It might be difficult for anyone else to be relaxed while in such a position, but Kurt's unique physiology means he can more than manage it. He sprawls in what room he's given, bracketed by Logan's arms either side of his head, then propped up by him as he sits back. The change in position makes his breath catch and his hips jump, as does the brush of Logan's hand through the fur of his belly, close but not close enough to his cock.

With an effort, he resists the urge to glance over to see if Wrench is watching, wanting to spend a little longer as the apparently unknowing subject of the man's attention. They've been dancing around this possibility since Logan returned, trading touches and kisses, not sure how to navigate what they've become to each other. Kurt feels more than a little responsibility for shaping them, his grief the dark core that holds them together, and is glad to be asked, though he knows it's as much part of the game as a request for guidance. Logan is certainly familiar enough with his voyeuristic streak to know that the question is a difficult one to answer. Kurt listens to the sound of Wrench's gasps and groans, the shift of clothing moving at an increasingly frantic pace, and knows what he wants without having to think much longer about it.

"T.. touch, ahh, Logan, please," he manages to say, the ability to form words becoming increasingly distant as Logan rolls his hips forward. "Can.. you.."