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After two solid days of nonstop sex, Logan rolls over and falls asleep, snoring the loud, obnoxious snore of the deeply sexually satisfied. Remy is covered in sweat, exhausted and sore all over, and he still hasn't had enough. He climbs out of the bed and hops in the shower, soaping up three times and washing his hair twice. A quick, careful shave and a change of clothes later, and he's ready to hit the town.
In the bed, Logan turns over, still snoring. The dim light gleams over his muscles.
"Oh, fuck you," Remy says, and then he takes his clothes off and climbs back into the bed.
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Cocks sliding together, slick with sweat and pre-come and anything slippery within an arm's reach of the bed, it's easy to forget about the rest of the world. Remy arches up, desperate, mouth falling open as he pants into Logan's mouth. "Please," He whispers, far too used to begging at this point. "Please, Logan --"
Logan's hands are on his wrists, holding them over his head. His mouth hovers over Remy's, tantalizing. "You can," He responds, grinding down.
"I can't," Remy says, pleading. "Logan-- Logan," struggling to free himself, to get more, to touch or taste the other man. This is torture. This is - this is--
"You can," Logan says again, his hips slow and insistent as he moves over Remy, holding the other man down. "Just from this, just like this -- "
"No," Remy groans, arching upwards, fighting just enough to fit his mouth to Logan's. The kiss is messy and sloppy and more than a little bit desperate, and Remy still can't figure out how to break Logan's hold. He's pinned to the bed like this, Logan heavy and hot over him. "Please, please,"
"No," Logan says.
Logan's fingers around his wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise, Logan's weight on top of him. Logan's cock, thick and red and leaving a slick trail over Remy's hip.
"Fuck," Remy says, "Fuck you - Logan, fuck you, fuck you," half of that a moan, the other half a gasp. He's hot all over, trapped between Logan's burning hot skin and the cheap hotel mattress, desperate to get a little bit more friction, a hand, anything, anything--
"No," Logan says again, dragging his teeth over the shell of Remy's ear. "This is all you're getting," And he grinds down again, slow drag something akin to agony, Remy knows he can't come from just this.
He can't.
"Je veux--" He mutters, arching up. "Want more, s'il te plaît! Touche moi-- you bastard, you bastard..."
Slow drag of Logan's cock against his own and Remy can't stop the soft, needy noises he's making. He can't - he can't come from just this, he needs more, but Logan's not giving him anything, just -- cock heavy and full against his belly, leaking pre-come and it's not enough, Logan's hips moving over his, oh, it's not enough.
"Je te déteste," Remy moans and shudders into Logan's mouth, struggling at the incredible force Logan's using to keep his hands above his head. "Ah, ah--"
Logan ignores his words and threats. He just keeps on thrusting slowly and gently, mouthing down Remy's neck and sliding his body over Remy's oversensitive skin.
"Son of a bitch," Remy moans. "Bastard - you...plus dur, Logan, plus dur--" He can't stop himself from babbling, words and moans spilling from his lips. Logan's in control, always in control, while Remy is slowly losing his mind.
"You're going to come like this, Gambit," Logan tells him, smirking against Remy's neck, breath over his skin making Remy shudder.
"No," Remy says. "Ah -- can't. Logan--"
"This is all you're getting," Logan says. "You're going to come like this, Gambit, and--"
"Remy," he whispers, hips jerking up against Logan's, panting for breath. "Remy, my name is Remy, fuck you -- Logan, dammit, my name is Remy," Gasping, his skin too hot and too tight and too much of everything but still not enough. Logan's hands like iron bands, holding him down on the bed.
"Remy," Logan whispers, lips barely grazing Remy's ear. "Come. Now."
He can't stop the sad, desperate noise he makes any more than he can stop his hips snapping up -- and he's coming, fingers clenching and arms straining, mouth open, hot and fast over his stomach and Logan's hip, sound fading out, world going white behind his eyelids. He's practically shaking with the force of his orgasm, and Remy almost doesn't notice when Logan lets go of his wrists. "Dieu," he gasps.
Logan is staring down at him, eyes inscrutable, his mouth slightly open. Remy struggles to sit up, finally propping himself up on his elbows so he can kiss the other man. "You torture me, chér," he says, when he breaks the kiss.
"Turn over," Logan says. "I want to -- I need. To fuck you."
"Yeah," Remy agrees, flopping over onto his stomach, boneless and warm. "Anything you like," and smiles into the pillow when he feels the brush of Logan's lips over the back of his neck.
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