There's a teasing, almost torturous element to Logan's restraint that has always been enough to drive Kurt to distraction, even outside of the bedroom. It's a quality that he himself has had to learn, being more used to launching into the center of the ring to tackle whatever wants his attention. But Logan can sit by and wait for as long as he has to, marshalling his silence and his strength for the perfect opportunity. Those who don't know him, who expect him to be a brute and a thug, would perhaps be surprised to learn which of the two of them is more capable of patience. Kurt knows that it amuses Logan to prove people wrong, and especially amuses him to use his skills to make Kurt regret every syllable of his request as he stops moving, deliberately, and rumbles his own words back to him.
Kurt shivers underneath him, a soft pleading noise in his throat, almost a whine, unable to stop himself rolling his hips, chasing more of what he wants and can't have. What he needs and doesn't want. It's part of the game, he knows, like the way they used to play tag in the forest. The hunt, the stalk, the give and take of who gets to win this time and who ends up buying the beer. Still, it's infuriating, and that's why Kurt loves it.
He tugs Logan's head down to return the glancing kiss he received, tasting himself on Logan's tongue, groaning into his mouth when the other man starts moving again. He knows how long this can go on for, how long Logan can hold them both on the edge; the anticipation winds through his limbs, making his hips stutter, his cock sliding against Logan's belly.
Slowly, he'd requested, and Logan seems more than happy to fulfill that. Kurt releases him to fall back against the pillows, wanting room to stretch out and let the building rhythm of their joined bodies roll through every inch of him. He takes a breath and a little of the world outside comes back, the sound of the rain and the scent of the fire in the wood stove, and overlaying that Logan's heavy breathing, his own soft helpless noises, the steady creak of the bed. And another sound, which he recognises, but it takes a moment for him to remember where he heard it. In this bedroom, a different night, shaped by gentle hands and the sharp breathless heat of new discoveries in each other.
Kurt opens his eyes, peering past the curve of his own arm crooked above his head, and sees out in a pool of fire-limned warmth a book discarded, long outflung limbs and the column of Wrench's throat as his hand moves in his lap. For a few heartbeats Kurt just watches him, suspended between the weight and fullness of Logan moving inside him and the long silent wood-walled distance between himself and Wrench. The thrill of knowing that Wrench has been able to see them this entire time, that he's been driven to slake his own need through witnessing theirs, sends a spark of redoubled desire shivering down Kurt's spine.
"Lo.. Logan," he breathes, lifting his head to kiss his partner's neck, licking the salt of sweat from his skin, "we.. ahh.. we have an audience."
cw: nsfw
Kurt shivers underneath him, a soft pleading noise in his throat, almost a whine, unable to stop himself rolling his hips, chasing more of what he wants and can't have. What he needs and doesn't want. It's part of the game, he knows, like the way they used to play tag in the forest. The hunt, the stalk, the give and take of who gets to win this time and who ends up buying the beer. Still, it's infuriating, and that's why Kurt loves it.
He tugs Logan's head down to return the glancing kiss he received, tasting himself on Logan's tongue, groaning into his mouth when the other man starts moving again. He knows how long this can go on for, how long Logan can hold them both on the edge; the anticipation winds through his limbs, making his hips stutter, his cock sliding against Logan's belly.
Slowly, he'd requested, and Logan seems more than happy to fulfill that. Kurt releases him to fall back against the pillows, wanting room to stretch out and let the building rhythm of their joined bodies roll through every inch of him. He takes a breath and a little of the world outside comes back, the sound of the rain and the scent of the fire in the wood stove, and overlaying that Logan's heavy breathing, his own soft helpless noises, the steady creak of the bed. And another sound, which he recognises, but it takes a moment for him to remember where he heard it. In this bedroom, a different night, shaped by gentle hands and the sharp breathless heat of new discoveries in each other.
Kurt opens his eyes, peering past the curve of his own arm crooked above his head, and sees out in a pool of fire-limned warmth a book discarded, long outflung limbs and the column of Wrench's throat as his hand moves in his lap. For a few heartbeats Kurt just watches him, suspended between the weight and fullness of Logan moving inside him and the long silent wood-walled distance between himself and Wrench. The thrill of knowing that Wrench has been able to see them this entire time, that he's been driven to slake his own need through witnessing theirs, sends a spark of redoubled desire shivering down Kurt's spine.
"Lo.. Logan," he breathes, lifting his head to kiss his partner's neck, licking the salt of sweat from his skin, "we.. ahh.. we have an audience."