How The Cards Fall

BY : TheMadSlasher
Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > Slash - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 2116
Disclaimer: X-Men and all related characters are property of Marvel Entertainment, not this author. This author makes no money from this fiction.

His bloodied fingers punched the code into the keypad. The slow creak of the gate as it opened sounded so beautiful to the Cajun's ears.

It felt like every single bone in his body had been pulverized; a trail of blood trickled freely down his face. He could barely manage the effort to take in each breath. He staggered up the driveway. He used his staff as if it were a walking stick, an extra limb to haul himself despite the shakiness of his footfalls.

Mon luck is runnin' ou'... he thought to himself as the sound of the metal rod scraping against the asphalt of the driveway faded in and out. His vision became blurrier, as if he were being submerged deeper and deeper underwater.

His legs suddenly submitted to the gravity dragging them down. The Cajun collapsed; his face ground against the pavement. He felt the warm stickiness of the dried blood on his neck. The warmth slowly began to envelop his senses as the blackness of the pavement overtook him.

The doors of the Mansion burst open as the large blue form of Dr. Henry McCoy bounded down the driveway. His white labcoat fluttered behind him like a cape as he rushed to the Cajun's side.
"Stars and garters..." he gasped as he got a look of the thief's face. It never gets easier, to see a comrade injured like this... He quickly pulled out his communicator.
"I need an able body bearing a stretcher, make haste!"


Four hours earlier, Remy LeBeau sat at the rickety wooden table with a smirk on his face. Jean Phillipe, lookin' forward to catching up.

He remembered the early days with the Guild; himself and Jean-Phillipe made a killing running a back-alley Craps game in the French Quarter. An' we offered de bes' Odds Wes' of de Mississippi! Bu' we can' be blamed if de gamblers make de Proposition bets...

The room was bare gray cement with two doors; one behind him and one before him. The only furniture in the room was the wooden table and the equally-rickety chair he sat on.

He heard a click from the far door. A smile began to creep across his face as he saw Jean-Phillipe walk in.

His smile vanished when he saw the members of the Assassin's Guild following the stony-faced Jean-Phillipe.

A far-too-familiar feeling stabbed Remy in the gut. "Wha's de meaning of dis?!?" The cajun quickly shouted.

"Désolé, Remy" were the only words that left Jean-Phillipe's lips. His gaze never met the burning embers of the Mutant.

The feeling in his gut raced up his throat... non... no' again... no Jean-Phillipe.... he quickly swallowed and stood up.

The Assassins reached into their pockets and pulled out daggers. The sharp points of the blades flashed in the dim light of the room.

Remy didn't let himself feel any trace of fear. Any traces of compassion for the man he once addressed as "mon frere" were quickly banished as he calmly drew a pack of cards from his pocket.
"You don' even wanna game of poker for ol' times sake?" he asked flatly. Of course you don', you can' even look me in de eye.

Jean-Phillipe turned to the Assassin on the right. "He's yours now."

Gambit cut the deck; he now held half a pack in each of his hands. "A wise choice, mon ami," he began with frosty rage in a luminescent fuscia glow began to emanate from the cards, "'cause you know when I'm dealin, de dealer always wins."

The Assassins suddenly leapt towards him with teeth bared; they clutched their daggers with white knuckles.

Without even a second of hesitation, the Cajun raised one hand toward each of the Assassins. He held each half-deck with his bare thumb and gloved index finger. He then squeezed.

A stream of kinetically-charged explosives flew out of each of his hands and right into the faces of the knife-wielding assailants and detonated with the sound of a New Years Eve fireworks display. The string of explosions tore through the air as the bodies of the thugs collapsed to the ground.

The close range left Remy's own hands burning from the heat, but adrenaline kept the pain at bay. He slowly began to walk around the table; his long legs stepped over the corpse of one of his assailants with no unease. He took a quick glance at the body; he could see patches of the Assassin's skull through the blasted-off skin of the man's face.

His steady stride continued until the huddled form of Jean-Phillipe was next to his boots. The man crouched low and looked up with wide, twitching eyes.

"Why?" Remy asked coldly.

"Dere's more... dey gonna kill you LeBeau! Killin' me won' save you!"

"For money, oui?"

Jean-Phillipe instantly fell silent.

Without even the slightest deliberation, the Cajun grabbed Jean-Phillipe by the collar of the man's shirt and pulled him back up to eye level. He then kissed his former friend on the lips; his mouth did not linger on the other man's.
"Au Revoir."

The kinetic energy flowed out of his fingertips and into the molecules of Jean-Phillipe's shirt. Gambit then turned away and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The churning in his stomach continued until he heard the explosion; the blast's sound was muffled by the thick concrete of the walls. It echoed as he swallowed the resurgent lump in his throat. Why, Jean-Phillipe? Why sell ou' Remy?

And yet on some level, he knew the surprise he felt was hollow.

Speakin' of no surprises... he thought as he turned the corner of the corridor and saw the gang of Assassins at the end of the bare cement walkway. He instantly reached into his pocket for another deck. Remy gonna need some res' tomorrow...


The Cajun's hands kept a grip on Hank's examination table. His body swayed slightly; his red-on-black eyes were still half-closed. The familiar burning-pulling sensation of stitches loomed almost imperceptibly at the edges of his consciousness.

"The morphine should be more than adequate," Hank said in a soft but confident voice.

"You always had too much hear' to go easy on de painkillers," Remy replied in a weary whisper.

Hank nodded. Pain relief is always a priority of mine. "As unfortunate as your injuries are, I can assure you that they'll heal in time."

"Merci," Remy said softly. His face stayed tilted down; his half-lidded eyes wandered the contours of the linoleum floor. He felt Hank's large, warm hand resting on his back. Part of him wished that hand weren't there.

Hank's face filled with concern as he took a breath. He began in a quiet, soothing voice, "do you wish to discuss..."

"Non," Remy quickly replied without making eye contact.

"Oh..." Hank sighed. "I apologize." He delicately removed his massive blue paw from Gambit's back.

"Can I leave, sil vous plait?" His voice made the request slightly more swiftly than before.

It didn't take long for Hank to recognize why Remy wanted to leave. The faint smell in the air, the avoidance of eye contact.. shame. All those years of being vulnerable on the streets.
"You may," Hank began in a gentle voice, "but I'm required to escort you. Just precautionary; it would be most regrettable if the Morphine were to result in an accidental fall."

As he watched Remy stand silently and grip onto his arm, Hank wished he apologized. A being as proud as you would recoil from having your vulnerability exhibited.

His field of vision appeared underwater; languid ripples and motions coursed through the air. He felt his body sway slightly; he quickly tightened his grip on the blue behemoth's thick arm. Merci, Henri he thought to himself. He wanted to look up into Hank's face and try to smile gratefully, but his eyes stayed down.

Remy's feet moved tentatively as the Cajun moved through the mansion. The sounds, muffled by the carpet in the hallways, were soft echoed thuds. Every second crawled by in an inconstant flow... Remy held onto Hank tighter.

The surroundings were opulent, yet each step came with a familiar shame; a shame he knew from grime-filled streets with vermin scurrying away from his feet. He remembered the rancid smells intensifying in the choking New Orleans humidity, the rouge-slathered faces of the cheap whores, the acid churning in his empty stomach. The only smirk he ever wore during those days came after he managed to swipe a fat wallet; otherwise his eyes were wide and hungry and desperate.

As he gained sight of the familiar door to his room, he quickly imagined cramming all those sights away... Dat's de past... you ain' dat kid any more... you're Le Diable Blanc.

His free hand reached out to his doorknob. His slightly shaky palm grasped the metal and turned. The door drifted open.

"Merci, Henri," Remy said quietly. His eyes still evaded Hank's. He then released his grip on Hank's arm and began to make one step into his room.

"Remy, I.." Hank began.

Remy stopped.

If anyone is in need of this... if anyone is worthy of this, its you, Gambit, Remy LeBeau, a friend in far too much pain.

Hank moved forward into the doorway. His long arms began to slide their way around Remy's lithe body; his hands bore a surgically precise motion to avoid the stitches and bruises beneath the Acadian's jacket.

Gambit felt the warmth of the blue behemoth's body before he saw the monumental paws begin to encircle his abdomen. Part of him wanted to step away and close the door behind him and lock Hank's pity out of the room. He remembered the faces from the past again; they looked at him with anger, sneering contempt, and even frighteningly lustful leers on occasion, but it was the looks of pity that made him feel the lowest.

And yet another part of him wanted that warmth closing in on him, wrapping him in the comfort and fellowship Hank never hesitated to give to any friend. Hank, the gentle giant that never demeaned his patients, non, he can' t'ink Remy pat'etic.

He froze as the two feelings tore through him. Then he decided.

The Cajun quicky spun around and grasped Hank's massive musculature. His hands slid beneath the blue man's labcoat and made their way around the solid, furred torso. He pressed his own body against Hank's more firmly than Hank would've dared to hold him at this time. His fingers dived deeply into the Doctor's luxuriant pelt.

Hank let out a low, soothing purr as his large hands drifted up and down the Acadian's long back. His heart began to hammer as he felt Remy begin to nuzzle into the thick blue fur on his chest.

For a moment the men just stood there; the heat of their bodies flowed into one another as they listened to each other's heartbeats. Hank didn't dare to attempt eye contact with Remy; he simply looked forward into the darkness.

"Henri?" Gambit asked as his head lay on Hank's monumental chest.

"Yes?" Hank replied in a near-whisper.


A few moments later, Remy watched the simian silhouette of the Beast leave his doorway. The door closed; the wedge of light from the hall waned into only a thin outline in the darkness. His head still felt like it was being submerged underwater by the morphine in his bloodstream.

Dis Cajun gonna need res'.... he thought as he dropped his coat on the floor and gingerly slid atop the firm mattress.

Solitude, he thought. De betrayed are always alone. He didn't know what to feel; the comfort of companionship still remained tinged with shame. Yet the comfort of solitude reeked of betrayal.

He lay back against the pillow. Consciousness quickly left him.

It didn't take the Canadian long to figure out something was wrong.

The facts were simple: Remy LeBeau hadn't left his own room for three days. And Logan couldn't hear any ecstatic cries of "oh my God! Yes!" coming from inside those walls. Remy needs ta be alone from time ta time, he acknowledged with a great deal of empathy. But this long...

He stood there in a pair of black jeans, a flannel shirt, and held two objects in his hand; a thermos of Gumbo made to Remy's recipie, and a bottle of Jim Beam Black Label. He raised his other hand and quickly knocked on the door.

"Hey, Cajun. Ya still breathin'? C'mon Gumbo, lemme in."

He paused for a few seconds as he heard the Acadian's breaths. They came at regular but lethargic intervals, almost as if the man was indifferent to each inhale.

"Oui," a familiar voice replied in a tone devoid of any inflection whatsoever.

Logan opened the door and entered the very familiar bedroom of his friend. He closed it quickly and cast his gaze over to the equally familiar bed; a black silk-sheeted king-size mattress with black leather headboard and red silk pillows.

And yet atop the bed lay the thief's long, lithe form. Remy lay almost perfectly still. His black eyes didn't even make contact with Logan's gaze. The Cajun kept his vision locked on the ceiling.

Logan's eyes wandered the familiar body; flexible musculature that resembled steel cabling reinforcing the tall form, a light sprinkling of cinnamon hair down the broad chest and wiry abdomen, skin pale from constantly being kept under long coats, black and purple bruises marring the flesh all over. Bandages wound their way around flesh at irregular angles. Those bruise-darkened, usually pouty lips were even plumper; asymmetrically swollen with a split in the center of the lower lip. The track-marks of stitching moved up and down his body.

"Ouch," the feral said. He grit his teeth slightly at the sights before him.

"Oui," the Cajun wearily responded.

Logan turned around to the shelves on Remy's wall. He quickly placed the thermos and bottle up on the shelves.
"Brought ya somethin'."

"Merci" was the only word that crawled out of his throat in reply.

The feral didn't turn back around. Shit... Gumbo... yer so beat up... He didn't want to look again at the evidence of the brutality that his friend had suffered. The sight made Logan think of a tiger being eviscerated; stripped of both flesh and pride. He grit his teeth slightly; I've been there too. He quickly looked towards a higher shelf and picked up two glasses. He set the glasses down on the small table below the shelves and picked the bottle back up from the lower shelf. The Canadian quickly poured generous slugs of liquor into each glass.

Remy tried to let a smile cross his lips at the sight out of the corner of his eye. Mon Frere, you non like Jean-Phillipe... Yet his face remained frozen as Logan approached.

"C'mon Gumbo... wanna drink?"

He grit his teeth and hissed in pain as he tried to sit up. He felt stitches tugging and muscles burning.
"Merde.." he grumbled as his right hand accepted the glass. As much as part of his mind inwardly smiled at Logan's presence, part of him didn't. Dis Cajun didn' close dat door an' stay inside for not'ing...
"Why you here Logan? Back home de Priests loved to tell Remy dat pride came before a fall... you like seein' me fallen?" He asked without looking Logan in the eye.

Instantly the feral felt like walking out and slamming the door behind him; his blood pressure spiked as his fist clamped shut. His eyes widened in bewilderment; How tha fuck could Rems think shit like that?!? Then he remembered what Hank told him earlier.
"Our Cajun compadre will by no means be thinking reasonably. He is allergic to pity; most likely a side-effect of his early years as a street dweller. Don't expect that he won't suspect less than admirable motives for your visit."

The Canadian unclenched his fist and took a breath.
"Nope. I hate seein' it. That's why I'm here.... wanna get ya back ta normal quicker."

Then the Acadian's demonic embers looked up into Logan's eyes. The familiar cobalt gaze was completely devoid of pity.
"Merci," the thief replied as he let the faintest traces of a smile cross his swollen, bruised face. He took a sip from the glass in his right hand. The liquid burned its way down his raw throat, but began to build a warmth in the pit of his stomach.

"C'mon, drink up..." Logan continued in a soft voice. His hand gingerly rested on the taller man's shoulder; his fingers applied no pressure.

"Tryin' to ge' me drunk already?" Remy replied quietly with a small smirk.

There he is, Logan thought to himself with a warm smile on his face. "Not yet," he emphasized the 'yet,' "ya ain't in any condition fer 'bout three quarters of what I wanna do ta ya."

"An' de ot'er quarter?" Remy replied quickly with a wicked grin.

Logan chuckled and walked back to the shelves. "That's fer later. First, gotta get some food inta ya." He picked the thermos back up and carried it to the Cajun.

"Merci," Remy said as he accepted the thermos. The warmth of the vessel felt good as he rested it on his skin.

"Yer recipie, too."

Remy's face lit up with a grin that was magnetic even with his busted face. "You cooked my gumbo for me?"

Logan nodded. "Don't worry, I didn't let Jeannie anywhere near it."

Both men chuckled slightly. Remy unscrewed the cap and poured some of the thick soupy stew into it. His teeth grit together slightly at the aches that flared up with the movement of his sore muscles. Steam drifted upwards from the top of the Gumbo; the smell began to permeate through the room. The Cajun lifted the meal to his lips as Logan took the rest of the thermos and held it steadily.

The thief's eyes closed as he moaned in satisfaction.
No' bad... he thought, "dat's mon recipie alrigh'..."

Logan quietly watched as he saw the Cajun devour the capfull of stew. Least I could do, pal, he thought to himself as he remembered all those nights when they stood there on the roof, not speaking, just enjoying each other's presence. No matter what shit piled up, we had each other's backs. Still do. And of course, when they weren't brooding at night... yer tha best fuckbud I got.

"Merci... t'ink I've had enough for now..." he said as he handed the now-empty cap back to Logan.

"I'll leave tha rest here," he replied as he screwed the top back onto the thermos and placed the vessel on Remy's nightstand.

"So, wha' abou' de o'ter quar'er?" Remy asked again with a smirk.

Logan smirked and chuckled. Horny Cajun, he thought to himself as his eyes lecherously moved up and down the taller man's body; open hunger flared in his eyes as he licked his lips. He quickly pounced up onto the bed and straddled the Cajun's long legs. In one swift move he yanked his flannel shirt off of his body and let it fall to the floor.

It didn't take long for an impressive peak to form in Remy's black satin Ace Of Hearts boxer shorts. His face was mere inches from that densely-furred chest which appeared to be constructed out of chunky slabs of granite. The wide expanse of the Canadian's chest was only emphasized by the relatively short length of it; layers upon layers of built up, compressed muscle lay before Remy and caused the Cajun to lean forward in an attempt to ensnare a nipple between his teeth.

The Acadian hissed as he felt the stitches tug at his red-raw flesh. He lay back against the pillows with a frustrated scowl.

Logan gingerly rested his palms atop Gambit's shoulders. "I know it sucks Cajun, but ya gotta relax." His smirk then grew hungrier. "Lemme handle things... just lie back, let ol' Logan make ya feel real, real good..."

The thief smiled. "Dis Cajun can live wid dat..."

Without another word, Logan backed up and slid Remy's boxers off with a single fluid motion. The smirk on the feral's mouth only grew hungrier when the Cajun's cock came into view; not as thick as his own, but longer. He threw the shorts away and quickly licked his lips before carefully lowering his mouth onto the head of Remy's length.

The Cajun groaned and shivered as he felt the heat begin to swirl around his manhood. His eyes rolled back into his head as he felt the tongue circling around and pressing into the sensitive spot just beneath the crown. His long fingers began to claw at the mattress as he felt Logan's lips descend further and further down his shaft.

Logan felt his own jeans grow uncomfortably tight as his own hardness strained against its denim confines. He purred softly as he felt Remy's steel-hard maleness slide deep into his tight throat. The slight salt of the flesh danced on his tongue as he bobbed his head up and down. Fuck yer tasty, Cajun... he thought to himself as he felt a warm bead of precum rise from Gambit's cock.

Remy's chest rose and fell rapidly as his pale cheeks flushed. The endorphin rush blocked out any pain from his deep gasps.
"Oui... Logan mon frere...." he whispered.

Logan then rose up off Remy's shaft with a grin. "Yummy," he growled with relish, "and I ain't done with ya yet, Cajun."

"Tha's a relief," Remy replied with a mischievous smirk. "You ain' gonna ge' away wid leavin' me like dis," he chuckled as he pointed to his aching hardness.

"Don't worry, I won't," the shorter man rasped back as he hopped off the thief's body and opened the lower draw of the nightstand. His fingers immediately wrapped around a tube of lube and a modestly-sized dildo.
"Sucks that I can't fuck ya back properly... but this'll do," he said with a grin. He quickly popped the cap of the lube and generously coated the toy in the transparent gel. Then, the Canadian squeezed another dollop onto his hand and began rubbing it over Remy's manhood.

Gambit shivered as he felt the cold, slippery substance on his skin. "I like how you t'ink," he replied as his voice became lower and more dangerous, "dere ain' much I like more den bein' balls-deep inside your butt." He gingerly slid downwards and spread his long legs.

A satisfied smile crossed Logan's face. "That's my Remy," he quickly replied as two of his lube-slicked fingers began to move towards the taller man's ass. "Just lie back an' enjoy tha ride, handsome. Shit, yer ass is still fuckin' gorgeous..." he growled as the first finger slid into the tight ring of muscle.

A moan flowed from Remy's swollen lips as he felt the single digit inside him. He leaned back into the plump pillow. "Oui... you know you wan' me, everyone does," he almost whispered as he felt the second finger begin to press at his entrance.

It didn't take long for Remy to relax; Logan slid his next finger into the Cajun's tight, warm hole with smooth delicacy. "Fuck, ya feel good inside" he growled as he heard the taller man's moans and gasps of pleasure. "Ya feel that Cajun? Feel my fingers stretchin' ya slow an' gentle? Ya like it, don'tcha hot stuff?"

A contented, leonine purr welled up from the thief's throat as he felt the two fingers gingerly spread within his body. "Oui... mon dieu.... an' keep talkin'..." he almost pleaded. Every single word from the feral's mouth only made it more clear that Logan would hold no secrets from him. The familiar knot in his gut began to be felt as his heart rate grew faster.

"I ain't ever gonna shut up," the Canadian replied almost gleefully. Even with all the bruises and stitches the taught, flexible, rock-hard muscle that built the thief's body made him salivate. He carefully withdrew his fingers as he licked his lips. His free hand held the toy and began to position it between Remy's butt-cheeks.

Gambit let out a low, shuddering purr as he felt the dildo push into him at a measured pace; it lacked the throbbing heat of a real cock but the pressure moved up through his body and sent arcs of sensation up his spine. Logan's prep-work and the toy's modest size kept any pain from him.
"Ohh... mon dieu, cher, dat's jus' amazing..." he nearly whispered as his fingers dug into the mattress like a raptor's talons.

Logan lay his free hand delicately on the taller man's shoulder in an approximation of the traditional reassuring clasp. "An' its only gonna get better an' better," he rasped as he quickly pulled his jeans off his body and threw them aside. His aching manhood stood forth; shorter but thicker than the thief's own shaft. The muscles in his groin were already taut with tension. He then straddled the thief's body a second time; the younger man's cock now stood right below his naked ass. "Startin' now," he lustily growled.

As he felt the feral's warm body decend onto his throbbing cock he bit his already-swollen lip; the heat and pressure alone were nearly enough to get him off right there. The ferocious constriction only descended more and more; electricity shot through his nerves and knots tightened in his gut. A cry of pleasure was finally wrenched from his lungs when he felt the feral's ass grinding against the base of his length. The force pressing down on him pushed the toy deeper inside his body.

A droplet of sweat fell from the elder man's furrowed brow and landed on his clenched jaw. A nearly angry growl welled up from his throat as the Cajun's manhood moved into his body. The friction... the heat... Logan's synapses nearly overloaded with the pleasure; he almost felt disappointment when he reached the hilt.
"Fuck yeah, Cajun," the Canadian rasped through gritted teeth. "That's just fuckin' amazin'... yer cock feels so damn good in me..."

Remy struggled to keep his movement minimal, even as his broad chest heaved. The heat and tightness wrapped around his cock had him biting the non-bruised portion of his lip to keep from coming too soon.
"Oui, mon frere... so close..."

"Same... ya ready?" Logan asked with a playful glimmer in his cobalt eyes.

That devilish, seductive smirk made its way across Gambit's face. "Always, mon ami," came his smoky, smooth reply.

With that, the stocky Canadian positioned his feet beside the thief's hips and his hands aside the man's shins. He chuckled slightly as his eyes glanced at the ceiling before returning to the Acadian's demonic gaze. "Good, because this is gonna be fun..."

With that, the feral began to slowly and rhythmically thrust his hips upwards; his shaft pointed straight at the cieling as he moved up and down. Each upward thrust had Remy's manhood move out of his body; he sank back down again with a deep and satisfied growl.
"Awwrgh, shit yeah Gumbo!" he roared through a clenched jaw... "yer cock just hits all tha right places..."

Even if he couldn't move in response, Gambit's grin grew smug at the sight of the elder man fucking himself on his cock; each groan as Logan rose upwards flowed into a growl as the feral sank back down onto his length. All the pain from the stitches and bruises lay beyond his senses, kept away by the heat and tightness wrapped around his dick and the toy buried inside him. His breathing became fast panting as he felt the muscles tighten in his groin.
"Dis jus' so good mon ami... no' gonna las' much longer.... you so warm an' tigh' inside..."

"Can't wait til yer better...." Logan quickly snarled back as a droplet of preseed slid down his maleness, "get back ta fuckin' each other just like usual.... shit... wanna bend ya over yer bike an' drill ya long an' deep..." his smirk grew even more devilish as he felt every cell in his body begin to scream for release. His toes curled and fingers dug into the sheets, his eyes rolled back and rough groans began to spill from his lips as he felt the Cajun's steel-hard, throbbing shaft slide in and out of his body.

Remy's gaze moved over the sturdy body of the black-haired man yet again; Logan was totally open to him in every way... riding his cock, head thrown back in pleasure, saying everything that was going to happen when he was better, incapable of deception or betrayal. I always know your hand mon frere, whenever we ain' playin' poker. The sliding, the heat, the constriction, the dildo in his ass... it all finally overcame his resistance; a cry of pleasure sprang from his lungs as the pressure in his groin finally reached critical mass.

Feeling the taller man come inside him was all the feral needed to be pushed over the edge. His body shook as he let out a growling purr; his eyes clamped shut as his white-knuckled fingers nearly ripped at the bed's surface. A yell of "fuck yeah, Rems!" welled up through the purr as he shot his load.

Afterwards they both stayed still; their breathing began to slow from heavy gasps to deep, measured intakes. Logan could hear Remy's heartbeat steady itself. They both smiled at each other.

The Canadian slid off Gambit's cock, pulling the dildo out of the thief's ass in the process, and reached for the box of tissues beside the bed. He quickly wiped his torso clean and walked around the bed to grab his jeans.
"Shit, even when ya can't move yer still a good fuck."

The Cajun chuckled back with a wry smirk. "An' I never been unhappy af'er a lay wid you, eider."

Logan pulled his jeans up and grabbed his shirt off the floor. "Get well soon, alright?"

"Don' worry. Dis Cajun plan on doin' jus' dat."

Logan nodded and smiled before walking towards the door. "Gotta get somethin' else done. So, yer takin' visitors now?"

Gambit nodded and grinned, "even if dey don' bring as many nice presen's as you do."

Logan chuckled as the door closed behind him.

The endorphines were wearing off; the thief could feel the burn of the bruises and pulling of the stitches. And yet, he smiled. And he doubted the smile would vanish soon.

The End

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