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Language:
English
Series:
Part 2 of Sense of Hope
Collections:
Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-05
Words:
1,416
Chapters:
1/1
Kudos:
17
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1,743

Dusk

Summary:

Give me just one more night...

Work Text:



DUSK
by Techie

One more night
Give me just one more night...

"One More Night", Phil Collins

I paused as we reached Logan's room, pushing it open with my shoulder as I kept an arm around his shoulders, glancing at his haggard face.

He looked drawn and weary, shadows of sadness darkening his eyes.

I had always been facinated by his eyes.

Golden-hazel, forthright and fiery, they could tell you everything - or reveal nothing.

I knew my own eyes were odd - unusual, unique, striking, all nice, gentle ways of saying "odd", but his were unique, liquid fire and light that dominated his craggy features.

I realized Logan was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off his boots with brooding care, and asked softly, "Is it all right if I stay with you, Logan?"

His gaze came up, meeting mine.

Flicker of light, swallowed by the shadow of his gaze.

"Yeah." A moment's pause. "Ya lost the accent, Gumbo." It was half a question, as he put his boots aside and began to take off his leather jacket, shrugging the well-used material off in one graceful move.

"I want you to hear me, Logan..." I murmered, watching him with utter facination. "Not New Orleans. Not Gambit. Me. Remy." I indicated my chest, trying to explain. "Does it bother you?" A sudden flutter of worry claimed my stomach.

"Nah." His gaze held mine again for a moment. "I like hearin' ya."

My heart soared at those words.

And nearly hammered through my chest as I realized Logan had tossed his shirt into a chair and was sliding out of his jeans - my somewhat wild first thought was, Oh, God, he doesn't wear underwear...

And he acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

My reaction nearly made it impossible to move, and he seemed to sense something, perhaps catching a whiff of my arousal on the sharp night air.

He pulled on some boxers as I tried frantically to think of something to say, and I knew it was for my benefit - and not his. I could tell he wasn't trying to seduce me, draw me in with that magnificant body, it was as if he didn't realize what beauty he possessed.

"Handsome" was a weak, almost insulting word for Logan.

He was beautiful, in an almost overwhelmingly masculine way.

I swallowed hard, and he just nodded, saving me from embarassment by lying back on the mattress, staring up at the cieling.

Closing the door carefully, I came over and sat in the chair next to it, suddenly noticing the Spartan decor.

A beautiful, ancient katana and wakazashi sat on a stand, lovinging cared for.

Three photographs - just three, which broke my heart - sat on the battered chest of drawers, showing the beautiful Japanaese woman, Mariko Yoshida, he had married in his heart and lost to violence and cruelty.

Another was of the entire team, taken together.

I noticed everyone was a bit away from Logan even then, as if fearful of the man they had taken in.

Suddenly I was angry at that.

No.

Furious.

They stood there, all of them, so sure their sins would be forgiven, accepted and bonded with one another, while Logan was left on the sidelines, staring into the camera with a look I could only see as - flat.

Showing nothing.

Did they know they hurt him? I wondered, anger rising in my throat. Did they even care?

The last one made me catch my breath, and I felt my eyes go wide.

It was a picture of me, flopped on the couch, smiling faintly at something.

I thought I remembered that day, Rogue and I had talked, I had tried to convince myself everything was okay - but I was daydreaming of something else.

Rogue had been laughing and chattering away, I'd been listening with one ear - and wondering what Logan's hair would feel like beneath my fingers, if his shoulders were smooth - or scarred.

So bright was the memory I could see and feel and experience it again.

Oh, no. No. My heart went cold. He thought *I* didn't want *him*! He smelled the want on me, he had to'f. and I remember him leaving for a week, we couldn't find him...then he was just...back...

"What's wrong, Gumbo?" The voice floated out of the shadows.

"I remember when that was taken." I blurted it out.

No answer.

"I was thinking of you, and looking at Rogue." I couldn't stop the flood of words, it was as if the picture had opened a wound and released the pain and pressure, letting healing pain in. "I was dreaming of you."

Logan's head came up, and he said softly, "Ya deserve better, Rem." He almost never used my name. Maybe it hurt to say, to think I...

Dammit! I have to make this right...

"Ya deserve a real life. I can't give ya that." Flat and empty.

But offering me hope, life, a future...ready to give up his own...

No!

"I love you, Logan." There. It was said. I wasn't leaving, and I knew from the slight movement he knew it. "You don't need to protect me. Let me protect you tonight." I meant it. If Rogue had come in that door at the moment, if Ororo had come in the door at that moment, looking for Logan's blood, I would have done everything in my power to take them down.

I could have killed them.

As long as Logan lived.

As long as I had Logan, I could live.

Reaching out, I took his hand, feeling a kind of faint startlement to find that his fingers were long and elegant, strong and graceful. His hands were work-rough, but not cold or clammy.

He was warm, and so was his touch.

I sat on the edge of the bed, caressing his hair, his face, murmering softly, not using words just love and warmth and touch to sooth him.

Tenderly, I reached out with my empathy, my charm - everything that was me, and caressed his battered heart, easing his weary being into sleep.

Sleep, my love, and angels attend thee...I didn't say it aloud, murmering it in my mind as I slid into the bed, tucking the covers around us, cushoning his cheek on my chest.

He stirred a little, I felt faint tension as he was moved, but I smoothed the jolt of alertness away, caressing with the power I barely understood, not caring how, only needing the result.

Logan's features relaxed in sleep, and I wrapped both arms around him, listening to the softness of his breathing, watching the sky deepen to reds and golds and finally to gold-touched shadow.

I wanted to take all the pain, gather it and throw it away. Comfort Logan, soothe him, see him smile, really smile.

Not the pale reflection that occasionally crossed his face now.

I wanted to give to him everything that he needed, to fill that aching lonliness with the warmth in my heart.

And I wanted him, of course.

To feel myself a part of him, and him a part of me, to be one, to share the best feelings and togetherness. To see pleasure on those angular features, not pain.

To give him the bliss of life, pure, exubreant, passion and love.

But now, I held him, loving him with gentle, soothing touch and all my heart.

I watched him sleep, and guarded him with my very being.

I didn't see the state of the sky, nor did I care.

I only saw the soft, dusky warmth of the man I loved.

My love. I whispered, in my heart, and I brushed his forehead with my lips.

Dusk has past, and soon the morning will come. I'll be here. I'll always be here. Sleep. Rest.

My lover - yes.

My lover.

My love.

My Logan.

Hand caressing his hair, I watched the stars peek out, and the moon trek across the sky.

And waited for the morning light.

After dusk, comes dawn.

I kissed his hair, tasting sweet pine - no false scents or expensive masking, just Logan.

Sensing the fiery dusk in my own eyes, I dreamed of seeing the golden light of his.

And tenderly, I smiled.
 
 
end

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