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The home of Kurt's new and unexpected friends is a long way from the lake. Or at least it feels like a long way, too hot and too full of bright jagged sunlight. Kurt takes it slowly for the sake of his pounding headache and uneasy stomach as well as the numerous aches and pains from their encounter with the aliens, trying to maintain what little dignity he has left as he hitches Frank's sweatpants up around his hips and tries to tug Wynonna's t-shirt down so it covers more of his stomach. Thankfully the townsfolk don't seem to want to give the strangely dressed mutant more than a glance, preoccupied by whatever it is that keeps them looking the other way from the weirdness in their town.
He breathes a small sigh of relief as he enters the welcome shade of the pines, already feeling more at home once he's within them with the cabin not far away. If he had been more awake and less hungover, he might have considered how odd it was to feel so comfortable in such a strange and difficult place, but as it is it's enough effort just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Memories of the previous night crowd against him, trying to force their way into his mind. Memories of dancing, of glittering costumes and cold concrete under his cheek. He shrugs them off, forcing himself to concentrate on just getting back to the cabin. Just thinking about the party, how he might have acted, makes shame rise hot and sour in his throat. What had he said to Logan? How had he gotten into that state? What else had he done, what else could he have possibly --
He has to stagger aside from the path at that thought, clutching at a tree as he empties his stomach into the bushes, the rough bark digging into his palms. For a long moment he remains there, miserable and head hanging, then he forces himself to straighten up, spits acid bile onto the dirt, and continues on.
Logan isn't outside when he reaches the cabin, though Kurt's not about to fool himself into thinking that his arrival will go unnoticed. He limps slowly up to the door and eases it open, blinking a little as his eyes adjust from the midday sunlight to the cool dimness of the small room.
"Logan?"
He breathes a small sigh of relief as he enters the welcome shade of the pines, already feeling more at home once he's within them with the cabin not far away. If he had been more awake and less hungover, he might have considered how odd it was to feel so comfortable in such a strange and difficult place, but as it is it's enough effort just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Memories of the previous night crowd against him, trying to force their way into his mind. Memories of dancing, of glittering costumes and cold concrete under his cheek. He shrugs them off, forcing himself to concentrate on just getting back to the cabin. Just thinking about the party, how he might have acted, makes shame rise hot and sour in his throat. What had he said to Logan? How had he gotten into that state? What else had he done, what else could he have possibly --
He has to stagger aside from the path at that thought, clutching at a tree as he empties his stomach into the bushes, the rough bark digging into his palms. For a long moment he remains there, miserable and head hanging, then he forces himself to straighten up, spits acid bile onto the dirt, and continues on.
Logan isn't outside when he reaches the cabin, though Kurt's not about to fool himself into thinking that his arrival will go unnoticed. He limps slowly up to the door and eases it open, blinking a little as his eyes adjust from the midday sunlight to the cool dimness of the small room.
"Logan?"
Edited 2019-08-18 00:01 (UTC)
It's small enough a space to just most ends of it from the doorway, save the bedrooms and the washroom that divides them. Standing over the bathroom sink in only his jeans, his face is lathered and he only barely cause the strange sound of distant wrenching over the sandpaper noise of his own claws against the stubble under his chin. Whoever is it, they're bound to knock or—
It's a delicate balance, hurrying himself up without looking like he's rushing to anyone's aid. He runs the water when he hears his name with that familiar German cadence. Rinsing his face after the last of his shaving he slings the towel over his shoulder and opens the bathroom door, uncertain what to expect from a man who's sickness he could even hear coming.
The cabin is in slightly more disarray than usual. There's some amount of blood on the floor, table and wadded up in cloths sitting in the sink. The seating looks like it's been knocked around a bit, and there's a scattering of items on the table. Two emptied coffee mugs. A well worn legal pad covered in almost unintelligible scribbles, and a Gerber 06 auto knife. It's enough to paint the picture of either a long night or a rough morning.
He looks Kurt up and down a long moment. Taking in every article of clothing that isn't his own. The smell of the shaving soap is thick in his nose and only when it passes does he recognized at least one of the scents slinging to Kurt more tightly than that shirt that's a couple sizes too small. Castle. Something about Kurt stinks like Frank Castle.
"What happened to your costume?"
It's a delicate balance, hurrying himself up without looking like he's rushing to anyone's aid. He runs the water when he hears his name with that familiar German cadence. Rinsing his face after the last of his shaving he slings the towel over his shoulder and opens the bathroom door, uncertain what to expect from a man who's sickness he could even hear coming.
The cabin is in slightly more disarray than usual. There's some amount of blood on the floor, table and wadded up in cloths sitting in the sink. The seating looks like it's been knocked around a bit, and there's a scattering of items on the table. Two emptied coffee mugs. A well worn legal pad covered in almost unintelligible scribbles, and a Gerber 06 auto knife. It's enough to paint the picture of either a long night or a rough morning.
He looks Kurt up and down a long moment. Taking in every article of clothing that isn't his own. The smell of the shaving soap is thick in his nose and only when it passes does he recognized at least one of the scents slinging to Kurt more tightly than that shirt that's a couple sizes too small. Castle. Something about Kurt stinks like Frank Castle.
"What happened to your costume?"
Edited 2019-08-18 00:36 (UTC)
Kurt's gaze skids over the detritus, drawn back again and again to the blood on the table and the floor. Animal or human? He swallows thickly, dismissing the thought for the moment, and looks back at Logan.
"It.. was destroyed," he manages, walking slowly into the room. "By alien creatures, in the street after the party. They were like the Brood, but more deadly. They moved like hunters. Logan, I think we need to help the town. Protect them."
As he speaks he lowers himself gingerly into a chair by the table, carefully avoiding the blood. He leans over, dropping his head into his hands, fingers pushing his rumpled curls into more disarray.
"Ach, I feel like I've been hit by a truck."
"It.. was destroyed," he manages, walking slowly into the room. "By alien creatures, in the street after the party. They were like the Brood, but more deadly. They moved like hunters. Logan, I think we need to help the town. Protect them."
As he speaks he lowers himself gingerly into a chair by the table, carefully avoiding the blood. He leans over, dropping his head into his hands, fingers pushing his rumpled curls into more disarray.
"Ach, I feel like I've been hit by a truck."
The shift in Kurt's gaze isn't as hard to track as some people make it out to be. He knows what the younger man is looking at, but he offers nothing up by way of explanation for the mess left out all night.
"Too bad. It was quite a look," he runs a towel through his damp hair, but even he's not quite apathetic enough to return to his own business which such nonchalance as that the moment Kurt goes on. Not destroyed like the younger man is now. Not wrecked in the mere excess of that place that gives Logan the creeps. Destroyed as in rended in the course of some survival. His steps drag to a stop. "Aliens?" briefly he wonders what here can't be considered alien. Hell the towns people are alien enough to him. "How many? Where are they now?"
Padding towards the sink he fills a mug with water and plunks it down in front of Kurt. They're not protecting nothing from no one while he's in a state like this.
"Or a thrift shop. Something you're wearing belongs to Frank Castle."
"Too bad. It was quite a look," he runs a towel through his damp hair, but even he's not quite apathetic enough to return to his own business which such nonchalance as that the moment Kurt goes on. Not destroyed like the younger man is now. Not wrecked in the mere excess of that place that gives Logan the creeps. Destroyed as in rended in the course of some survival. His steps drag to a stop. "Aliens?" briefly he wonders what here can't be considered alien. Hell the towns people are alien enough to him. "How many? Where are they now?"
Padding towards the sink he fills a mug with water and plunks it down in front of Kurt. They're not protecting nothing from no one while he's in a state like this.
"Or a thrift shop. Something you're wearing belongs to Frank Castle."
"I.. can't remember," Kurt replies truthfully, his tone regretful, as Logan moves across the room. "Not just one. They had some kind of acidic blood, or secretion. It.. ate through our clothes. My clothes."
Kurt lifts his heavy head as the mug is set down next to him, peering up at Logan through narrowed eyes. With the last shreds of his resolve, he resists the urge to reach out and touch him, to lean his forehead against Logan's furred belly and sink into the steady presence of his closest friend.
He blinks at Logan's words, sorting through them amidst the throbbing of his skull.
"Frank.. oh." Glancing down at himself, he plucks at the slightly too large sweatpants. "We.. I think we fought the creatures together. He and Wynonna. And then we, ah.. I woke up in their house." He clears his throat, his voice low as he continues. "They loaned me some clothes, so I could return without compromising what.. little.. is left of my dignity."
Kurt lifts his heavy head as the mug is set down next to him, peering up at Logan through narrowed eyes. With the last shreds of his resolve, he resists the urge to reach out and touch him, to lean his forehead against Logan's furred belly and sink into the steady presence of his closest friend.
He blinks at Logan's words, sorting through them amidst the throbbing of his skull.
"Frank.. oh." Glancing down at himself, he plucks at the slightly too large sweatpants. "We.. I think we fought the creatures together. He and Wynonna. And then we, ah.. I woke up in their house." He clears his throat, his voice low as he continues. "They loaned me some clothes, so I could return without compromising what.. little.. is left of my dignity."
"Hn." It's the sound of Logan resisting the urge to say he warned against drinking and eating all that shit laid out nice at the Mayer's to do. It smelled like a trap from the moment Logan saw that message, inviting the sleepers, captives, of this town to something that looked a lot like mercy. It could have only, at the very kindest, been designed to instil the transplants to Deerington with enough Stockholm syndrome to take root. And at worst. He's not sure he can guess at the worst this place can do anymore.
It's a kind of constant vigilance on his part to take where his mind wants to go with Kurt and redirect it. Push his thoughts back to platonic places. He's quiet a moment before he finds something else to focus on when it comes to Frank. "Where does he live?" If it's a weird detail to fixate on in the course of that story he buries it by adding something else as he shuffles about the cabin, finally cleaning up the mess he's left behind. "And who's Wynonna?"
It's a kind of constant vigilance on his part to take where his mind wants to go with Kurt and redirect it. Push his thoughts back to platonic places. He's quiet a moment before he finds something else to focus on when it comes to Frank. "Where does he live?" If it's a weird detail to fixate on in the course of that story he buries it by adding something else as he shuffles about the cabin, finally cleaning up the mess he's left behind. "And who's Wynonna?"
Kurt knows Logan well enough to hear the 'I told you so', even if it isn't vocalised. He had indeed been told, more than once, but something at the party had taken hold of him -- an almost competitive desire to see how much he could toe the line, how well he could resist the effects of anything he drank. As it turned out, he had lost that particular personal wager, and lost it hard. The state of his head and belly is more than enough of a reminder of that without Logan's moral outrage.
Still, he's right, and Kurt lets him have it. Not that he has enough energy to do any more than that. It takes a measure of control for him to reach out and pick up the mug of water and hold it to his lips.
"His girlfriend," he replies after a long drink, breathing a little easier as the water cools the dry pounding of his headache. "They live in a barn by the reservoir."
He turns his head a little to watch Logan move around the room, collecting the bits and pieces of whatever had happened in his absence.
"Should I ask what I missed?" He indicates the blood spotting the table with a flick of his tail. If his tone is somewhat pointed, it could perhaps be blamed on the state of his hangover.
Still, he's right, and Kurt lets him have it. Not that he has enough energy to do any more than that. It takes a measure of control for him to reach out and pick up the mug of water and hold it to his lips.
"His girlfriend," he replies after a long drink, breathing a little easier as the water cools the dry pounding of his headache. "They live in a barn by the reservoir."
He turns his head a little to watch Logan move around the room, collecting the bits and pieces of whatever had happened in his absence.
"Should I ask what I missed?" He indicates the blood spotting the table with a flick of his tail. If his tone is somewhat pointed, it could perhaps be blamed on the state of his hangover.
Lectures are for children. And Kurt, he thinks, knows full well why Logan got forceful in his effort to bring his friend back around. As if he could shake off whatever overcame him at that dining hall. Perhaps it was a good lesson learned for both of them.
"S'at so," he mutters looking at the little map of the town he's pinned to the far wall. The fact that the reservoir is all the way on the north end of town feels good to know. The idea of being neighbours would just irritate an already festering wound. "That's a long walk of shame," he snuffs a mirthless little laugh.
"Friend got hurt out in the woods. I patched him up and he spent the night." All the more reason that sounds like a good idea too, he thinks, of something was out there prowling the town that wasn't there yesterday. With the space a bit tidier he slings his shaving towel over his shoulder again and disappears into the washroom for his shirt.
"Sword's still next to the bed if you change your mind."
"S'at so," he mutters looking at the little map of the town he's pinned to the far wall. The fact that the reservoir is all the way on the north end of town feels good to know. The idea of being neighbours would just irritate an already festering wound. "That's a long walk of shame," he snuffs a mirthless little laugh.
"Friend got hurt out in the woods. I patched him up and he spent the night." All the more reason that sounds like a good idea too, he thinks, of something was out there prowling the town that wasn't there yesterday. With the space a bit tidier he slings his shaving towel over his shoulder again and disappears into the washroom for his shirt.
"Sword's still next to the bed if you change your mind."
Logan's comment about the long walk feels as sour and acid as the taste in the back of Kurt's throat. The German mutant tightens his grip on the mug, trying to concentrate on doing anything besides flinging it at the obstinate mule of a man he happens to care so very deeply for.
He brings his head up a little at Logan's mention of his friend, noting the fact that he neglected to give his name. Kurt can't stop himself from glancing around the room again as Logan wanders into the washroom, trying to remember the state it was in before Logan tidied it.
"As I told you before, I'll be fine, Logan," he replies, sipping his water. "I always am." Then he adds, for no reason except the fact that he's in pain and tired of this strange tension that has been pushing and pulling at them for the last week or so: "Save your swords for your friends, since they are in such desperate need of your protection."
He brings his head up a little at Logan's mention of his friend, noting the fact that he neglected to give his name. Kurt can't stop himself from glancing around the room again as Logan wanders into the washroom, trying to remember the state it was in before Logan tidied it.
"As I told you before, I'll be fine, Logan," he replies, sipping his water. "I always am." Then he adds, for no reason except the fact that he's in pain and tired of this strange tension that has been pushing and pulling at them for the last week or so: "Save your swords for your friends, since they are in such desperate need of your protection."
Logan's ability to wield cold indifference comes as naturally to him as the way his body heals. It's and impressive display of apathy that appears like a shield but on the right target lands like a weapon. And it should be when it's a manner of defence that he's possibly practiced more in life than his offensive skills.
Undershirt on first, he doesn't bother to button his red and black layer of plaid. "Thought that was my line," he grumbles and fills his pockets with a few stray items. That auto-knife on the table being one of them. It doesn't belong to him and it's better off in the hands of someone who needs it. He's almost in the clear too. Almost made his way though his morning routine and out the door without having to spend another minute trying to settle the idea of Kurt in a whole new place in his heart. A spot where they're comrades. Brothers. Merely friends. And any interest he has beyond that is entirely out of place. He's just getting the hang of that, he thinks when Kurt manages to disrupt the laborious effort he's putting into stripping away everything there but acquaintance ship with just one word.
He goes still, tucking one of those cigars into his pocket. Glad that for the moment his back is to his company. "I thought I was." Even that's too much now? " Then you just lemme know what you need from me."
Undershirt on first, he doesn't bother to button his red and black layer of plaid. "Thought that was my line," he grumbles and fills his pockets with a few stray items. That auto-knife on the table being one of them. It doesn't belong to him and it's better off in the hands of someone who needs it. He's almost in the clear too. Almost made his way though his morning routine and out the door without having to spend another minute trying to settle the idea of Kurt in a whole new place in his heart. A spot where they're comrades. Brothers. Merely friends. And any interest he has beyond that is entirely out of place. He's just getting the hang of that, he thinks when Kurt manages to disrupt the laborious effort he's putting into stripping away everything there but acquaintance ship with just one word.
He goes still, tucking one of those cigars into his pocket. Glad that for the moment his back is to his company. "I thought I was." Even that's too much now? " Then you just lemme know what you need from me."
Kurt finds himself watching Logan's hands as he gathers his things. Those wide palms, blunt knuckles, almost as familiar as his own. The memory of them sliding through his fur makes his tail twitch against his ankle, even as he raises eyes full of golden light and hollow misery.
On his way out the door and that is, indeed, Logan's line. Always fine, always okay, always the guy putting himself to the front because he can take what nobody else can. Assuming that everyone left in his wake will be just as all right with that as he is; that nobody cares enough about him to mourn the death he spends his waking hours waiting for.
Kurt's barb strikes home. The victory tastes bitter. He watches the line of Logan's shoulders, the wall going up between them, and hates every inch of it. Gott, if this was their second chance, what a mess he's making of it all.
He's standing up before he realises it, pushing the chair back. His head swims a little, but he ignores it.
"I think that is my line, mein Freund. You tell me one moment that you won't sleep in case I disappear, that you need me to stay, and we -- and when I ask for time, it's as if it never happened." He gestures wide with his hands, his voice cracking on those last words. "As if I'm nothing to you again. But I know you too well to believe your lies, Logan, even if you've fooled yourself into doing so. So I think you owe it to me, after all this time," he points at Logan's back, "to tell me what you need."
On his way out the door and that is, indeed, Logan's line. Always fine, always okay, always the guy putting himself to the front because he can take what nobody else can. Assuming that everyone left in his wake will be just as all right with that as he is; that nobody cares enough about him to mourn the death he spends his waking hours waiting for.
Kurt's barb strikes home. The victory tastes bitter. He watches the line of Logan's shoulders, the wall going up between them, and hates every inch of it. Gott, if this was their second chance, what a mess he's making of it all.
He's standing up before he realises it, pushing the chair back. His head swims a little, but he ignores it.
"I think that is my line, mein Freund. You tell me one moment that you won't sleep in case I disappear, that you need me to stay, and we -- and when I ask for time, it's as if it never happened." He gestures wide with his hands, his voice cracking on those last words. "As if I'm nothing to you again. But I know you too well to believe your lies, Logan, even if you've fooled yourself into doing so. So I think you owe it to me, after all this time," he points at Logan's back, "to tell me what you need."
What strikes him like a hot iron is the implication that any promises he made have somehow been taken back. That this effort to reign in what Kurt doesn't want from him means he's taken back what might still be of value too? It's the last lash it takes to make the old dog bite back.
"And I'll keep that fuckin' promise!" He brings a fist down on the opposite side of that table, putting them face to face for the first time that morning. "Why the hell you think I fought so hard to drag you out of that God forsaken party? Why do you think I lurked around 'til I saw you leave with a fuckin' crowd? Why do you think I keep trying convince you to fuckin' arm yourself out there already? Because it's getting' God damn hard to keep my eyes on a man who doesn't want me near him."
There's a moment there when he takes a breath that his head clears of just enough anger to see what really propels him. The fear of losing Kurt. The humiliation of admitting so much concern for someone who so recently told him to contain those feelings.
"Time? You need time? To what? All these years ain't been enough distance from me?" He scoffs and it feels jagged and full of scorn for his own foolishness. It's not even made of enough genuine laughter to distract from the way he can't hold Kurt's gaze. "Time to see if I'll keep waitin'? Keep chasin' you? Still come nippin' at your ankles to see if I'm enough yet?"
He swipes his canvas bag off the floor as if he thinks he can make a clean break of this conversation. "That's never worked out for me."
"And I'll keep that fuckin' promise!" He brings a fist down on the opposite side of that table, putting them face to face for the first time that morning. "Why the hell you think I fought so hard to drag you out of that God forsaken party? Why do you think I lurked around 'til I saw you leave with a fuckin' crowd? Why do you think I keep trying convince you to fuckin' arm yourself out there already? Because it's getting' God damn hard to keep my eyes on a man who doesn't want me near him."
There's a moment there when he takes a breath that his head clears of just enough anger to see what really propels him. The fear of losing Kurt. The humiliation of admitting so much concern for someone who so recently told him to contain those feelings.
"Time? You need time? To what? All these years ain't been enough distance from me?" He scoffs and it feels jagged and full of scorn for his own foolishness. It's not even made of enough genuine laughter to distract from the way he can't hold Kurt's gaze. "Time to see if I'll keep waitin'? Keep chasin' you? Still come nippin' at your ankles to see if I'm enough yet?"
He swipes his canvas bag off the floor as if he thinks he can make a clean break of this conversation. "That's never worked out for me."
Edited 2019-08-19 01:19 (UTC)
There have been moments in Kurt's life where his instincts to teleport have saved him. The descending foot of a Sentinel, the whistle of a knife through the air, a gesture of a hand in his direction -- the ability to disappear had been, in those moments, the only thing that kept him alive. Now, facing Logan's anger and the full return of every rejected glance and shrugged off hand, he feels the urge to teleport building in his muscles once again. But this time it's not his life he wants to save, but the most important relationship he has.
But he can't. Not only because it would injure him, but because he knows he deserves this. The words Logan snarls out are all the more painful for being laced with the poisonous edge of truth.
Part of Kurt wants to move into the doorway, to force him to push through, but he knows if he tries that will be the end of it as surely as anything else. Instead, something inside him, worn down by grief and pain and hunger, splinters. He runs shaking hands through his hair.
"Gott, I never wanted you to chase me, Logan," he says, his voice a shade above a whisper. "I never asked for that. All I wanted was you. I respected your boundaries, your need for space. I always thought I was doing what you wanted. So many times, I came to you, to offer what I could, and you closed the door on me. Or I would wake up and find you gone already. Even when you were dying, I thought you might.. but you didn't, you just left us.."
He pulls in a trembling breath, grief hardening, sand and salt turning to glass. A twist of his mouth bares his fangs, an animal snarl.
"So don't whine to me about distance, Logan, when you are the coward who turns and runs from everything you have ever wanted, just to see if it will follow."
But he can't. Not only because it would injure him, but because he knows he deserves this. The words Logan snarls out are all the more painful for being laced with the poisonous edge of truth.
Part of Kurt wants to move into the doorway, to force him to push through, but he knows if he tries that will be the end of it as surely as anything else. Instead, something inside him, worn down by grief and pain and hunger, splinters. He runs shaking hands through his hair.
"Gott, I never wanted you to chase me, Logan," he says, his voice a shade above a whisper. "I never asked for that. All I wanted was you. I respected your boundaries, your need for space. I always thought I was doing what you wanted. So many times, I came to you, to offer what I could, and you closed the door on me. Or I would wake up and find you gone already. Even when you were dying, I thought you might.. but you didn't, you just left us.."
He pulls in a trembling breath, grief hardening, sand and salt turning to glass. A twist of his mouth bares his fangs, an animal snarl.
"So don't whine to me about distance, Logan, when you are the coward who turns and runs from everything you have ever wanted, just to see if it will follow."
Edited 2019-08-19 02:07 (UTC)
After what Kurt pulled out of him so easily, that flare of temper that exposed more raw nerves than his pride can stand, it actually comes as a relief to know that he's not the only half of this complicated equation that can be driven to such frustration and impassioned fury by the obstinance of the other. He's quite certain Xavier once told him there was nothing healthy about taking joy in the ability to drive someone to anger. But what did a mind reader need with proof that he mattered enough to get under someone's skin?
"To offer me what you could?" Logan narrows his eyes and grabs the back of an askew chair that blocks his path around the table. Sending it skittering backward and out of his way until it teeters over and he can step up, nose to nose, with Kurt. "What you could stomach to give me when it suited you? When there wasn't a better offer holdin' you back? Or was it the threat of damnation that always made this too much for you?" It can't rightly be called an intimidation tactic when Kurt isn't afraid of him. Less so than most, at least. But it is, if nothing else, a concentrated effort to make the other man mad enough to take a swing. Sometimes any attention is good attention.
Instead, it's words Kurt lobs at him. The impact of that is never as satisfying a sting. Least of all with someone who's probably seen his worst. Someone who knows his own persistence is part of the problem. His natural inclination to get back up like nothing knocked him down. For Kurt it's tantamount to stubbornness. A rejection of the vulnerability it takes to let someone in. For Logan it's what makes people think they'll always get another shot. He'll always be around later. "You ask me to give you space. Then you tell me I take too much of it. You don't want me right here. But you don't want me any further than the end of my leash. You're right. I am a coward. 'Cause I keep coming back for more."
A breath deflates him when those bright eyes bore into his. All fury and scorn and the things he brings out most in people. Even the good ones.
"Yer right. It's my fault. Jeannie always saw me for a sucker like that too. You both had me drag my fair share of pianos up mountains because you knew. You knew there was nothing I wouldn't do for you. That includes walkin' away when it's the only way I know to protect you." Right or wrong, it's a pattern in Logan's life and probably the answer to Kurt's burning question. The thing he really needs, but never finds the words for is the promise that this time it's not true. Gently, he tugs down the hem of that ill-fitting shirt, because the words he means to speak are briefly lodged somewhere in his throat. When they do come, they're barely whispered into the space it feels like a kiss should go. "You just take your time. Tell me when it's ok to want you."
"To offer me what you could?" Logan narrows his eyes and grabs the back of an askew chair that blocks his path around the table. Sending it skittering backward and out of his way until it teeters over and he can step up, nose to nose, with Kurt. "What you could stomach to give me when it suited you? When there wasn't a better offer holdin' you back? Or was it the threat of damnation that always made this too much for you?" It can't rightly be called an intimidation tactic when Kurt isn't afraid of him. Less so than most, at least. But it is, if nothing else, a concentrated effort to make the other man mad enough to take a swing. Sometimes any attention is good attention.
Instead, it's words Kurt lobs at him. The impact of that is never as satisfying a sting. Least of all with someone who's probably seen his worst. Someone who knows his own persistence is part of the problem. His natural inclination to get back up like nothing knocked him down. For Kurt it's tantamount to stubbornness. A rejection of the vulnerability it takes to let someone in. For Logan it's what makes people think they'll always get another shot. He'll always be around later. "You ask me to give you space. Then you tell me I take too much of it. You don't want me right here. But you don't want me any further than the end of my leash. You're right. I am a coward. 'Cause I keep coming back for more."
A breath deflates him when those bright eyes bore into his. All fury and scorn and the things he brings out most in people. Even the good ones.
"Yer right. It's my fault. Jeannie always saw me for a sucker like that too. You both had me drag my fair share of pianos up mountains because you knew. You knew there was nothing I wouldn't do for you. That includes walkin' away when it's the only way I know to protect you." Right or wrong, it's a pattern in Logan's life and probably the answer to Kurt's burning question. The thing he really needs, but never finds the words for is the promise that this time it's not true. Gently, he tugs down the hem of that ill-fitting shirt, because the words he means to speak are briefly lodged somewhere in his throat. When they do come, they're barely whispered into the space it feels like a kiss should go. "You just take your time. Tell me when it's ok to want you."
Up close, Logan smells like shaving soap and the drift of cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. Better than brimstone. Better than a lot of things. Still breathing a little hard, Kurt searches his eyes as Logan talks, his anger dissipating, becoming something softer and infinitely more sad. The problem with living through so many wars, Kurt had always thought, was how difficult it became to stop fighting them.
Wynonna's tee is too small on his muscled shoulders and chest; Logan's twitch of the fabric only reminds Kurt how confining it is.
Take your time.
"I am done taking time," Kurt breathes softly into the space between them, a handful of inches, so close he can feel the brush of Logan's shirt against his belly. He thinks of long days and longer nights, all those years together. Like falling cards, the memories cascade in front of him.
"I've had so much I no longer want it. All I want is you, Logan."
And it's his turn to press forward, one hand sliding around the back of Logan's neck as the other clutches at the hanging tail of his shirt, meeting Logan's mouth with his with something that's part way between a sob and a moan, a helpless noise of apology and need, a desperate hope that it will be enough.
Wynonna's tee is too small on his muscled shoulders and chest; Logan's twitch of the fabric only reminds Kurt how confining it is.
Take your time.
"I am done taking time," Kurt breathes softly into the space between them, a handful of inches, so close he can feel the brush of Logan's shirt against his belly. He thinks of long days and longer nights, all those years together. Like falling cards, the memories cascade in front of him.
"I've had so much I no longer want it. All I want is you, Logan."
And it's his turn to press forward, one hand sliding around the back of Logan's neck as the other clutches at the hanging tail of his shirt, meeting Logan's mouth with his with something that's part way between a sob and a moan, a helpless noise of apology and need, a desperate hope that it will be enough.
It’s hard to feel like anything but a fool for wanting what’s historically been bad for you. He knows it’s wrong to put Kurt into that category of people who’ve figured out what the right amount of affection can get out of him in return. It’s paranoia, and frustration and the fear that yet again, he’s tried to make more than there ever was of someones spare kindness.
What drew them together in the first place wasn’t history repeating itself, or some alignment of the stars, or some infernal interference in his life. It was being the outcasts in a room full of outcasts. It was being no one’s first, or easiest choice.
This close, Kurt smells of frustration, and anxiousness but the more he encroaches on the younger man’s space, the more he smells a bit like want. A bit like he did he other day in the trees before he asked Logan to stop. It’s enough for now that Logan knows it. Even if Kurt were to shove him off or deck him in the jaw for all the things Logan’s said, it’s enough to live on that some part of Kurt wants him.
What he’s braced himself for is not what comes next. Kurt’s breath on his lips and the way he hums his W sounds turning them into V’s makes the word want sound all the more earnest. It hits so much harder than anger ever could, that it takes a a moment of shellshock to realize he’s getting exactly what he’d asked for.
“You have me. You have me, damnit…” the words are growled breathlessly against Kurt’s mouth in the clumsy gaps that barely give them time to think or speak. Desperate to give him all the forgiveness, the assurance, the validation he needs to believe this is no mistake. Staggering into Kurt, Logan’s feet crowd his instep as he pens him in against the counter. Sending some precariously stacked tin dinnerware clattering into the sink when he throws his arms around Kurt’s back, burying his hand under that tight shirt and raking his fingers down the younger man’s back. “Please. Don’t tease me with this. Let me have you too.”
What drew them together in the first place wasn’t history repeating itself, or some alignment of the stars, or some infernal interference in his life. It was being the outcasts in a room full of outcasts. It was being no one’s first, or easiest choice.
This close, Kurt smells of frustration, and anxiousness but the more he encroaches on the younger man’s space, the more he smells a bit like want. A bit like he did he other day in the trees before he asked Logan to stop. It’s enough for now that Logan knows it. Even if Kurt were to shove him off or deck him in the jaw for all the things Logan’s said, it’s enough to live on that some part of Kurt wants him.
What he’s braced himself for is not what comes next. Kurt’s breath on his lips and the way he hums his W sounds turning them into V’s makes the word want sound all the more earnest. It hits so much harder than anger ever could, that it takes a a moment of shellshock to realize he’s getting exactly what he’d asked for.
“You have me. You have me, damnit…” the words are growled breathlessly against Kurt’s mouth in the clumsy gaps that barely give them time to think or speak. Desperate to give him all the forgiveness, the assurance, the validation he needs to believe this is no mistake. Staggering into Kurt, Logan’s feet crowd his instep as he pens him in against the counter. Sending some precariously stacked tin dinnerware clattering into the sink when he throws his arms around Kurt’s back, burying his hand under that tight shirt and raking his fingers down the younger man’s back. “Please. Don’t tease me with this. Let me have you too.”
The counter thumps into the small of Kurt's back, sending shockwaves up into his aching skull, but he's far beyond caring about pain as Logan piles into his arms. Kurt repays him with nipping kisses, catching his lower lip with his teeth, darting his tongue into the other man's mouth as Logan drags his fingers through his fur.
"Stop talking," Kurt advises breathlessly against Logan's mouth, his own hands busy on Logan's shoulders, not pushing him away this time but pushing off his flannel shirt, spreading over the warm expanse of muscle beneath it.
With a move that sends more empty cans rattling over, he hitches himself up against the counter, wrapping both legs around Logan's hips as he kisses him again, hungrily, making up for lost time, for the mistakes he knows he's made, for everything he can manage.
"Stop talking," Kurt advises breathlessly against Logan's mouth, his own hands busy on Logan's shoulders, not pushing him away this time but pushing off his flannel shirt, spreading over the warm expanse of muscle beneath it.
With a move that sends more empty cans rattling over, he hitches himself up against the counter, wrapping both legs around Logan's hips as he kisses him again, hungrily, making up for lost time, for the mistakes he knows he's made, for everything he can manage.
Logan’s recollection of moments like this one refuses to include the fleeting moment by the lake that satisfied nothing for either of them. And now it’s all to easy to forget. Now that the very real thing he was after is here, and warm and soft in his hands just like it’s always been. Even since the first few times when at least one of them was a much younger man Logan’s only watched, often from afar, the way Kurt took shape under that thin veneer of fur. All long lean limbs and graceful angles. And now all the more striking with that indigo beard that cuts his jawline perfectly.
For a man with as many problems with authority as Logan, Kurt’s command, however gentle, ignites a spark in him. His blue eyes so dilated look drunken and dark as he nods dumbly— a quiet acquiescence for the order he’s been given as he watches Kurt strip him of the clothes he’s only just put on. When he joins in again, pulling himself away from the sight of those deft fingers all over him, Logan makes almost comically quick work of his belt and fly in one practice movement that barely wastes a moment with his hands on anything but Kurt.
With those legs around him, he takes the hem of that shirt that hugs him all wrong and heaves it over his head. Grinning foolishly at the way it tousles Kurt’s hair. Crushing his lips first to the younger man’s mouth, and then his neck and then the curve of his collarbone, the only noise that escapes him as they wrestle clothes off one another is the falling of his breath and a frustration growl when those stupid sweats get hung up between Kurt’s backside and the counter. “Off,” he grumbles knowing full well, even sort of hoping, Kurt puts him in his place for speaking out of turn again.
For a man with as many problems with authority as Logan, Kurt’s command, however gentle, ignites a spark in him. His blue eyes so dilated look drunken and dark as he nods dumbly— a quiet acquiescence for the order he’s been given as he watches Kurt strip him of the clothes he’s only just put on. When he joins in again, pulling himself away from the sight of those deft fingers all over him, Logan makes almost comically quick work of his belt and fly in one practice movement that barely wastes a moment with his hands on anything but Kurt.
With those legs around him, he takes the hem of that shirt that hugs him all wrong and heaves it over his head. Grinning foolishly at the way it tousles Kurt’s hair. Crushing his lips first to the younger man’s mouth, and then his neck and then the curve of his collarbone, the only noise that escapes him as they wrestle clothes off one another is the falling of his breath and a frustration growl when those stupid sweats get hung up between Kurt’s backside and the counter. “Off,” he grumbles knowing full well, even sort of hoping, Kurt puts him in his place for speaking out of turn again.
Kurt might not have Logan's enhanced senses, but he's experienced enough to know when he's said the right thing to the man between his thighs. It's something they've only ever briefly played with, their previous encounters being so infrequent and spread too thin to allow them to do more than learn the basic topography of each other, but the push and pull of power given and received has always been an undercurrent between them. Hands wrapped around wrists, the press of teeth and fingertips, the taste of blood; they're not the kind of men to be satisfied with anything less than bruises to show for their efforts. And Kurt is more than happy to play a role, especially one with such pleasurable results.
It is difficult, though, to keep his thoughts in check as Logan kisses his throat and his chest, his breath hot and damp in Kurt's fur, soft animal noises rising from them both as they move together, scattering bits of clothing and kitchen implements onto the floor. Kurt rolls his hips as Logan pushes against him and crosses his ankles behind his back, his tail looped firmly around Logan's thigh. Nobody, this time, is going anywhere.
Logan's growled request only earns him another kiss, Kurt making sure he feels the points of his fangs before he pulls back, but only far enough to rest his forehead against Logan's. He buries the fingers of one hand in Logan's hair and tugs on it, gently but firmly, enough for Logan to feel it and tilt his head. Kurt leans in to kiss and taste the side of his throat and the bristly angle of his jaw, enjoying being able to hold such a man so still. With his other hand takes Logan's wrist, slides his palm down his furry side over his belly and between his legs, so he can feel exactly what effect he's having.
"Take them off for me," he purrs in Logan's ear.
It is difficult, though, to keep his thoughts in check as Logan kisses his throat and his chest, his breath hot and damp in Kurt's fur, soft animal noises rising from them both as they move together, scattering bits of clothing and kitchen implements onto the floor. Kurt rolls his hips as Logan pushes against him and crosses his ankles behind his back, his tail looped firmly around Logan's thigh. Nobody, this time, is going anywhere.
Logan's growled request only earns him another kiss, Kurt making sure he feels the points of his fangs before he pulls back, but only far enough to rest his forehead against Logan's. He buries the fingers of one hand in Logan's hair and tugs on it, gently but firmly, enough for Logan to feel it and tilt his head. Kurt leans in to kiss and taste the side of his throat and the bristly angle of his jaw, enjoying being able to hold such a man so still. With his other hand takes Logan's wrist, slides his palm down his furry side over his belly and between his legs, so he can feel exactly what effect he's having.
"Take them off for me," he purrs in Logan's ear.
There are so many faces to Kurt Wagner. The jovial clown. The faithful. The swashbuckler. The champion fencer. The flirt. But so few people, Logan likes to think, ever get to see him like this. In their earliest years he didn't imagine anyone would have believed him that such a chivalrous and charming young man might have purred like he did to be manhandled so roughly only his complexion hid those marks.
It was years later when Logan learned that the opposite was true too.
That Kurt's eyes burned so brightly just to revel in the delight of denying Logan his hands. He was briefly in charge of the X-Men back then and Logan hasn't for a moment forgotten the words that inspired that moment. Being in charge looks good on you, he'd said, blissfully unaware how much he'd come to mean it.
It was fun to be the sparring partner. The one with whom Kurt felt comfortable testing his own limits. But now, every kiss that draws Logan in right where he wants him, every time Kurt pulls his hair like he's holding him by the reigns, every demand he gives voice to makes it abundantly clear that Kurt knows exactly what he wants.
"Jesus..." Logan's groan comes from deep in his chest. That palm pressed between Kurt's legs wraps around the length of him as much as his grip can managed through the taut fabric of those fucking pants and there's nothing Logan wants more than to be rid of any lingering smell of Frank fucking Castle right now.
His hand is flat and firm against Kurt chest when he shoves the younger man back, leaning him deeper across the counter. As close as space allowed for laying him completely out. Hunched over Kurt's bare body he bites at the the plane of his stomach, ensuring his teeth catch flesh and not just fur. Hauling firmly on those sweats he pulls them down a few mere inches until he realizes its Kurt fighting his effort. Looking up at the man over his sort bare chest, it takes nothing to realize what he wants. "It'll hurt," he huffs. But all the younger man has to do is level that toothy grin and Logan doesn't hesitate.
A claw snikts from between his knuckles and Logan peels one of those long legs off of his waist. The blunt back side of that cold metal claw slips up Kurt's ankle. Starting its long slow run in the fabric right beneath the cuff. Over the curve of his knee. Logan's hand splays on his stomach. Enforcing his stillness firmly as that cold blade makes the most dangerous stretch of its journey. Carefully up the tender inside of his thigh and out through the waist band.
It was years later when Logan learned that the opposite was true too.
That Kurt's eyes burned so brightly just to revel in the delight of denying Logan his hands. He was briefly in charge of the X-Men back then and Logan hasn't for a moment forgotten the words that inspired that moment. Being in charge looks good on you, he'd said, blissfully unaware how much he'd come to mean it.
It was fun to be the sparring partner. The one with whom Kurt felt comfortable testing his own limits. But now, every kiss that draws Logan in right where he wants him, every time Kurt pulls his hair like he's holding him by the reigns, every demand he gives voice to makes it abundantly clear that Kurt knows exactly what he wants.
"Jesus..." Logan's groan comes from deep in his chest. That palm pressed between Kurt's legs wraps around the length of him as much as his grip can managed through the taut fabric of those fucking pants and there's nothing Logan wants more than to be rid of any lingering smell of Frank fucking Castle right now.
His hand is flat and firm against Kurt chest when he shoves the younger man back, leaning him deeper across the counter. As close as space allowed for laying him completely out. Hunched over Kurt's bare body he bites at the the plane of his stomach, ensuring his teeth catch flesh and not just fur. Hauling firmly on those sweats he pulls them down a few mere inches until he realizes its Kurt fighting his effort. Looking up at the man over his sort bare chest, it takes nothing to realize what he wants. "It'll hurt," he huffs. But all the younger man has to do is level that toothy grin and Logan doesn't hesitate.
A claw snikts from between his knuckles and Logan peels one of those long legs off of his waist. The blunt back side of that cold metal claw slips up Kurt's ankle. Starting its long slow run in the fabric right beneath the cuff. Over the curve of his knee. Logan's hand splays on his stomach. Enforcing his stillness firmly as that cold blade makes the most dangerous stretch of its journey. Carefully up the tender inside of his thigh and out through the waist band.
For a man who has bound so much of his life with faith and doctrine, Kurt has never found it easy to resist temptation. Over the years it's cost him deeply, though he does his best to accept those dark times and acknowledge that his loving nature has just as often saved his life. Older and perhaps a little wiser now, he finds himself more likely to agree with Oscar Wilde than the Bible on the matter. In some things, control is necessary. In others, it is far better to yield.
Kurt yields now, enough to push himself into Logan's hand as he grips him, matching Logan's murmured curse with a low noise of his own. He's not surprised and more than a little pleased when Logan's patience ends and he's pushed back onto the counter, though not gently enough for his tired body. He makes a small noise of complaint, quickly forgotten when Logan leans over him, setting his teeth playfully to the muscles of his stomach. Kurt yelps and swats the back of Logan's thigh with his tail, paying him back by stubbornly not helping slide the sweatpants off his hips, knowing he wants to push Logan a little more. He knows they both need this release, not only to satisfy their mingled desire but also to rebuild trust.
So, in the spirit of trust, he does indeed grin in response to Logan's comment. A little pain doesn't scare him, and perhaps it would do Logan good to realise that his partner isn't quite as fragile as he seems to think.
Though despite his bravado, Kurt realises that he didn't quite expect Logan to actually go through with it, and the feel of the hard flat blade against his ankle is enough of a shock to make him hiss out his breath. Logan's hand on his stomach is a steady weight, though Kurt would have preferred it a little lower as the claw slips through cotton with a soft hissing sound, gliding through his fur along his leg, and he has to grip the edge of the counter with one hand to keep himself still as his heartrate increases, danger and lust a heady mix as the blade skates over the inside of his thigh, so slowly, so carefully --
By the time the fabric parts at his waist, Kurt is almost painfully hard, pink tongue darting over dark lips as he looks down the length of his body at Logan, his breathing heavy. He shifts his hips a little, reaching down to push the remaining fabric down and off the rest of the way.
"Logan," he breathes, the single word a command and a request all at once.
Kurt yields now, enough to push himself into Logan's hand as he grips him, matching Logan's murmured curse with a low noise of his own. He's not surprised and more than a little pleased when Logan's patience ends and he's pushed back onto the counter, though not gently enough for his tired body. He makes a small noise of complaint, quickly forgotten when Logan leans over him, setting his teeth playfully to the muscles of his stomach. Kurt yelps and swats the back of Logan's thigh with his tail, paying him back by stubbornly not helping slide the sweatpants off his hips, knowing he wants to push Logan a little more. He knows they both need this release, not only to satisfy their mingled desire but also to rebuild trust.
So, in the spirit of trust, he does indeed grin in response to Logan's comment. A little pain doesn't scare him, and perhaps it would do Logan good to realise that his partner isn't quite as fragile as he seems to think.
Though despite his bravado, Kurt realises that he didn't quite expect Logan to actually go through with it, and the feel of the hard flat blade against his ankle is enough of a shock to make him hiss out his breath. Logan's hand on his stomach is a steady weight, though Kurt would have preferred it a little lower as the claw slips through cotton with a soft hissing sound, gliding through his fur along his leg, and he has to grip the edge of the counter with one hand to keep himself still as his heartrate increases, danger and lust a heady mix as the blade skates over the inside of his thigh, so slowly, so carefully --
By the time the fabric parts at his waist, Kurt is almost painfully hard, pink tongue darting over dark lips as he looks down the length of his body at Logan, his breathing heavy. He shifts his hips a little, reaching down to push the remaining fabric down and off the rest of the way.
"Logan," he breathes, the single word a command and a request all at once.
For all the comments on his indestructibility there are to be made, the most of them are misnomers. Spurious understandings that he’s in no way impervious to pain. Just anatomical ramifications of injury. Where the lines between painful and painful get blurry is where the callouses build up. Never on his body but somewhere in his brain. Somewhere the mind ought to say too much. His remains quiet. A problem of practice not perception. It’s enough to make him uncertain where pain starts for other people. To make him perhaps, overly cautious, of those he’s most afraid to hurt. And more afraid to lose.
But he and Kurt have been testing those boundaries for the better part of their friendship. For all his desire to protect his friend from harm, it’s only fair that he trust what Kurt can take. So often he asks for the same after all.
Still. Logan notices every twitch, Even if he says nothing of it, every flinch and groan, impassioned or painful, he takes stock of. Like the way Kurt’s breath has gone ragged by the time Logan’s knuckles are brushing dangerously along his groin, denying him exactly what he wants while giving him exactly what he asked for. Or the way his eyes glow differently. More softly perhaps. As if the their were reduced by the dilation of some unseen pupil. Or the way Logan’s name sounds on his lips. It’s the last of those details Logan stops to study before his own willpower can no longer outlast Kurt’s.
That single claw snaps back into his arm. The garment comes away easily now, and Logan wastes not a moment on dispatching the desecrated remnants of Frank that dare to stand between them. His hands are firm on Kurt’s hips as he doubles over that body stretched out for him, burying his face in the curve of Kurt’s hip and biting his way from navel to the tender flank inside his thigh. There’s some joy to be had in seeing Kurt like this. Some sense of victory in seeing his friend so wanting. But it’s a difficult thing to revel in too long when the sight of Kurt so worked up makes him ache just as much. Logan’s hands splay across the blue expanse of Kurt’s chest when he closes his mouth around the Kurt’s cock. Drawing him in as Logan takes himself in hand. Working them both to the point they can be go on being rough without friction.
As a man who doesn’t typically mince words when he’s feeling impassioned, he’s decidedly quiet. Option for actions over words. Taking the hand Kurt’s bracing the counter with he replaces the younger man’s grip on his shoulders. It’s a warning of sorts. And the only one Kurt get’s when he hauls his partner closer to the edge of his make-do seat. A touch slick with his own anticipation presses deeply between Kurt’s legs and when he finally looks up with his breath heaving and his eyes blown wide there’s an unspoken request for any changes of heart before he loses himself in these long heated moments.
But he and Kurt have been testing those boundaries for the better part of their friendship. For all his desire to protect his friend from harm, it’s only fair that he trust what Kurt can take. So often he asks for the same after all.
Still. Logan notices every twitch, Even if he says nothing of it, every flinch and groan, impassioned or painful, he takes stock of. Like the way Kurt’s breath has gone ragged by the time Logan’s knuckles are brushing dangerously along his groin, denying him exactly what he wants while giving him exactly what he asked for. Or the way his eyes glow differently. More softly perhaps. As if the their were reduced by the dilation of some unseen pupil. Or the way Logan’s name sounds on his lips. It’s the last of those details Logan stops to study before his own willpower can no longer outlast Kurt’s.
That single claw snaps back into his arm. The garment comes away easily now, and Logan wastes not a moment on dispatching the desecrated remnants of Frank that dare to stand between them. His hands are firm on Kurt’s hips as he doubles over that body stretched out for him, burying his face in the curve of Kurt’s hip and biting his way from navel to the tender flank inside his thigh. There’s some joy to be had in seeing Kurt like this. Some sense of victory in seeing his friend so wanting. But it’s a difficult thing to revel in too long when the sight of Kurt so worked up makes him ache just as much. Logan’s hands splay across the blue expanse of Kurt’s chest when he closes his mouth around the Kurt’s cock. Drawing him in as Logan takes himself in hand. Working them both to the point they can be go on being rough without friction.
As a man who doesn’t typically mince words when he’s feeling impassioned, he’s decidedly quiet. Option for actions over words. Taking the hand Kurt’s bracing the counter with he replaces the younger man’s grip on his shoulders. It’s a warning of sorts. And the only one Kurt get’s when he hauls his partner closer to the edge of his make-do seat. A touch slick with his own anticipation presses deeply between Kurt’s legs and when he finally looks up with his breath heaving and his eyes blown wide there’s an unspoken request for any changes of heart before he loses himself in these long heated moments.
After all that has happened between them and during the time they have been apart -- death and war and worse -- it soothes something in Kurt's heart to know that Logan's touch can still make him groan. That his mouth still feels as good as it did years ago as he presses his teeth into Kurt's fur and flesh, his firm hands the only thing keeping him from falling off the counter as his back arches. Logan may be quiet, but Kurt is decidedly not, murmuring entreaties in German and English and half a dozen other languages between panting breaths. His tail wraps around Logan's waist, tugging him closer even as he leans in and puts that silent tongue to work.
"Ah, Gott im Himmel," Kurt gasps, hooking one knee over Logan's shoulder to encourage him. He watches Logan with glassy golden eyes, what little coherent thought he has left making a pledge to preserve this image of him between his thighs, naked and half-sunlit by the open door, the forest glowing outside.
Then Logan does something with his tongue and Kurt shudders, skating along the edge of losing it too soon, it's been far too long --
But Logan relents, hauling him back over the counter and that's almost good enough, feeling so pulled about, the strength in those wide shoulders and the grip of his fingers over Kurt's thighs as he spreads him. Almost trembling with anticipation, Kurt wraps his legs around Logan's hips and meets his eyes, then reaches up with both hands and buries his fingers in Logan's hair as he kisses him deeply, tasting himself, salt-sweet, on his tongue, and hoping that will be answer enough to the unasked question.
"Ah, Gott im Himmel," Kurt gasps, hooking one knee over Logan's shoulder to encourage him. He watches Logan with glassy golden eyes, what little coherent thought he has left making a pledge to preserve this image of him between his thighs, naked and half-sunlit by the open door, the forest glowing outside.
Then Logan does something with his tongue and Kurt shudders, skating along the edge of losing it too soon, it's been far too long --
But Logan relents, hauling him back over the counter and that's almost good enough, feeling so pulled about, the strength in those wide shoulders and the grip of his fingers over Kurt's thighs as he spreads him. Almost trembling with anticipation, Kurt wraps his legs around Logan's hips and meets his eyes, then reaches up with both hands and buries his fingers in Logan's hair as he kisses him deeply, tasting himself, salt-sweet, on his tongue, and hoping that will be answer enough to the unasked question.
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