Like This
by
Te
Disclaimers: Not even close to mine, dammit.
Acknowledgments: To my We, for coddling me in my insanity, especially Miss Deb.
This isn't the first time.
And Logan's in no mood to count, or even think about what time this is -- never mind what it all means -- but... not the first.
He gets a little more open every time. A little less... whatever it is that made Kurt *Kurt*, instead of the man who comes to him. Who always knows when.
Maybe he counts the beers in the fridge, maybe he smells it on the air. Maybe -- most likely -- it doesn't have a damn thing to do with him.
And that's what pisses him off, more than anything else.
Once upon a time, Kurt was as much of a friend as Logan had ever had. Someone who understood him, and even when he didn't made an *effort*. And made that effort look just as easy and natural as everything else. A good man, and Logan hadn't been surprised when he'd shown up with the collar, because if anyone had the right to be a priest in this fuckup of a world, it was Kurt.
But now... now he thinks he should've said something. *Done* something, even if it was only to ask if he was sure. If the religion was *really* all he wanted. Needed.
These days (and nights, don't forget those), it seems like the only time the man is easy in his skin is when he's in nothing but.
When he twists the lock on the door and... Jesus.
Golden eyes not-quite-closed and one strong, strange hand running down the center of the lean chest. Below the navel, where the hair is curly and black with a blue shine. Logan knows that shine now.
Knows the way it will feel to twist those hairs between his fingers. The noise Kurt will make when he pulls too hard.
"Logan..."
And this... he thinks he could maybe learn to hate himself for this. The way the sound of his name in that mouth makes him jerk a little beneath the skin. The way he wants to hear more.
But there's only a sigh, and Kurt pads across the floor to him, casually skirting trash. Not-so-casually pushing his legs apart with his own.
This is the moment, right here, when Logan thinks he'll say something. That they'll actually go back to at least pretending to be friends for long enough for Logan to catch a clue.
He can smell it on him, yeah. The sex, the hurt, the *hunger* like acid-edging on a knife, but he has no idea what it means.
And Kurt's not talking.
He doesn't close his eyes against the feel of that hand on his face, even though a good portion of his brain is suddenly focused on cataloguing calluses, on trying to tease out desire and intent.
Thumb against his the hinge of his jaw, and Logan thinks he knows, thinks he might even have something to say about it, but Kurt just tilts his head up.
Looks down at him with all that tangled *emotion* behind his eyes, lips parted on the edge of... what?
Nothing but a kiss, apparently, and tasting him doesn't tell Logan anything he doesn't already know. Doesn't do anything but make him harder, make him wish he'd had time to drink more, or maybe less.
Nothing new, but God, Kurt's mouth is a furnace, a dark tease of sharp teeth and slick tongue.
And this, at least, gets him talking. Endless muffled groans just on the far edge of understandable language. He kisses like he wants to eat Logan alive, and sometimes Logan thinks he'd let him.
Just to be able to think something is getting through, because he sure as fuck isn't.
Kurt, straddling his thighs, and he always thinks he'll be ready for this -- the next time if not now. But every time Kurt just seems that much more naked, that much more obscene and perfect for *just* this. Only this.
Easy to touch and easy to push and pull and *hold*.
Right there. Logan thinks about what he's feeling right now. The chafe of Logan's pants on his thighs. The bruises from his fingers that won't show unless someone looks too closely.
Has to...
Bites down on the long muscle between neck and shoulder and gets a gasp. Kurt's cock is almost brushing his belly, Kurt's hips moving like they're already. Fuck, and it's hard to keep control. Hard not to just *take* this, especially knowing that it's probably what Kurt wants.
Maybe even what he *expects*.
And what gives him the right, anyway? Who is he in Kurt's head that he could just... *do* this? Teleport here, naked and ready, and think he's going to get... exactly what he *is* getting.
I hate you, he says, but it doesn't get past his mouth.
The work of a moment to knock everything off the table, beer spilling like a metaphor and newspapers crackling like fire. Another to push him down, spread him out, and Kurt just *lies* there. Or... no.
Kurt drops one leg off the table and bends the other one up. One hand on his cock and one reaching out. Meaning a lot less than the look in his eyes, than the shocking red where one of them has bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed.
"You want this," and it isn't a question.
"Please," is all Kurt says, but that's enough.
And Logan has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, because... because it's always been just the little things. A hand-job, or Kurt on his knees between Logan's thighs. Quick and painless, right?
Shakes like a dog and tries to focus, to *think* about this. They need... they have to... he starts back toward his bedroom, but there's a tail wrapped tight around his arm and Kurt is looking at him with nothing but urgency. Maybe something else, buried deep and dark beneath it.
Kurt is sitting up and pulling him close, pulling his hand down between his thighs and... slick.
Hot and tight but not so tight he wouldn't be able to...
"Kurt --"
"*Please*..." Accent so strong it comes out as a hiss and... he wants to say it's okay, wants to say that he'll do anything, that he'd never hurt, and never be anything but what Kurt needs, but none of the words are coming.
He doesn't think Kurt wants to hear them anyway. Tensed up all over that body and urging him on. And those legs around his waist are bad enough, but then Kurt throws one up over his shoulder.
Holds himself upright on one elbow and tugs at Logan's pants. And it's like being hypnotized, or maybe underwater. Like being *helpless*, but it's not like Kurt doesn't *know* he's hard.
That he wants this so much it feels like his brain is falling apart.
Sound of his zipper like an accusation, but it doesn't last, because Kurt has him, has him out in the air and cradled in his hand. Logan can see the muscles of the man's belly trembling, and the position is really impossible, but... God.
He wants Kurt to touch him like this all the time. To want him that much, even when he's all dressed up in his preacher clothes. Even when there's more to the world than just this room and the stink of beer and sex.
And Logan has to laugh at himself a little, but that doesn't last long either. Kurt's stroking him, making those not-word sounds. Getting him harder and stroking pre-come all along his length and not meeting his eyes.
I would've given you this, Logan doesn't say, and pushes Kurt's shoulders down to the table. Spreads him wider and rocks his way in before his brain can scream at him anymore.
Inch by inch and it's so hot, so tight, and just barely slick enough. Like it's gonna burn to do this the way he wants to, and he thinks maybe *both* of them want it that way.
"Ah --"
But Logan can't so much as pause. Just wraps his arms around Kurt's thighs and holds on. Fucks his way in and closes his eyes against the sight. And that just makes it hotter, like there's nothing of him but his cock, driving in balls-deep and --
"Oh... oh *god* --"
And Kurt almost sounds like he's *hurting*, but he just keeps bucking into Logan's thrusts and it's too much to worry about the niceties. Not with this wealth of sweat and sex and sleek, downy fur. He wants this in his bed, the *scent* of it, but more than that he wants just what he's getting.
Hand on his face and he snaps at it, but Kurt doesn't take it away, just strokes his cheek and up over his closed eyes and there's a fire in Logan's belly he thinks might kill him.
But he opens his eyes anyway.
A hallucinatory flash of a crooked smile fading into just another face in extremis, dark and twisted. More beautiful than Logan wants to deal with.
And Kurt's hand falls away from his face and he's got himself in hand, stroking hard and fast, not even bothering to match the rhythm. Makes *Logan* want to match the rhythm and the table is shaking and creaking across the floor and there's an animal snarl he knows is his own and he can't stop and he doesn't ever want to.
Wants it to be just like this forever, trapped together with the teasing promise of connection and the raw reality of a fuck.
"Logan --" And Kurt is coming all over them both, shaking and bearing down hard and Logan fights it, fights the rush of it, even though he can't make himself slow down.
And Kurt's moaning with every stroke, jerking with every thrust, eyes squeezed shut and Logan thinks if he just opened them again, if he just... if they could just...
Comes hard and helpless, like a bullet to the spine and far less easy to recover from.
Braces himself over Kurt's body and just... breathes.
If this was any other time, any other one of their little encounters, Kurt would be getting up. Slipping away, and yeah, he's already trying to move.
For a moment, all Logan can think is that, if he wanted to, he could make it so that the only way Kurt could get away from this, from *him*, is by teleporting. And when he meets Kurt's eyes, wide and wild and just a little scared, Logan knows Kurt can see it on his face.
Logan closes his eyes again and pulls out as carefully as he can. Eases Kurt's legs down. Grabs another beer from the case and doesn't look around until he can smell brimstone.
Until he can feel the rush of air replacing every trace of Kurt but what was on him.
In him.
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