𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐧
Remy (Gambit) Lebeau x Logan (Wolverine) Howlett (romance, angst, smut)
1,010 words
Description: Two hurt men fill their void (and each other)
Contents: Slight angst, sex (somewhat gentle), praise, older man x middled aged(?) man, slight aftercare, possible relationship after story
Note: Happy pride month! It is almost 7 A.M., and I have not slept. So I apologize if this is babbled nonsense.
.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔 ݁ ˖.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚..𖥔
They sat across the bar from one another, not quite staring, but not quite ignoring, either. Glances flickered like dying matches. Remy's gaze lingered a little longer each time the older man brought the rim of the glass to his lips, tongue barely grazing the edge in a slow, almost absent motion.
Was it subconscious, or was it deliberate?
Like bait hung just low enough to tempt?
Remy didn't trust it. Didn't trust him. A man like that-broad shoulders, worn flannel, calloused hands gripping glass like it owed him something-- he screamed straight. The kind that only noticed you when drunk enough to forget who he was. Remy had danced with that kind before.
Crude. Forceful. Tempting.
The man's gaze veered to a woman across the room. Soft features, a delicate laugh. Remy caught the hunger in his eyes, and something in his chest twisted. So he looked away, tried not to sulk, to want.
But his want was a stupid thing, stubborn and slick.
He stood anyway, like the fool that he was, letting long legs carry him across the bar's cracked tiles like he had nothing to lose.
After tonight with Rogue, he really had nothing to lose. Not his dignity, not his love.
The man was dressed ruggedly, like he'd stepped out of a decade he didn't want to name. Flannel half-open over a white shirt, jeans that had seen too many winters, boots made for stomping-- not dancing. He had a kind of quiet that screamed louder than noise, a silence built from grief and long roads. His face was lined, his eyes half-lidded and heavy, like they'd seen too much and stopped trying to blink it away.
Remy leaned against the bar beside him, his smile lazy.
"Long night, non?"
His voice purred like honey laced with sin.
Logan didn't look. Didn't smirk. Just grunted around the cigar clenched between his teeth and exhaled slow, like he was trying to smoke the question away and whisp Remy from his presence.
"Haven't seen ya here before,"
Remy tried again, voice smooth but a little softer now, lacking the prior purr.
"You a newcomer?"
"Day-drinker,"
Came the reply, sharp as a broken bottle. Gravel-thick voice, laced with smoke and indifference.
Remy let out a slow exhale, nodding.
" 'Spose dat makes sense, mon ami."
The bartender had felt their tension, sliding another drink between them. Remy's fingers brushed against Logan's glass.
"Logan."
His name was as rough as he was.
"Logan Howlett."
Remy smiled, tipping his imaginary hat as he turned, thigh brushing against Logan's leg as he shifted his seat.
"Remy LeBeau,"
His voice was nothing less than a flirt, a soft coo to coax Logan into softening,
"But you can call me de Gambit."
A beat. His smirk widened, curling slow like the smoke pouring from those pretty lips.
"Or whatever you like t'night."
That earned a low scoff. Half laugh, half defense mechanism. But Logan didn't move away.
That was a win.
Their conversation stretched long, carried by adolescent jokes and glances that lingered just a second too long. Logan couldn't help the way Remy made him laugh. He hated that it felt easy, that it felt good.
What was he doing? Sleeping with another man? With him?
Remy was charming, sure. Gorgeous. But Logan wasn't over her. Not even close.
But Remy was present. Real. With lips like velvet and eyes that saw through shit like glass. He moved like temptation and spoke like sin.
And Logan was tired of pretending.
Their bodies crashed together in the hallway of Logan’s rundown apartment. Kisses messy, hot. Breath tangled with curses and low growls. Logan's hand curled around Remy's hip, tugging him inside like he owned him.
"Fuck.."
Logan hissed, mouth bruising against Remy's lower lip.
"Yer good at this, kid."
Remy chuckled breathlessly.
"Gotta be, cher. Especially when I'm always bendin' down t'meet ya."
Logan growled, eyes dark with need. His hands were firm as they guided Remy to the couch, pushing him down like he needed him grounded.
Remy looked up at him, all soft lips and wild hair. Like a memory.
Logan froze for just a second, ghost-pale in the eyes.
Remy reached up, his fingers curling under his chin, pulling him back to now. He kissed him gently.
"Don't drift, cher. I'm right here. I'm yours tonight."
It wasn't a tone of flirt, but more a soothing one. Remy also held the pained gaze of need. Of loneliness.
Their clothes disappeared between kisses and murmurs, flesh meeting flesh. Logan pushed into him with a rough need, lips crushed against a shoulder, teeth grazing skin. Remy gasped, hands clawing for anything to hold. Logan's grip tightened on his hips, pulling him up, angling deeper.
"Takin' me so well, kid.."
He groaned, voice cracking at the edges.
"Feels so fuckin' good."
Remy arched, moaning sharp, his body trembling with each thrust. Logan's pace was desperate, not just lustful. As if haunted. Like he could fuck the past out of himself, bury it inside Remy. Gone in these gummy-like walls, warm and coaxing.
Like everything else about Remy.
Remy came first, crying out prettily, body curling as he spurted between them. His breath hitched, lips parted in bliss. Logan couldn't hold back anymore. His thrusts grew frantic, heart thudding loud in his ears.
"Gonna..gonna cum so deep in you-"
He spilled inside with a broken groan, collapsing forward, arms failing. But Remy caught him. Held him like he mattered. One hand stroked Logan's spine, the other smoothing his damp hair.
For a long moment, they just breathed.
Logan's guilt crawled back in, slow and sour. He found himself relaxed, despite the guilt that ate around his mind, tearing his skin apart and nestling in the bones.
Remy's voice broke the quiet, low and tender.
"Might I stay here for de night, cher?"
It startled Logan. Not the question, but the softness.
His eyes burned, but he nodded.
"Please,"
He rasped, despite attempting to keep his mask on for a little longer,
"I need it."
