-scene-
Logan set the steaming plate before the kid and watched a moment as he picked up his fork and began to eat with a flourish and grace belying a much more refined upbringing than he would have been afforded on the street.
He snatched two beers from the fridge, handing one to his tablemate before taking the seat across from the boy.
Remy glanced up, looking surprised. "You shua ah'm old enough?" he asked with a mischievous grin.
"You think I give a damn?" Logan countered.
"Well, since you put it dat way…" the boy grinned, accepting the bottle.
The two ate in silence a minute before the quiet was broken by an exclamation of "Mon Dieu!"
Logan glanced up. The kid's eyes were wide in surprise, his fingers lightly covering his mouth. "Tres bien!" he told the older man. "Dis real good!"
"Course it is." Logan replied, embarrassed. "I don't run a diner fer nothin'."
The two ate quietly for awhile before the boy again broke the silence. "Didn' have to do dat…" he commented softly.
"Hn?" Logan asked around a mouthful of food. "Do what?"
Remy shifted. "What 'choo did… de udder night… when dat man put his hans on me."
Logan's hackles rose. "Can't let it go, can ya?" he asked a bit testily.
Remy shrugged. "Jes grateful ah guess…"
Logan was quiet. "Oh" Logan replied, then, as an afterthought. "Yer welcome."
-scene-
Logan sighed. It was becoming more and more obvious to him. He'd tried to deny it at first, but he realized now that Warren had been right. He liked the kid… Not to say he'd ever admit it to Warren!
He watched over the edge of the newspaper as the young, southern boy dutifully scrubbed the tiled floor behind the bar, the sinewy muscles in his bare arms flexing with each motion, the hem of his blue jeans creeping dangerously lower with each passing moment, and Logan, the whole time, willing them to do so.
He'd realized it maybe a week ago, maybe longer. Maybe it was the day the kid had borrowed Logan's jacket, and the way it had smelled afterwards of musk and spice and sweat. Maybe it was that morning the kid had sauntered downstairs for breakfast wearing nothing but a pair of tighty-whiteys and an oversized t-shirt, two crescent slivers of vanilla showing where the underwear met his thighs and had chosen to creep up. Or maybe it was every night when Logan was by himself, 'relieving a little tension' and trying to convince himself that it wasn't the kid he was wanking off to. Maybe it was even before that. He couldn't say. All he did know was that it was impossible to deny any longer. When he called "Boss" in that oh-so-trusting manner, Logan's heart thudded dully in his adamantium ribcage. When he walked past the older man with a gentle touch here and a dulcet "Excusez moi…" his cock would remind him how very tight his pants could be. If a customer looked at the kid wrong, then he was in the kitchen, washing dishes for the rest of the night.
He couldn't say he wasn't angry about it. Sure, the kid was obviously a professional, and he knew it. He felt foolish being played by such a pup. But he also felt guilty. The kid wanted a job; an honest day's work and an honest day's pay, not some geezer getting off to fantasies about what sort of fun that firm, round backside would be good for.
"Boss?" the kid called, and the impatience in his voice let on that it wasn't the first time he'd had to ask.
Logan blinked. "Hn?" he asked.
"Remy bored." The boy pouted. He was on his hands and knees, his back arching sensually as he craned his neck to look over his shoulder at the burly older man.
"What do I care?" Logan grinned.
The boy stuck out his bottom lip and Logan had to bite his own to keep from thinking about how full and red they seemed. "Boss!" he whined, "Been doin' dis fo' hours." He collapsed on the floor, his hind end still in the air and Logan had to turn away to hide the flush that was still on his cheeks.
"Well then get the hell up." He told him gruffly.
"Yay!" the boy exclaimed, jumping up and wrapping his arms around the older man's waist. "Take me fo' a ride, c'mon, you promise!"
"That was if you finished the floor." Logan reminded. "You just quit, remember?"
"Ah finish it later." Remy bargained. "Come on, les go…"
-scene-
Moments later found the two standing in the garage, admiring a sleek, black motorcycle.
"What is it with you and this bike?" Logan demanded. "I take ya' fer one ride and yer sold. Hell, I bet I don't even have ta' pay ya' anymore." He teased. "Just give ya' a ride at the end of the day." Logan stopped, considering. Hell, if he was allowed to give the kid a 'ride' at the end of the day, he figured he wouldn't need to be paid either.
Remy was admiring the bike with mounting anticipation as he clung to Logan's jacket sleeve.
Logan glanced down noticing the shabby corduroy jacket the kid was always wearing. "Take that rag off." He told the kid, shoving his own jacket into the Cajun's hands.
"But Boss," the redhead protested. "Ef Remy take yo' jacket, what'choo gon' weya?"
"I got tough skin." The man told him. "I'll be fine."
Remy paused a moment, but slipped on the jacket as he appraised the man's muscular arms, deciding he was probably right.
He waited in anticipation as Logan started the bike.
"Well? Come on." Logan ordered, patting the seat behind him.
Remy swung his leg over the seat, settling himself with the older man between his knees.
He had been nervous the first time he'd mounted the bike. Sure, he'd rode motorcycles before, but nothing like this. This was a Harley.
The bike was bigger and more powerful than the little scooters he'd had the opportunity to experience.
The bike shuddered and rumbled beneath him and he flushed a little at the feeling of the vibration between his thighs. He scooted forward, bumping his hips against Logan, and tightened his grip around the older man's waist as the bike tore out of the garage.
Logan loved the feeling of the wind whipping past his face, combing through his hair like fingers, and that much power riding full-throttle under his body, but more than that, he was loving the feeling of the boy's arms wrapped around him, his hands bunching in the material of Logan's wife-beater. He loved how the kid would grab on tighter when he revved the bike, but he even loved slowing down, because then he could catch a whiff of the kid's scent; of his sweat and exhilaration, and a hint of something else; something very much like arousal. Thinking that his bike turned the kid on was almost as good as wishing it was him.
It was a Sunday, and the bar was closed, so they rode until long after sunset. It was a longer ride than Logan had ever allowed the boy to take with him, but for some reason, he didn't want it to end, and he could assume the reason was the kid's breath on his ear, or the feeling of that youthfully muscular chest pressing against his back, or maybe it was just being held like that, trusted like that… needed like that again.
When they finally returned to the bar, it was late, and the kid was ducking his head every few minutes to hide the fact that he was yawning.
Logan chuckled to himself, but to Remy he said "Better get some sleep, we open at noon tomorrow."
Remy nodded, sliding out of the leather jacket and handing it back to the older man as he unlocked the door to the upper apartments.
Remy smiled to himself as he mounted the stairs, and he couldn't remember a better time. He knew that his face was red, and he didn't know if he would ever stop blushing again, but he didn't care.
-scene-
With a gasp, Logan sat bolt-upright in his bed, clutching at the sides of his head in agony and shock, unsure whether he was awake or dreaming. His mind was on fire with a static electricity, a barrage of pain and emotion. His claws popped instinctively and he slashed at the air, trying to drive back the unrelenting attack. There was sadness and confusion, and pain; so much pain! He dug at his chest, driven temporarily mad by the assault, trying to gouge the emotions out, to rid himself of them, or at least distract himself with a more physical, therefore more controllable pain. He could not see, could not breathe, was so overwhelmed by the aching and the screaming in his own head, but suddenly, he heard a different sort of scream. It was both heart-wrenching and blood-curdling at the same time… and it was very much not in his head.
Logan grit his teeth, controlling his senses enough to stagger from his room to the closet across the hall. Yanking the door open, he jerked the chain for the light.
Remy was trashing on his cot in some imagined terror, his face stained with tears and streaked with cuts he must have inflicted in his sleep.
Logan grabbed the kid's wrists frantically, yanking him into a sitting position. "Wake up kid!" he commanded. "Wake the hell up!"
The boy gasped sharply, his eyes snapping open, dilated and unfocused for a minute. Finally, consciousness seemed to dawn on him, and with it, the terror within Logan's own mind abated. And then he knew. Staring into those red on black eyes, still tasting the residual blood in his mouth from where he'd bitten his tongue during the fit, he knew. "Yer a Mutie." He stated.
The kid's eyes flashed terror and he jerked away quickly, snatching for a contact case beside his bed. "Ah ken explain! Ah ken explain!" he was protesting desperately.
"Ain't no need for ya' ta explain." Logan said softly, cupping the boy's chin and turning him back to face him. He studied those absurd eyes for a moment longer. "Yer an empath then, er something?" he asked.
The boy nodded slightly. "An' other tings…" he said quietly, seemingly as mesmerized by Logan's eyes as the man was by his. "You not… angry?" he asked meekly.
"A little shook up." Logan told him with a chuckle. "But there ain't no reason ta be angry."
"But Ah…"
"You got the gene." Logan said simply, raising a hand and popping his claws with a crisp 'snikt' sound "Me too, kid." He let the claws slide back into place, the wounds quickly knitting themselves closed. "But I guess you ain't as lucky. Without those lenses, yer a 24-7 ain't ya?" He sighed. "Me, I can pass if I gotta…"
Remy turned away, casting his eyes down in obvious shame as he reached for the contact case again.
And again, Logan captured his chin, turning the boy back to face him. "Don't." he breathed. "I like 'em."
The young Acadian glanced up in wonder, but only had a second to breathe before the older man's lips were suddenly and unexpectedly on his own. His lips parted in an almost instinctual motion as his eyes slid closed and the man made no hesitation about deepening the kiss. Remy whimpered slightly at the taste of the man; hot and a bit sour with the hint of Tobacco. He hadn't realized until that moment how badly he'd wanted to taste those lips or that mouth, but suddenly, he couldn't get enough. He was clinging to Logan's shirt, pressing himself needily against the man, panting into his kiss.
Logan's mind was overwhelmed with his own passion, and the kid's as well, as Remy hadn't had the chance yet to put his shields back up, finally it became almost unbearable and Logan had to pull away.
Remy gave a disapproving sound at the loss of contact and his eyes fluttered open, unsure. His cheeks were red and warm and his chest was heaving. "Boss?" he asked softly.
"I- ah crap… I'm sorry…" Logan faltered. "Shit, I didn't mean to, I swear ta God…"
Remy bit his lower lip, sitting back on his haunches. He slid a hand forward insecurely, touching Logan's own. "Boss… Remy like it when you do dat… jes now…" he offered shyly.
Logan glanced to the kid, then licked his lips softly, still tasting the Cajun's breath on them. "Get some sleep." He said gruffly, pulling away. He turned quickly and exited the room, leaving Remy alone.
Remy stared after him for quite some time before curling back up on the cot. He buried his face in the pillow, trying to memorize the man's smell, but it had been weeks, and the scent was beginning to fade. His shoulders shook slightly, but he was too exhausted to cry and he stared at the wall instead. What did it all mean? Too much had happened all at once, and eventually, sleep claimed his fatigued mind.
-scene-
In his own room, Logan paced, cursing himself. Shit! Why had he done it? And Shit! Why had he left? And which one was he more upset about. The look on the kid's face; that pleasant surprise and hope, but he wasn't the first one to put that look there, he reasoned. No way. He wasn't going to fall for a joy boy. He had too much experience with their type and love for pay wasn't his style.