The wanting is not so easily separated from the curiosity when Wrench longs to spread his attention over the planes of Kurt's body. He's considered without touch the hollows and valleys as he's wound bandages, offered himself as a footstool, and served as a willing and warming bedfellow to the other man. His mind has delighted and confounded itself with interest and envy of the way Kurt carries himself, even when hurt. The careful balancing act not just on the backs of Logan's kitchen chairs, but as he navigates their circumstance as well. Curiosity for Wrench runs far deeper than the planes of blue, the arc and sway of a prehensile tail, and the leathery pads of his three fingers. He still wonders why Kurt gave him a chance those days ago. Why he's invited him to stay here, in the absence of the man he mourns. And how much forgiveness he truly has the capacity to impart.
After night spent pressing his flattened palm to Kurt's heart and trying to capture each soft reverberation, the life he holds in his warm palm now makes him quake with excitement. This is Wrench's selfishness, to hold the man against him and feel every bit of what he can inspire from his prone body. He knows how to hold men on the edge of their own terror, how to make them realize their vulnerability in front of him. Some of those skills prove transferrable. He wants Kurt to give himself over, to release his guard into Wrench's body. And he wants to feel the man driven to the point where it becomes instinct. Where it's almost too difficult not to simply let go.
He strokes Kurt in his palm and thumbs slow circles around the tip of his cock, gazing up the length of his bandaged torso to watch his reaction through long lashes. It's a teasing touch, like Wrench might gladly spend the rest of the night right here, watching the impatient rock and shift of his companion's hips. But when he feels that tail reach between his own legs he shudders and clasps the man at his flanks, pinning him down to bury his face between Kurt's thighs and slick his length with his warm spit.
cw: sexual content
After night spent pressing his flattened palm to Kurt's heart and trying to capture each soft reverberation, the life he holds in his warm palm now makes him quake with excitement. This is Wrench's selfishness, to hold the man against him and feel every bit of what he can inspire from his prone body. He knows how to hold men on the edge of their own terror, how to make them realize their vulnerability in front of him. Some of those skills prove transferrable. He wants Kurt to give himself over, to release his guard into Wrench's body. And he wants to feel the man driven to the point where it becomes instinct. Where it's almost too difficult not to simply let go.
He strokes Kurt in his palm and thumbs slow circles around the tip of his cock, gazing up the length of his bandaged torso to watch his reaction through long lashes. It's a teasing touch, like Wrench might gladly spend the rest of the night right here, watching the impatient rock and shift of his companion's hips. But when he feels that tail reach between his own legs he shudders and clasps the man at his flanks, pinning him down to bury his face between Kurt's thighs and slick his length with his warm spit.