Work Text:
Wednesday Smutlet
by Ciro
Usually, when Logan wanted to be alone, he REALLY wanted to be alone. The noise, smells and teenage angst of the Xavier School made him crabby as hell. He'd scoped out the grounds when he first arrived and discovered an old cabin on the perimeter of the estate that he used to either to get away for some peace and quiet or to vent whatever anger he was keeping to himself on the old, already-scarred walls.
With so many nosy telepaths and gossipy kids in the house, it was damn hard ta keep a secret and he had a reason for wantin' some privacy. Logan wasn't a quiet man during lovemaking. Never had been that he knew of. Today however, he wanted ta take sweet-cheeks to his secret place not only for a hard, protracted session of fucking, but also to share a little piece of his riven soul.
Remy was surprised to see the cabin. It was old, had no air conditioning or heat and looked like krot from de outside. Inside though, Logan'd made a few alterations for comfort and a reinforced, king-sized bed stood prominantly in one corner. He'd jury-rigged a kind of homemade shower by collecting rainwater in a barrel on the roof and an old outhouse served as a latrine. He even had a little fridge, a hotplate and some canned groceries on a shelf.
"All de comfuts o' home, eh?" he observed.
"Serves the purpose, don't it?" Logan grunted, "Ya hungry?"
"Weh, whu'chu gots?"
"Beef stew, crackers, soup an' chicken'n dumplin's."
"Anyt'ing yuh fix be faine 'long as deys some spaice in it," the Cajun replied, looking around. The place was as neat as a shot of whiskey. Bed was made, everything in its place, reflected an almost-military inhabitant. Logan selected the chicken'n dumplin's, tore off the paper wrapper, popped a claw, made a hole in the top and put it on the hotplate. Gambit grinned from his spot on the bed.
"Home-cookin'. Mm...mm...mm." A dark flush seeped into Logan's thick neck.
"Need ta go shoppin'. Runnin' low. Ya can eat at the house if ya want," he said, stirring the contents of the can with a claw.
"Neh, beb. Remy laikes it heah. Nice'n quite."
"That it is. Whaddaya think?" Lebeau cocked his head, picking up several levels of embarrassment from the stockier man.
"Whut de mattuh, mon ami?"
"Nothin'," Logan said too quickly, not meeting his eyes. The Acadian rose from the bed, walked over and wrapped his long arms around a thick waist.
"Yuh feel shame 'bout dis place?" he asked softly, bending to lip and kiss the edge of Logan's ear. Felt conflict emanating from that muscular body, felt him shrug.
"It's good enough fer me," he finally answered.
"Ah, an' yuh thank jus' 'cause Remy live de hai laife in N'awlins, dis ain't good 'nuff fuh 'im, id dat it?" Long, nimble fingers descended to Logan's belt.
"Somethin' like that, yeah," the Canuck said, shiverin' as the Cajun quickly unfastened his jeans and began fondlin' him. Keep stirrin', bub. One thing at a time.
"Chere, Gambit done 'is fayah shayah o' livin' on de street, ate 'is suppuh out o' gahbage cans an' pissed in alluhs. We ain't sa diff'rent." Logan gasped as the Southerner's warm, soft hands took his meat and idly played with his shaft and nuts.
"Ya keep doin' that, ya ain't never gonna eat." Gambit laughed, a tinkling sound of pure humor. Christ, Logan lived to hear that.
"Zat hot yet, beb?" the fingers continued to drive Logan up the wall. He squirmed as he stirred, feelin' the Cajun's erection pressing urgently inta the small of his back.
"Jus' about. We'll havta share a spoon. Only got one." Focus, Logan, focus. Food first.
"Gambit don' need no spoon, mec," Remy chuckled.
"Whaddaya...?" Logan started to ask, half-turning to see the Cajun's sly grin. Reminded him of a fox.
"Make shura dat ain't too hot hot. Remy gots hissef a notion." A slow smile spread over Logan's lips and he took the can off the heat.
A few minutes later, Logan speared a chunk of chicken, placed it delicately on his exposed cock and watched as Gambit extended his pretty tongue to lap it off. While the Cajun loved his cayenne, he'd gone without. Plenty o' spaice in dis meat.
End
Dis fuh BJ.