for roguewords and ricktboy
Of all the worldly passions, lust is the most intense.
Logan still smarted from Ororo’s order. Her sending him out as if he was nothing more than the errand boy. As if he was the school’s new Scott.
"Go find this mutant, Remy. Bring him back."
He parked in front of the first bar he found after crossing the state line between Louisiana and Mississippi. The thunder in his eyes and the murderous anger on his face made most everyone in the clapboard dump get out of his way.
One growl and the bartender jumped. It was watery domestic piss, but Logan emptied more than half with the first swallow.
“Whiskey, leave the bottle.”
Within seconds there was a full glass and black-labeled Jack in front of him. Logan leaned against the bar, some of the tension seeping from his body. He scanned the room and noticed the only person not staring back at him with fear or hate was sitting in the corner. Cards slid through his fingers, every fifth one sparked and his smile was sinful invitation.
Four games of poker and Logan dangled the key to the Harley on one finger.
“It’s either this or my Levis.”
The dark-eyed man leaned closer to the light. Three other men sat at the table, but Logan wasn’t sure if they had even been playing. They were human, this man was not and Logan’s dick was rock hard. Painful under denim.
He was losing and he didn’t care. Because where it really mattered … he was winning. They both knew it. Eyebrows rose over eyes that held no white, but the teeth that glowed between kissable lips when he spoke more than made up for it.
“Mon Deiu, cherie. Don’t threaten me with your ride and your … cock. Unless you mean to use it.”
All other worldly passions seem to follow in its train.
Logan stood at the urinal. One hand on the tiles, one hand on his cock. Another man beside him, doing the same and Logan didn’t usually look over. But he could feel something. It was more than the fact that this man loomed over him. More than the fact that this man was built like the broad side of a barn.
They were alone, under the light of a single bulb in the bathroom of a seedy poolhall.
Logan couldn’t help it.
And then he looked…
Crystal clear blue eyes peered down at him. Surrounded by an open, unlined face that made Logan feel as if he was at least a hundred years old, probably more. Like he was very, very short and for some reason, really dirty. Perfect, country-boy innocence caught in a slow smile.
“Like what you see?”
Well, maybe not that innocent. And not at all human.
“Do you, alien?”
“Not bad. For a mutant.”
Logan laughed, a short sound that was more of a bark. Shake off and zipped up. Turned and offering a sultry, slow grin of his own.
“Not bad at all, bub. Just ask the fucked-out Frenchie in the stall.”