suchmiracles | IC; Deerington Inbox

Kurt lifts a hand to slide his palm over Jean-Paul's side, mapping those familiar planes under his palm, encouraging the other man to lie back as the kiss deepens. Thoughts of propriety and whether this is truly a good idea, whether it will only make things more difficult or confusing for his partner, skate through his mind. He tries to shrug them off, but eventually has to pull back a little, enough to catch Jean-Paul's gaze again.

"Liebling, is this okay?"

He lays back when urged to do so, feeling the gentle sway of the hammock as he settles. When Kurt breaks their kiss he studies those luminous yellow eyes with an easy calm.

"It's okay," he says softly. "Wit' you, I think it's okay. I don't know why." He runs his hand up Kurt's arm, mouth turning up at the corners in a secret smile as he feels the soft texture of his fur.

"Are you okay?"

Kurt can't resist the urge to press his lips to that smile, chasing it from the corner of his lips and kissing him softly before pulling back again.

"I'm okay as long as you are, schatz," he murmurs, stroking a hand down Jean-Paul's chest, wanting more than anything for his partner to feel the gratitude that wells up in him when he considers everything that's brought them together. "We can stay like this for as long as you want."

"I'm okay," Jean-Paul assures him again. He smiles, placing his hand on Kurt's as it touches his chest. "If that changes, I'll tell you. I'm not going to bulldoze ahead on this." He laughs. "For once."

He shifts his body to let Kurt's fit even closer to his own. "We'll just... have some fun and go slow."

"I like the sound of that," Kurt sighs, letting Jean-Paul move until they're lying together in the gently swaying hammock. He dips his head to nuzzle the side of the French Canadian's throat, inhaling his scent and kissing him just below his ear as his hand slides down over Jean-Paul's stomach.

"I like hearing you laugh as well," he murmurs against him. "I'm glad that you're happy."

There is absolutely no mistaking Kurt for anyone else - his physical mutations make such a thing impossible. The feel of his hands, the texture of his fur... Jean-Paul finds himself relaxing somewhat. This is not his husband. It's <>Kurt. And some part of him has missed having Kurt this way so very much.

"You make me very happy," he whispers back. His hands skate over Kurt's shoulders and back, tracing his spine down to the curve of his ass. "You are a light, Kurt."

Kurt hums with pleasure at that gentle touch, a loop of his tail reaching out to keep Jean-Paul's hand where it ends up.

"That's good," he says, already grinning against the side of the other man's neck, "otherwise we'd be too heavy to stay in the hammock." It's a terrible joke, but he can't stop himself giggling at it anyway.

Jean-Paul surprises himself by bursting into laughter. "Kurt, that's terrible," he chastises, but he hugs the other man tighter all the same.

"You're the king of dad jokes, it's awful."

The sound of Jean-Paul's laughter makes everything worth it.

"Well, at least I'm king of something," Kurt replies playfully, leaning up a little so he can look Jean-Paul in the eye before kissing him again.

"King of my heart," Jean-Paul purrs before he kisses back. He lets his body do what it wants to without fighting it - his limbs tangle around Kurt's form, his mouth opens readily, and his hips lift gently.

He waits for the guilt to come, but it does not.

Kurt huffs a fond, amused breath against Jean-Paul's lips at his comment, the lightness quickly taken over by the electricity and heat of their contact. Each of his partners is so different from one another; he relishes the feel of the French Canadian against him, his slim hips and the warm muscles underneath the fabric of his clothes.

He shifts slightly as they kiss, letting the hammock move until he's straddling Jean-Paul's hips.

"Du bist sehr schön," he breathes, thumbs drawing fans over Jean-Paul's cheeks.

Jean-Paul's eyelids flutter, mostly closed, and his head rolls to chase those soft touches. His hands slide over Kurt's thighs, mapping the taut lines of muscle there.

"Don't know what that means," he sighs as he moves his hands to lovingly squeeze Kurt's ass. Every inch of the man is lithe and tight, and Jean-Paul touches Kurt's body with something approaching reverence.

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