells were being charged with his own energy.

"Yeah Cajun... ya like that? This thick cock inside a ya? Ya love it dontcha..." the feral growled into Remy's ear with a low, rasping voice. He couldn't help but marvel at the straining steel cables of the thief's body, the eyes rolled back until the irises disappeared, the long legs and arms that were wrapped around him.. "yer so fuckin' hot Cajun, ya know that? Such an indomitable, cocky bastard..." He slowly drew his hips back and watched the thief shudder in pleasure. As he began to slide back in, he spoke again. "No one's gonna hold ya down... yer too strong an cunnin' ta be anyone's bitch... that's why yer fun..."

Purrs and moans spilled from between the thief's soft lips as he heard that deep voice massage his eardrums and tell him everything he knew, everything he never got tired of hearing. He began moving his own hips back into every thrust; taking what he wanted as much as Logan was willing to give it.
"Oui, mon frere..." he replied, intending the full meaning of the word, "you wan' me so bad, everyone does..."

"Yer just that sexy," the feral replied with a smirk. The building pressure within his groin, a burning heat verging on pain, was suddenly extinguished by the fall of rain from the ceiling. The feral looked up in surprise.

A shaft of light streaked through the small gap in the curtains and brushed across Logan's face. The ocher-golden and copper-chocolate tones of the suite greeted his eyes. His length was still rigid from the dream; the sound of falling water drifted from the bathroom.

He glanced out the window; cars were moving at their familiar crawling pace along Las Vegas Boulevard. He turned around with a smirk as he remembered the night before... lost count o' how many times I fucked him or he fucked me... Shit, gotta take care o'this he thought as he felt the ache of his manhood. He licked his lips and grinned as he crept into the bathroom; the scent of the Cajun like a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a feast.

Part Nine
"Yep... Got it... Sure, Jeannie... Slim been holdin' up?.... How's 'Ro doin'?"

The Canadian lay back on the bed. His hand loosely held a pen; the pen slowly scrawled notes on a pad of paper lying beside him.
"Tha Cajun? Ya know how well he's doin'... can't believe they keep invitin' him back...."

Then the feral smirked.

"Ya want tha details? Wanna hear how I jumped him in tha shower this mornin? How he drilled me through tha bed last night? Ya know how fuckin' hot he sounds when he's moanin' my name?" His gravelly snarl was accompanied by the drift of his hand down towards the waistband of his jeans.

The descent of his hand suddenly halted as his grin vanished. "But I gotta get tha shoppin' done... o'course..." his smirk then returned as he licked his lips, "when we get back, we could give ya a demonstration... we know Slim don't mind.."

He chuckled at the giggles that emerged from the other end. "Sure Darlin', count on us. Gotta get goin'... see ya tamorrow..."

He placed the phone down and looked across the room to Remy. His eyes moved down the long form; its wide shoulders were wrapped in a pinstripe suit with the purple silk shirt from earlier worn beneath. The undone buttons at the top of the shirt exposed just enough skin for Logan to contemplate the thought of licking his way down the Cajun's torso; unbuttoning the shirt with his teeth as...

"Happy to see me, mon ami?" Gambit asked with a smirk as he gestured to the bulge in Logan's jeans.

"Oh yeah," Logan replied through a tooth-baring smirk, "gotta do some shoppin' though..." he then added in a quieter voice, "hate havin' ta leave.." His voice suddenly returned with a snarl, "goddamn Fearless Fuckin' Leader demandin' we be back early..."

"Oui," Remy replied, "A' leas' we have un'il de red eye express... we can s'ill have some fun."

"Yep... Jeannie gave me a list fer everyone... I think I'm gonna buy Scotty an actual douche bag."

They both chuckled as Logan rose from the mattress.

Part Ten
The two men lay on the bed side by side. The only things on their bodies were the muted lights of the Strip that drifted through the window. They stared up at the ceiling with cigarettes between their smirking lips.
"Le's see... we done everyt'ing we wan'ed to do here... excep' one t'ing..."

"Find a way ta squeeze an extra day off outta Scotty?" Logan rasped through a chuckle, yeah, as if that could happen.

"Non," Gambit chuckled back. His smirk remained as he continued, "we did some really bad t'ings dis weekend."

"Ya got that right. So whats on yer mind?" He couldn't detect any changes in Gambit's scent or pulse, so it ain't robbin' tha place, or fuckin' me again right now...

"You know dat toy you bought wid you?" Gambit then continued as his smirk morphed into a truly sinister, predatory grin.

Then Logan heard Remy's heart begin to speed up again; that familiar rhythm which only brought a small number of possibilities to mind. This is either gonna be really good, or fuckin' crazy. Or both... "So what's the plan?" he asked; his usual growl was saturated with enthusiastic curiosity.

Father Leonard O'Donnell sat in the small, barely lit booth and struggled to stay awake. You'd think taking confessions in Sin City would be non stop excitement... of course he heard some absolute scorchers over the years, thefts, frauds, even murders, but confessors were few and far between. At least when they come in, its worthwhile. Guess most just tell their home priest what they did here... so much for 'what happens in Vegas'... he contemplated praying for someone interesting to stumble in, before he snorted at the irony. Mother Mary, I beseech ye to pray for forgiveness for a bored and jaded priest...

A quick knock came from the other side of the screen. Someone else that's poured the kiddie's cereal money into the slots, probably, he thought as he opened the screen. He couldn't see through the small gaps in the grate; the dim light and haze of smoke on the other side obscured everything but a small glowing ember at the tip of a cigarette.
"Forgive me Pere, for I have sinned... i's been several years since my las' confession," came a smooth, deep Cajun accent. The voice almost sent a tremble down his spine, I'm listening... "Please, my son, continue," he replied.

Suddenly, Father O'Donnell glanced three sharp, glistening blades; each blade slid through the holes in the grating. A metallic hiss cut through the air as the blades drew ever closer to his neck. His eyes widened in fear and he flattened his back against the far corner of the cubicle; it only gave him an inch of leeway.

His heart raced as he grit his teeth. Then he heard another voice; a smoke-ravaged rasp that bore a tone of relish. "Oh, were gonna continue bub. And all ya gotta do is not stop us. Ya got that?"
He nodded silently. The soft rustle of fabric being pulled then filled the air. Then he heard a simultaneous soft popping sound and a grunt coming from the second voice.

Remy breathed in the humid, smoky air of the booth; his pants were pooled around his ankles and his cock slid up and down the space between the feral's rock-hard butt cheeks. His face bore a grin of glee at the thought of what was about to happen. The sight alone had his shaft throbbing; the feral man was bent over, legs spread wide and willing. His right hand traveled across Logan's broad back and drifted around to the feral's generously-furred abdomen. His long fingers advanced through the thick coating of black hair; already it was slightly damp with sweat. The deep purring breaths coming from the Canadian flowed into his ears; they were like an invitation. De bes' possible kind...

As he began to press his manhood into Logan's well-prepared entrance, his ears were assaulted with a hailstorm of growls, grunts and torn up fragments of what may have been words. He kept moving forward at a slow, steady pace; his length buried itself deeper and deeper into the phenomenal heat and tightness of the feral's body.

"ARRGH... fuck Cajun... that's so fuckin' good, right there, fuck me dammit..."

The Acadian let out a low, drawn-out chuckle as he licked a trail up the shuddering spine of the shorter mutant. He didn't see any reason to deny Logan what was asked of him.

Suddenly, a roar was propelled from the feral's mouth as he felt the heat and pressure within him spike without warning.
"Awwrgh... son of a bitch... right there, yeah yer on target Rems... ya know every spot.."
The dark, sinister chuckle of the demon-eyed mutant behind him crept up his skin,
"Oui, mon frere... you like dis don' you, feeling me fuck you long an' deep, in de sigh' of god..."

As he kept pistoning back and forth into the elder man, Remy felt the energy in his body race to his cock; it was as if the only focus of his nerves was the constricting muscle around his shaft. He didn't even register the impact he made with the rear wall of the booth when he withdrew himself. He moaned each time he reburied himself inside the muscular savage; each thrust sent a shockwave up his spine.

The sharp points of the blades moved up and down so perilously close to O'Donnell's neck. He paid no attention as his back pressed against the wall of the booth. His panicked breaths were drowned out by the call-and-response of the Cajun's seductive, smoky drawl and the Canadian's harsh, deep growl. His wide-eyed gaze couldn't penetrate the smoke, darkness and screen between the booths, not that I'd want to see this.. he hurriedly thought.

This bored and jaded priest certainly had his prayer answered.

Twenty minutes later, the two mutants descended the Church's steps with very proud grins on their faces. Their luggage followed behind them; the plastic wheels ground against the concrete.
"I've always wan'ed to do dat..."
"Ya mean fuck me in a confessional booth?"
"Well, fuck someone in a confessional... bu' you were more den a good choice.."

"Gotta admit, it was fun..." he chuckled before shifting to a more solemn tone, "like tellin' all those control freaks ta get tha fuck outta our lives..."
"d'Accord," Remy nodded in assent, "no one's ever gonna own my life bu' me. No one's ever gonna own your life bu' you."
That's tha sexiest thing ya could ever say, Cajun, Logan thought as he watched Remy flag down a taxi.

And as the taxi drifted towards the airport, both men looked regretfully out of their windows.
"Gonna be a while before we ge' back here, mon ami."
"Yeah... but at least we had fun."
"Oui. And dere's always fun we can have back at de mansion," Remy added with a smirk.
"And I can't wait fer that!" The Canadian replied through a grin.

The End