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He remembers his face, nothing before that; only this man's face and the name Logan. He doesn't feel like a Logan, feels like maybe his name was something else once upon a time. A half-remembered conversation when Logan woke up and couldn't remember who he was doesn't mean that this man is his friend, though, and so Logan holds him against the wall, one hand wrapped around his throat.
"Who are you?" He demands. "What do you want?" Haven't you taken enough from me, he wants to ask, but he can't give that much away.
The man smiles, a slow, lazy, indulgent smile that Logan hates on sight. He squeezes the other man's throat, takes a step closer, until they're sharing breath and Logan can feel the slightly taller man's pulse fluttering madly under his fingertips.
"What do you want?" He growls.
Warm hands on Logan's bare shoulder, surprising and familiar all at once. The man trails his hand over Logan's skin, up to his throat, and then he's sliding his hand behind his neck, pulling Logan closer.
What-- Logan thinks, and then the stranger's mouth is on his own and his brain shuts off.
It's hot and wet and messy, tongues and lips and teeth and Logan can't remember making the decision to kiss him back, but he is, shoving the other man into the wall hard and surging forward to press against him. It feels - good - which isn't really anywhere near accurate to describe it, the frenzied way they devour each others' mouths.
What the fuck, Logan thinks, shoving the jacket off of the man's shoulders, getting his fingers caught in smooth dark silk instead. The man's just going with it, pulling on the fabric of Logan's shirt, sucking bruising kisses down Logan's jaw. He tastes like bitter chocolate and whiskey, he smells like expensive cologne and expensive cigars and fresh night air; it's familiar in a way that Logan can't quite put his finger on.
At some point he'd gotten his belt undone, and now the stranger is sliding cool hands down underneath his waistband, fingers dancing over heated skin and finally wrapping around the erection Logan was barely aware he had.
“Ah, you missed me, chér,” The stranger whispers against Logan’s lips, his hand moving and twisting and making Logan’s head spin. He’s never felt like this before, he can’t remember - and that’s the problem, he can’t remember.
It’s a half-second flash, nothing more, of a flushed face, head thrown back, mouth open. Logan remembers it, knows it happened, knows that this man had been in his bed and clutching at his shoulders, fingernails drawing blood as he gasped “Harder, chér– harder, fuck--”
Logan can’t remember any more than that, can’t remember if this man was his friend or his lover or - something more, but he’s here now, kissing Logan, jerking him off, and that’s almost enough.
He’s fumbling at the stranger’s belt, pulling his too-tight jeans down his legs. “I’m going to fuck you,” Logan tells him, mumbles it into the soft skin of his shoulder. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to see straight– and then, and then—“
“Yeah,” The man replies, smiling that same slow, lazy smile as before, but it isn’t nearly as annoying when he’s kicking off his jeans and wrapping a long, muscular leg around Logan’s waist, fumbling a plastic package of lube for Logan to slick him with.
“I’m going to fuck you 'til you can’t remember your own name,” Logan promises. Fair is fair.
“Ah, p'rhaps,” The man responds, teeth tugging at Logan’s bottom lip. “But you can try, chér. You can try.”
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