In the days after Logan's return, sleep becomes a scarcity for the occupants of the cabin. Though for some it's merely a continuation of a lifetime's habitual wakefulness -- and in one case supplemented by a supernatural amount of stamina -- for Kurt it proves to be something of a test. A light sleeper who has, through the erosion of years, been forced to become someone who can doze through everything from rowdy students thundering past his door to bed partners who have at best a very tenuous grasp on what constitutes "peaceful", he's not unused to a rapidly changing living situation. He's even become somewhat used to waking up to Logan thrashing and snarling beside him, fighting his way through the deep undergrowth of nightmare horrors that Kurt can't even begin to fathom. But between the early fall humidity and the onset of Logan's death flu symptoms, as well as the many adjustments of the three of them getting used to sharing such a small space, even that ability to cope has been challenged.

He falls back on a habit of cat napping (or "elf napping", as Kitty always used to call it), snatching an hour or so at a time stretched out on the couch, often with his head or feet in a warm lap, hands rising and falling against his thighs and stomach in comforting staccato. Once or twice he even resorts to curling up in the sun on the roof of the cabin. It's enough to keep him upright and mostly functional during the day, but he can't deny the longing for a simple night's rest.

So it's with perhaps a little frustration that he finds himself pulled gently out of the drifting, skimming edge of sleep by fingertips drawing gentle channels in the fur of his belly. The air in the room is heavy and close, the bed is almost too warm, sheets rumpled and kicked off onto the floor. Thunder grumbles overhead, accompanied by the steady drumbeat of rain against the roof, occasionally rattling the windows as the wind shifts and changes, as unsettled as the occupants of the small homestead.

Lightning flashes, casting grey shadows into the room as Kurt opens his eyes, thin slices of gold, to look at the man whose hands are now exploring, in long slow circles, the velvet curves of his hips and further down, moving with long-practised patience.

"You're incorrigible," he breathes, the fondness in his tone and the smile on his lips stripping the words of any actual irritation. Not that he's particularly willing to do anything to stop him; the gentle touch has already stirred the embers of desire in him, making him rise into Logan's hand, moving with languid heat through his body. He makes a small soft noise as Logan finds a particularly sensitive spot, letting his eyes close again.

Well, if he isn't going to sleep, he might as well enjoy himself.