Rex's writing blog

Another day, another job, Logan thought dimly, as he woke up staring at the underside of the bunk he slept on.

He rolled over, feet hitting the floor as he sat up, reaching down to grab his socks.

“Victor,” he grunted, slamming his fist against the side of the bunk, to wake his brother up. “get up.”

He got a stubborn growl from his brother, which he ignored, instead dragging himself out of bed and starting to get ready for the day. Logan couldn't complain about the work- it was good work. He got room and board along with pay, and all he had to do was wrangle horses and muck stalls. He had free time, free range, could do whatever he wanted when he was off the job.

To think, 37 years ago, he'd been smack dab in the middle of the civil war…now he was taking it easy down south. He supposed it made for a good retirement plan- after all, he was nearing his late 60's now. Though, he mused as he caught a glimpse of himself in the dirty mirror, he looked pretty damn good for that age. Not a day over 30, he'd say. He'd barely aged since he'd turned 25, though the years of non-stop moving still weathered his face over time.

“Victor!” He barked again, pulling his boots on. “You keep being a damn bum, you'll lose this job too- and this time, I'm not followin’ you out.”

“You wouldn't leave me behind, Jimmy.” Victor grunted as he finally heaved himself out of bed.

“No, I'd make you leave me behind. Hurry up!”

Logan headed out after that, ready for a long morning- but once noon hit, he was free to go. It was Friday, so he had something of a half-day of work.

He counted his lucky stars to be able to work here, that was for sure. The rich folk that owned the place knew how to treat people right, and the land was gorgeous…Logan took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp, cold air. For once, he was quite pleased with his enhanced sense of smell. The property sprawled out for miles on end, covered in hundreds of currently fruitless fruit trees- including an apple tree Logan was rather fond of during autumn, when the apples hung low enough for him to snatch one off every morning on his way to the stables- and various other plants. The vineyards were bare as the vines wilted off, and everything was covered in a generous dusting of snow. Barn cats were all over the property, never doing their damn jobs, instead barreling through the white powder and chasing around the goats that were allowed to freely roam.

“Mornin’ Logan.” A few passing farmhands greeted him, Logan offering a nod of greeting in return.

Maybe the best part was that no one here was a damn asshole. Except Victor, but Logan kept him in check… Everyone else either minded their business, or was a friendly face. They were all a bit like each other. Shunned, and looking for a home, or just a peaceful place to make a life for themselves. Some of the farmhands had kids and a family running around the property. The owners didn't care- so long as you worked for your spot here, you were welcome.

If he could, Logan would stay here forever.

Some people might think that ranchers lose work over the winter, but there's still lots to be done. Some of the workers got tucked indoors to help with preserving the harvests, as well as cooking and cleaning, while others continued to tend to the animals, or went off hunting. But none of that was what Logan got excited for ‘round winter. Neither was he most excited for the big dinner all the workers pitched in for, or the singular gift each of them got from the damn sweet owners.

While Logan fussed with a cigar and his lighter, the familiar sound of cows lowing and cattle bells ringing made him look up. The cattlemen were finally back. A rare smile pulled at his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he searched through the cattle and cowboys to find you, gaze softening when he did.

Inexplicably, he loved seeing the cattlemen come back from the last drive of the season, all cozy in their wool coats and gloves, their hats and shoulders covered in snow. Some had thick scarves wrapped around their necks, others had their chins tucked into their sweaters, or chose to layer bandanas to keep warm.

Maybe being at this ranch made Logan soft. Maybe being safe, having a steady, easy life took fear out of his heart- or maybe, he was getting weak in his old age. But you, that sweet, snowed-in cowboy, had him pining. He was bad at feelings, only good for a quick lay and that was all- Despite that, something about you made him want to try to be a good man- a gentle man, even.

He waved at you as you passed, and smiled when you tipped your hat back in greeting.

In all the 3 years Logan had been here, he'd been trailing after you like a puppy for 2. And somehow, he was yet to choke up his feelings over one too many glasses of whiskey, something he found out he was quite good at, in the past. The first time he'd met you, he'd smelt ya before he saw ya. A smokey, manly scent- all his favorite things wrapped in one. Good liquor, good cigars, and an even better man. And though he had thought, that day, that he had a good and easy lay on his hands, something about you had left him starstruck, Victor pulling his ear and laughing loudly at him for getting shy.

2 years from then, and Logan still felt younger than ever around you, when the lights got too low and the flickering flames of an oil lamp hit your face just right while you two were warming up inside. He yearned to reach out and caress your jaw on those days where your stubble started coming back in after a shave, or to lean in and kiss ya when you both sat under a weeping willow, sharing a smoke and a drink.

He lulled himself to sleep with the thought that, in a way, with how many times you'd shared the same cigar, or shared the same bottle of beer, indirectly, his lips had touched yours more than once. And when he thought of that, he groaned and shoved his face into his pillow, cursing himself for acting so much younger than his years.

“Need some help with those bags, cowboy?” He asked as he joined you over by where you'd hitched your horse, leaning against your horse's flank while you peeled off the saddlebag.

“I'm alright, Logan, thank ya.” You gave him an easy grin that made his stomach twist.

He wondered what it was about you that was so different from others. Usually, Logan was a stone wall against flirtation…but a simple smile from you made him feel warmer than any fire could. Yup…he must be going soft.

“Doin’ anything tonight, now that yer home?” Logan continued with his questions, nodding towards your cabin.

“Headin' to town with the guys for some drinks and poker!” You told him. “You wanna come?”

“There gonna be girls?” Logan jokingly asked, not knowing if he'd have the strength not to jump over a table if he saw a lady chattin’ you up.

“If the fellas get drunk enough. But it ain't in my plans to find anyone tonight, no.”

“Ah, well. I s'ppose I'll follow along then.”

Bars were nice- they were Logan's kind of spot. Good drinks, good smokes. He watched you all night, even when you all sat down to play poker. And after losing all the money he'd brought along, he found the courage to lean over to you and ask,

“Should we jus’ head back to yers?”

You nodded yes, grabbed your hat and wished your buddies good luck before heading out. Back at the ranch, you hitched your horses and headed in, peeling off your boots and leaving them by the door, while your hats and coats took up residence on the hooks on the walls. While Logan fussed with the fireplace, you took off your shirt and chaps, poured drinks and lit a cigar.

There was nothing better than this, in Logan's eyes. The dimly lit cabin, only filled by the light of the flames flickering in the fireplace and from the embers of the cigar you shared, gave off such a warm atmosphere, Logan risked falling asleep.

Bourbon sloshed in glass flasks, haphazardly being passed back and forth and drank from while the glasses you'd once used sat abandoned in the nightstand. Logan watched you with hazy eyes- he couldn't help it. When the lights got low like this, he wasn't the same man he thought he was. Wasn't as violent as he made himself out to be.

As you both lay there, lounging on your bed with your shirts hanging off the headboard, Logan couldn't help but lean in, his stubble scraping across your shoulder as he nuzzled into your neck. He took a slow, deep breath, but the sudden sting of your cigar burning his cheek when you turned your head snapped him out of his funk.

“Ope- sorry.” You murmured, while Logan brushed his fingers against the already healing burn.

“ ‘S fine.” His voice came out in a harsh rumble.

You stared at Logan for a long moment, a slight furrow on your brow as you let the cigar sit in your mouth.

“What were you doin’, so close?”

Logan blinked, then half-heartedly gestured at the crook of your neck, no good explanation on his lips. “Uh…just, uh. Yeah.” He grunted, then sniffed into the awkward silence, itching his nose. “Smelled like cologne.”

“I'm not wearing cologne.” You gave an amused look.

Logan knew that. “Yeah. Figured.”

They both sat in awkward silence, before Logan sighed and fessed up, feeling pressured under your warm gaze.

“ ‘M sorry bub, alright? Ya smelled nice and I wanted to…to get close to it.” He managed, wanting to strangle himself for the admittance. “I'll just go.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Lo. Get in here...”

You yanked him in with your free hand, the other reaching to drop the cigar into the ashtray, and Logan soon found himself tucked up to your side, with his face buried right back up against your neck. He took a moment to absorb what was going on, before snaking an arm around your midriff and getting comfortable, his eyes slowly and hesitantly closing like a pup getting ready for a nap.

“Was waitin’ for you to cave for ages.” You murmured, leaning over to gently press your lips to Logan's hair. “You ain't the most subtle, partner.”

“Wasn't tryna be…” Logan muttered a half-hearted defense.

“Oh, sure.”

Logan let out a little grumble as he felt his back be rubbed, your hand tracing slow, firm circles at his shoulder blades. Were you trying to make him fall asleep? Hell, if you were, it was workin’.

“Yer knockin' me out, here.” Logan whispered, feigning annoyance, turning his head up to look at you.

The tender smile he found there made his heart skip, soon averting his eyes so you wouldn't see the way they softened. Too late, apparently, if your soft chuckle was anything to go off of. You leaned down, adjusting you both so you could catch Logan's lips in a quick kiss.

“Sweet man.” You said softly, nuzzling his nose against Logan's.

And no matter how much Logan grunted and grumbled and protested, he knew he'd never get away from those words- and never live down this night.

Perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.

“You’re gonna regret this in the morning,” Logan warns. His voice is raspy and breathy, like he just ran a marathon, and his hands grip your waist with bruising force. The fingers of his left hand dig into the soft flesh of your thigh. Your head is thrown back in pure, unadulterated pleasure, and you moan softly, not paying attention to the way he grits his teeth.

“N-No, I won’t,” you whimper as a shudder rolls down your spine. Logan growls and shakes his head, not believing your words for a second.

His cock is still buried inside of your tight hole, and he pulls it out slowly, letting you feel every inch of his hard length dragging against your walls. He pushes back in with a grunt, and you can’t stop the small cry that escapes your lips.

His warm breath ghosting over your throat sends a shiver down your spine, and you bite down on your lower lip as Logan’s tongue licks a hot line up to your jaw, then to your mouth. He pulls away then, and when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not the tender, careful kiss you were expecting, but a demanding, possessive one. His mouth moves roughly against yours, his tongue dipping into your mouth and caressing yours as his teeth nip at your bottom lip. You gasp, and Logan swallows the sound, growling deep in his throat.

“God, you’re so sweet,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip as he moves away, kissing your neck, then your shoulder, and finally the soft, pale skin of your inner thigh.

“Logan!” you cry out when you feel the first sting of pain, then moan as Logan bites down on your skin again, breaking the skin with his teeth and drawing blood. He doesn’t stop, and you throw your head back with a shuddering gasp as he bites you again, and again, and again.

He only stops when you start pushing at his shoulders weakly, your hands shaking with the effort. When he pulls back, you see the possessive glint in his eyes, the hunger in his gaze that makes you shiver. Logan’s breathing heavily, his hands still holding you down, and the low rumble coming from deep in his chest makes you think of a wild animal, something dangerous and feral.

He watches you, a slight smirk on his lips as he sees the marks he left on your skin, and then he’s leaning forward again, his tongue running over the marks, lapping at the blood. You squirm underneath him, and he smirks at that, pressing you down with a growl.

“Mine,” he snarls, his voice more animalistic than you’ve ever heard it. It sends a shiver of fear down your spine, but you don’t have time to dwell on it, because Logan’s kissing you again, hard and rough, and all thoughts leave your mind. You’re moaning against his lips, your head spinning with the pleasure that’s building in your belly, and you wrap your legs around his hips, your heels digging into his backside.

His mouth moves to your throat then, and he kisses you softly, his lips moving against your skin in feather-light caresses. You moan at that, and you feel Logan smile against your skin. You don’t expect it when his teeth suddenly bite down, drawing blood, and you gasp, your hands flying to his hair and tugging hard.

“Logan!”

He pulls back with a growl, his eyes flashing dangerously, and he presses you down again, his hips rolling against yours. You throw your head back and moan, your back arching off the bed, and Logan grunts, his hips moving faster, his cock plunging into you with quick, shallow thrusts that make you see stars. Your walls clench around him, and he groans, his hips bucking against yours.

His mouth finds your throat again, and he bites you again and again, drawing more blood, his tongue lapping at it immediately. You’re crying out, your voice hoarse and desperate, and your hands are pulling at his hair, tugging weakly at his shoulders, but Logan doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting into you, harder and faster, his mouth never leaving your skin.

“Please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re begging for, and Logan growls, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he snarls against your ear, and then he’s biting you again, his teeth breaking through the skin of your neck, and you’re crying out, your walls clenching around him. He groans at that, his hips moving erratically, and with a few more quick thrusts, he’s coming, his body shaking above yours, his teeth still biting down on your neck. You cry out, feeling the pleasure building inside of you, and with a strangled sob, you come, your body shaking, your walls clenching tightly around Logan’s cock.

He collapses on top of you, his body heavy and warm, and his mouth still pressed against your throat, his tongue still lapping at your blood, and you lie there, shaking, your breathing ragged.

Logan finally lifts his head and looks down at you, his eyes softening as he sees the tears in your eyes, and he strokes your cheek with a gentleness that surprises you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He kisses you then, his lips moving softly against yours, and you kiss him back weakly, too exhausted to do much more than that.

“I know,” you whisper against his lips when he finally pulls back, and you see the relief in his eyes.

He moves away from you and lays on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, and you watch him, your eyes trailing down his body, taking in the scars and the muscles, and the way he breathes heavily, like he just finished running a marathon. When he finally looks at you, you smile at him, and he smiles back, his eyes soft.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, and you nod, already knowing that. “I’ll always take care of you.”

“I know,” you repeat, and you lean over and kiss him softly. You don’t tell him that you don’t mind the pain, that you actually like it, because you know he would just worry. You don’t say anything, you just kiss him, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, his fingers stroking through your hair.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, and you smile, kissing him back.

And you, you're sat back on your heels behind him puffing away at one of those thick cigars he oh so enjoys. His breath hitches every time you take a deliberately slow pull, lowering the lit end a breath's away from his skin.

The anticipation and suspense well up inside him.

His eyes dart to the cigar every now and then, watching how you'd flick away the ashes. His adam's apple bobs and his breath gets caught up in his throat. "Why don't you put that out on me. See how much I really can take, yeah?"

He was goading you but he'd love nothing more than to feel the burn. The sting of the lit ember against his skin before it heals over quickly. Just the thought of it makes his cock twitch between his thighs.

He doesn't mind a little pain, he relishes it if anything. The ache it leaves behind despite the wound or bruising fading away just as quickly as it was made, is invigorating. Smeared blood on his lip that was split open or once broken nose, the coppery-iron smell stirs something in his stomach. That's why he likes provoking you.

Seeing you covered in splotches of red after a mission never fails to get his thoughts rolling into dangerous territory. He's always making sure he's the one cleaning you up, even if he has to use his tongue to do it. "Freak." You'd mutter under your breath as he would rough you up more than help, teeth digging into your shoulder with his hips grinding against your thigh. There's no mistaking the feeling of his arousal pressing up on you.

Most of the time you push him away, stating that he "helped enough," yet he'd huff in frustration and watch you go. Never letting things get too far or out of hand. Sometimes someone else steps into the room, interrupting the moment and giving you the opportunity to slip away— leaving him to deal with his hard-on.

You're not as unaffected as you wished you were. It made sense that one day you'd snap and succumb to the temptation. Logan was smug at first, teeth clashing against teeth, fingers digging into skin until you left him high and dry, leaving him wanting. He would take whatever you'd give him and fight the urge to chase for more. He had developed some kind of conditioned response with how you continuously teased him.

It was too late by the time he realized he couldn't pleasure himself without your guidance, your voice, your touch. He inevitably came crawling to you— swallowing his pride and baring himself unto you. You had him right where you wanted him, in the palm of your hand.

He followed your every word, a lovely blush coloring his cheeks as he jerked himself off in front of you. Squeezing his weeping tip when you said he couldn't cum just yet. And he waited, teetering along the cusp of ecstasy which brings us back to the begining and the cigar between your fingers.

He lets out a hiss through clenched teeth, the lit end searing the side of his thigh like butter melting on a hot slab of steak. The muscles tense and twitch and he groans almost blissfully so at the feeling.

Seeing the burn heal over was interesting. Your thumb brushing over the newly healed skin so tenderly as if you hadn't just tried to mark it seconds ago, it has him reeling. "Again." it sounded like a plea, desire for more. You'd look at him, think for a moment while taking another drag. He can only whine, tremble as you make him wait again. "Fuck!" it comes before he was ready, this time near the base of his spine.

He was kept in a constant state of suspense after every burn before you finally snuffed it on the cleft of his ass. His breath coming in quick, short pants and his cock an angry red— leaking like a faucet, further soiling the sheets below.

It wasn't enough, at least not for him, he wanted more.

Lifting his ass higher and intrepidly looking back at you with a taunting grin. "That all you got, bub?"