Logan's voice is a low rumble that Kurt can feel as well as hear. He draws as much comfort from the sound as from his words, trying to let them sink in to the places inside him that still feel splintered and cold. Part of him wonders, if he hadn't sold his soul for another chance at life, would this be easier? Any of it?
Logan is right, of course. He almost always is. That blunt honesty, that ability to speak from the heart, was one of the first things Kurt loved about him, and he leans into it now as well as into the hand that strokes through the fur on his jaw. This, Logan says, like there is a this, like there can be a this, and Kurt feels that acceptance roll through him as warm as the blanket settling on his shoulders. Whatever this is, Logan's calm assurance soothes something he hadn't realised was hurting.
But then Logan mentions waiting, and Kurt starts against him, leaning up against his chest to meet his eyes.
"Nein! That is, no, I don't want to wait any more. I want," he reaches up and brushes his thumb over Logan's cheek, "as much of you as I can get." He pushes himself up to meet Logan's lips with his, a kiss that tastes of salt, the embers of desire stirring again.
Then he winces as his movements re-awaken his awareness of the mortal cost of his heart's needs.
The way Kurt's weight goes slack against him again is the reassurance he's looking for that Kurt believes him. That he can do something for Kurt's peace of mind with a touch and a promise and a little of that very honesty he knows they're better at than most. The blanket is not as soft as Kurt himself, but Logan bundles him closer until his fingertips can gaze his bare shoulder.
Logan too relaxes along with him. One man's calm feeding the other man's comfort. Until it's his fault the younger man tenses up again. It's hard not to smile at the way Kurt's wide bright eyes look down at him with such conviction. It's not everyday anyone is moved to that kind of possession for him. Logan turns enough to kiss that soft blue palm and then Kurt's lips are there for the next one.
"Ok, ok, I'm just sayin'," he smiles and even his eyes look bright enough to rival Kurt's. Shining with something almost too light and playful to suit any part of his well known reputation. "I'm sorry, I got impatient. You got me. Now. Tomorrow. Whenever. Always." Brave or self-less as Kurt is to try to rally himself a second round that stiffness that's sinking into him, making his joints rusty and making him reconsider the idea, is enough to pull on Logan's heartstrings and sympathies.
"Don't be a hero," he whispers, dragging his fingers through that beard again. "Give your hangover a little rest and a little water, how 'bout? You eat anything yet? Can I make you some breakfast."
Kurt groans in the back of his throat as Logan buries his fingers in the fur along his jawline, his eyes closing a little, very much like a cat being petted. Always. His heart hangs on the word, though a tiny part of him knows it's too close to whistling through the graveyard when it comes to the two of them. They both know how easily always can be snatched away.
He sends up a brief, silent prayer. Vater im Himmel, protect him, keep him safe.
"But mein Freund, you know how I love being a hero," he says out loud, the whining complaint a teasing note in his voice. He's not quite up to wriggling, mischievous, to prove his point. Instead, his tail tip dances over Logan's thigh.
But Logan has a point. As he speaks, Kurt's attention is brought unwillingly back to the headache pounding in the corners of his skull. He grimaces at the mention of breakfast.
"No food, bitte. But coffee would be good. And being clean again." He raises his head a little, glancing back over his shoulder at the rest of the kitchen, the cans and utensils on the floor, the shredded remains of Frank's sweats. "We have made a bit of a mess."
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Logan is right, of course. He almost always is. That blunt honesty, that ability to speak from the heart, was one of the first things Kurt loved about him, and he leans into it now as well as into the hand that strokes through the fur on his jaw. This, Logan says, like there is a this, like there can be a this, and Kurt feels that acceptance roll through him as warm as the blanket settling on his shoulders. Whatever this is, Logan's calm assurance soothes something he hadn't realised was hurting.
But then Logan mentions waiting, and Kurt starts against him, leaning up against his chest to meet his eyes.
"Nein! That is, no, I don't want to wait any more. I want," he reaches up and brushes his thumb over Logan's cheek, "as much of you as I can get." He pushes himself up to meet Logan's lips with his, a kiss that tastes of salt, the embers of desire stirring again.
Then he winces as his movements re-awaken his awareness of the mortal cost of his heart's needs.
"Though maybe after a shower."
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Logan too relaxes along with him. One man's calm feeding the other man's comfort. Until it's his fault the younger man tenses up again. It's hard not to smile at the way Kurt's wide bright eyes look down at him with such conviction. It's not everyday anyone is moved to that kind of possession for him. Logan turns enough to kiss that soft blue palm and then Kurt's lips are there for the next one.
"Ok, ok, I'm just sayin'," he smiles and even his eyes look bright enough to rival Kurt's. Shining with something almost too light and playful to suit any part of his well known reputation. "I'm sorry, I got impatient. You got me. Now. Tomorrow. Whenever. Always." Brave or self-less as Kurt is to try to rally himself a second round that stiffness that's sinking into him, making his joints rusty and making him reconsider the idea, is enough to pull on Logan's heartstrings and sympathies.
"Don't be a hero," he whispers, dragging his fingers through that beard again. "Give your hangover a little rest and a little water, how 'bout? You eat anything yet? Can I make you some breakfast."
no subject
He sends up a brief, silent prayer. Vater im Himmel, protect him, keep him safe.
"But mein Freund, you know how I love being a hero," he says out loud, the whining complaint a teasing note in his voice. He's not quite up to wriggling, mischievous, to prove his point. Instead, his tail tip dances over Logan's thigh.
But Logan has a point. As he speaks, Kurt's attention is brought unwillingly back to the headache pounding in the corners of his skull. He grimaces at the mention of breakfast.
"No food, bitte. But coffee would be good. And being clean again." He raises his head a little, glancing back over his shoulder at the rest of the kitchen, the cans and utensils on the floor, the shredded remains of Frank's sweats. "We have made a bit of a mess."