Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2012-08-14 10:59 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2012-08-14 10:59 pm
(Marvel) Humidity Cut With A Blade
Title: Humidity Cut With A Blade
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Logan/Remy
Rating: R
Words: 496
Notes: Knife play. Rough sex. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles, prompt "sharp".
It’s a sultry night, the air thick and heavy and damp. Hard to breathe, hard to think.
Remy’s hair’s pulled up in a simple band to keep him cool, but there’s still a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck.
A night like this, it reminds him of home.
Maybe that’s why his mind’s so restless. Why all his body wants to do is lie across the cheap motel bed, windows flung open to welcome a breeze that just isn’t there.
He could be at Xavier’s mansion right now. Could be surrounded by friends and family. Could be surrounded by air-conditioning.
But he isn’t. Because he woke up that morning with an itch under his skin and a need to get away.
Logan’s never been one to take a hint.
He opens the door, which Remy knows he locked, as if he owns the whole damn building, never mind that Remy never told anyone where he was going.
“Cajun,” he murmurs, like they’re just passing each other in the halls.
Remy laughs, sounding hollow and tired. “You know you didn’t come all this way t’stare,” he mutters.
Logan nods, casual as anything. Steps further into the room, his whole presence seeming to fill it, and kicks the door shut behind him.
Long stretch of silence, and then Remy’s moving to spring up, but Logan’s already there to knock him back down. He fights it, but he’s sloppy, sluggish. No real spirit behind it, and soon all that weight’s pressing down on him, all that heat, Logan’s hand closing around his wrists, keeping them pinned above his head.
Easy enough hold to break, but before he can struggle there’s a flash of metal, Logan’s claws extending, and Remy freezes, the tips pressed warningly against his throat.
Logan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. Just stares down at Remy, eyes dark and as oppressive as the heat. Never breaking eye contact, even as the claws dip lower, shredding Remy’s threadbare t-shirt. Razor sharp but never breaking the skin beneath, and he knows from experience there’ll be nothing more than three parallel pink lines down his chest that will have faded by morning.
He’s panting, shallow little breaths, trying not to arch up against the blades, and Logan growls for whatever he sees in Remy’s eyes.
Distinct sound of claws being sheathed, and then a rough hand is pawing him through too-tight jeans, and Remy groans, bucks up into the pressure of it. Trying to spread his legs wider, and he needs this, God, needs this so bad.
Doesn’t understand how Logan always knows, but he does, and he always gives it just as rough as Remy wants. Ripping fabric and bruising flesh, teeth in his neck and hands pulling at his hair. Using him, making him take it, and Remy wraps his legs around Logan’s waist, surrenders to the feel of it.
Surrenders to this desire inside of him, to this itch only Logan can scratch.
Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Logan/Remy
Rating: R
Words: 496
Notes: Knife play. Rough sex. For
comicdrabbles, prompt "sharp".It’s a sultry night, the air thick and heavy and damp. Hard to breathe, hard to think.
Remy’s hair’s pulled up in a simple band to keep him cool, but there’s still a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck.
A night like this, it reminds him of home.
Maybe that’s why his mind’s so restless. Why all his body wants to do is lie across the cheap motel bed, windows flung open to welcome a breeze that just isn’t there.
He could be at Xavier’s mansion right now. Could be surrounded by friends and family. Could be surrounded by air-conditioning.
But he isn’t. Because he woke up that morning with an itch under his skin and a need to get away.
Logan’s never been one to take a hint.
He opens the door, which Remy knows he locked, as if he owns the whole damn building, never mind that Remy never told anyone where he was going.
“Cajun,” he murmurs, like they’re just passing each other in the halls.
Remy laughs, sounding hollow and tired. “You know you didn’t come all this way t’stare,” he mutters.
Logan nods, casual as anything. Steps further into the room, his whole presence seeming to fill it, and kicks the door shut behind him.
Long stretch of silence, and then Remy’s moving to spring up, but Logan’s already there to knock him back down. He fights it, but he’s sloppy, sluggish. No real spirit behind it, and soon all that weight’s pressing down on him, all that heat, Logan’s hand closing around his wrists, keeping them pinned above his head.
Easy enough hold to break, but before he can struggle there’s a flash of metal, Logan’s claws extending, and Remy freezes, the tips pressed warningly against his throat.
Logan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. Just stares down at Remy, eyes dark and as oppressive as the heat. Never breaking eye contact, even as the claws dip lower, shredding Remy’s threadbare t-shirt. Razor sharp but never breaking the skin beneath, and he knows from experience there’ll be nothing more than three parallel pink lines down his chest that will have faded by morning.
He’s panting, shallow little breaths, trying not to arch up against the blades, and Logan growls for whatever he sees in Remy’s eyes.
Distinct sound of claws being sheathed, and then a rough hand is pawing him through too-tight jeans, and Remy groans, bucks up into the pressure of it. Trying to spread his legs wider, and he needs this, God, needs this so bad.
Doesn’t understand how Logan always knows, but he does, and he always gives it just as rough as Remy wants. Ripping fabric and bruising flesh, teeth in his neck and hands pulling at his hair. Using him, making him take it, and Remy wraps his legs around Logan’s waist, surrenders to the feel of it.
Surrenders to this desire inside of him, to this itch only Logan can scratch.