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The absence of Logan's leaning weight between his legs, the pulse and pressure of him inside Kurt's body, is almost as difficult to endure as the teasing had been. It's almost enough to make him want to shrug off Logan's command and follow him out into the kitchen, continuing things against the counter or the floor instead of the warm bed. Almost.

Thankfully, Kurt has learned to savour anticipation as well as gratification, and the way that Logan leaves him, sprawled and needy and on display, one foot crooked against the edge of the mattress and the other skimming over the floor, makes the savouring of it sweet indeed. So he stays like that, obedient as any student, arms up over his head as he listens to the dim roar of the rain and the thunder of his own heartbeat that seems just as loud as the storm. The bed is much more comfortable than the floor of the Danger Room or the training mats at the circus, but he knows this feeling just as well. Cast adrift, floating free but fully present in his body, his thoughts brief scraps of things that don't linger long enough to trouble him. Instead he focuses on the dampness in the fur low on his belly, the tight hot need between his legs, the pleasant ache of lightly used muscles and the cool floorboards under his toes. He drags the tip of his tail down over his chest and wonders if Logan's stipulations about touching himself only cover his hands.

Between the noise of the weather outside and the tidal surges of his own breathing, as well as the man's own proficiency in stealth, Kurt can't quite hear Logan move through the cabin. He does, however, catch the startled noise as Wrench, presumably, becomes quickly acquainted with that particular ability, and grins up at the shadowed ceiling.

Still, it seems as though Wrench isn't particularly put off by being snuck up on by the Wolverine, because his yelp of fear is quickly followed by the thud of his footsteps moving towards the bedroom. Kurt catches his lower lip against his sharp teeth, the speed of his breathing and heart-rate increasing as he realises he's being approached. He remains true to his word, however, and doesn't so much as twitch until Wrench's weight is tipping the mattress down and his breath is hot in the fur of his throat. Kurt groans at the touch, unable to help himself, turning his head and opening his eyes to catch the movements of Wrench's hands between them.

Did you like it? He asks, as if he can't feel the evidence of how much he liked it against his hip or indeed hadn't spent the last few minutes listening to his appreciative feedback. His tail is more direct as it slips down the man's body, winding a slow coil around his length and stroking upwards.

His smile is all too pleased with himself when Wes startles to attention and does what he can to maintain some amount of modesty. It's all in vain of course. To his nose, the whole place smells faintly of sex and sweat and testosterone. All of which only serve to keep him keyed up even when he's sucking on a beer and not Kurt.

He's tempted to same something toward the fact that no combination of the three of them haven't seen each other naked at this point, but clever wordplay isn't all that easy when his dick is hard. Instead he drinks and watches Wes strip.

"I'll be along..." he promises, answering the question a nod as well. And he's true to his word. He just doesn't hurry. Taking that drink with him he leans on the door jamb a moment just to watch. To see the way these two reach for each other. Which angles of one another they gravitate to.

From where he watches and waits, feeding his appetite with just his eyes and the occassional lazy stroke, Logan wishes he'd been a fly on the wall that first time. Oh, to have witnessed Wes' first fascinations with that lean, lithe body he knows so well, extra appendage and all.

"If I didn't know better, Elf. I'd think you had a t-y-p-e."

I wanted to come in here and see it myself. I wanted to watch what he was doing to you. Wrench sits back on his heels to paint the picture for the both of them of a man yearning for a closer look at the things they inspire in one another. I want to know what you look like when you give yourself up to him. The spade of Kurt's tail makes him shudder, and he trembles at the sensations the man can inspire while keeping his hands free. It makes Wrench nip his lip and look back at the other man tending to himself languidly as he leans against the wall. Watching between the two of them makes his skin prickle to life, and he extends a hand out to Jim to invite him nearer again to the bed.

Why don't you let him fuck you, and I'll take care of this? He takes Kurt's cock in his hand with enough certain insistence to inspire a reaction, but not to satisfy. Just to keep him on the very edge of his own agonizing pleasure, tilting closer to helpless frustration than release. Wrench keeps Kurt in his warm palm as his eyes wander to the other man for his confirmation, wondering what he thinks of the idea of sharing.

Wrench's language lessons have been extensive and wide-ranging, covering everything from the necessary pragmatism of medical nomenclature to fishing stories. Kurt has come to appreciate, in many ways, the increasingly poetic syntax of his hands and the expressions of his face. Now, lying in the rain-filled darkness that's full of the spicy heat of sex, he realises the beauty in the way a crooked finger and glancing palm can make him shiver even before they touch him. Want and need are written in the air as plain as the pulse he can feel against his tail.

He's glad, though, when that palm crosses the divide between them, sliding along his length as he lifts his hips to follow it, making a soft tense noise in the back of his throat. He reaches out a hand out to touch Wrench's thigh, fingertips seeking any part they can reach, wanting to ground himself, reassure himself, in the solid feel of him before anything else happens.

Kurt doesn't reply to either of them, at least not with words, letting the accepting shudder of his body be any answer they need.

Edited 2019-09-24 09:03 (UTC)

Logan has patience. His mastery of apathy makes him look calm even in situations that don't call for it at all. Despite the languid way he moves, it doesn't take more than Wes' suggestion to have him nodding and returning to the bed he warmed for them.

He sits at the edge of the mattress and drains the last of his beer. Setting the bottle precariously on the top edge of the headboard. It's just wide enough to set there, but he's being optimistic if he thinks this bed sturdy enough that it will stay.

He watches the way they approach each other a long moment. It's nothing like the way Logan tends to reach for either of them. What's between them seems gentler. More flighty. Moving from one spot to the next like neither can decide what they most want with the other man. Logan tends to know what he wants. At least in such a situation as this. He catches Kurt at the hip and pulls him closer. Dropping a hand to his thigh as if to encourage him there. "sit" he says, an invitation to perch upon him like some kind of arm chair.

It takes a careful moment to settle him there seated firmly against Logan's hips, but when he relaxes, leans back into Logan's chest, the older man leg's his legs fall open in a wide V, parting those legs that straddle his as well. Had at Kurt's hips, he reaches around to stroke him lazily once or twice. As if to serve him up to the tall blond who's eyes follow every movement intensely.

When Wes's touch replaces his own, Logan's hands are free to wander. Coursing up that lithe body, encouraging Kurt's head back against his shoulder so Logan can reach his long neck with his teeth.

It's the picture Wrench wants the most, served up to him like he's front row for a pornographic home video. He's reached into those planes and explored the peaks and valleys of both men's bodies curved towards him. Now he watches with admiration as they angle towards one another. What he could only glimpse at across the distance of the cabin is here now in front of him, in all its living definition. The way the two men find each other with ease and settle in like two pieces clicking together. Wrench finds the wanting there in the pit of his stomach, where the warmth has pooled. It tugs at him to see it, and he comes to his knees on the floor of the cabin in front of the two men and lifts his head toward the flashes of lightning behind them.

His lips take their time, pressing at the inner joint of Kurt's kneecap first. He nuzzles the soft skin, letting his mouth and tongue taste the heat and the beads of sweat up the inside of his thigh. When blue intersects white and the fur becomes more coarse along the leg of the other man, Wrench pauses there as well. He lets his nose bury itself along Logan's open thigh a moment, then gives the points of his canines gently to the raking exploration. For a moment he lavishes the both of them with his tender attention, touching, tasting, smelling them as they bury themselves into each other. Then Wrench takes Kurt into his mouth, letting the strength of Logan's wanting thrusts urge him more deeply.

The surrender of giving up his body to be used by the two men who surround him, heart and soul, is not an unfamiliar feeling for Kurt. In the circus he was an instrument of entertainment and joy, risking himself freely as he moved through the smoky atmosphere of the big top. With the X-Men, it had cost him in more than just bruises, but it was a cause he dedicated himself to nonetheless, and he was glad to be the sword that caught the edge of a stronger blade. Now, in the storm-lit room, his audience is smaller, but no less important to him.

His gaze is soft and dark, his eyes lit through smoked glass, as he moves easily, obediently, from the bed into Logan's lap. A loop of his tail and long nights of familiarity with Logan's body make it easy; he moans, a small helpless noise of pleasure and release, as Logan pushes up into him again. He crooks his feet around the backs of Logan's calves, letting the man underneath him spread his thighs as he settles back, hips already moving even as Logan's hand finds him.

Wrench's skin has lost some of that sun-touched glow in the flat white brilliance of the lightning flashes, but it still feels warm under Kurt's palm as he settles his hand first on his shoulder, then sliding up to the back of his neck as the man explores the space between them. Kurt lets his head loll back against Logan's shoulder, his breath catching at the feel of the Wolverine's teeth against his throat, then again as Wrench takes him into his mouth. He buries his fingers in Wrench's hair and his tail grips Logan's ankle and lets it all roll him under.

For a time he's able to stay there, rocking between heat and pressure, letting the tension build on waves of sensation, each one rising higher than the last before falling again. But he's been on edge for too long and it's too much, almost, of what he wants.

The movements of his hips, riding the swell of Logan's thrusts, become steadily more erratic. His hold on Wrench is an anchor against the tide, but it's clear he's heading towards a foregone conclusion.

He arches his back against Logan's chest, reaching up blindly, seeking the curve of Logan's bowed head, flattening his palm against the nape of his neck.

"Logan.. I, ah, I need.. bitte Liebe, can I.."

Permission granted or denied, it doesn't matter, he's lost to it anyway. With a hoarse cry and a shudder that runs the length of his body, he comes hard enough that for a moment the world is lost in a sea of shadows and thunder.

Logan's never fully understood Kurt's desire to be the focal point. The object of such scrutiny and attention, but he takes plenty of joy in giving over that focus when it makes Kurt writhe like he does now.

With one arm crossing Kurt's chest like a strap, he holds their bodies flush together. The other hand tugs gently on a fistful of hair, coaxing his chin towards the ceiling so the view from over his shoulder is nothing but taut, chiseled angles from his Adam's apple to his collar bone, all the way down to his stuttering hips.

At first he takes his time. A deep and deliberate rolling his hips against Kurt's backside just to enjoy the view from up here. Watching Kurt's fingers curl involuntarily around a handful of Wes' oatmeal blond hair. The way his stomach inflates with quick puffs of breath when the younger man devours him. The way he tightens his thighs when the younger man teases him and rewards his patience by drawing him in.

He groans against Kurt's neck and drags his teeth gently over that pointed ear. "you're so damn thirsty," he growls only to catch the sight of Wes' interested eyes looking up to follow the minor movement of his lips. He drags a finger down Kurt's throat to his sternum. Signing his intention on the other man's body.

That broken string of half requests feels like a thought shattered by the tectonic shift threatening to quake his entire body. It begins in his hips. His tail seems to tighten around Logan's leg and Logan holds him tighter as the younger man shivers against his chest. Splaying his heavy hand low across Kurt's stomach as he starts bucking sporadically towards the mouth that finishes him.

"Fuck..." he growls, biting the shoulder just below his chin. He doesn't bother holding out. Instead of conjuring up the willpower to wait, he leans into it. Letting the way Kurt's body tightens around him be the catalyst for his own shuddering end.

Taking a moment to collect himself, his own breath feels hot and damp in the crook of that fuzzy neck. When his eyes open, Wes is sitting back on his heels and Logan looks down at him until he catches his gaze. Your turn.

His hands seek the touch of both men as their arcing rhythm becomes more erratic. Wrench draws Kurt in with his lips and Logan with a grasp to his captured waist in a tangle of discordant flesh and rising heat. From his vantage point he can watch and feel as they both come crashing toward their own ends. Muscles freezing and twitching, the gasping shudders, and the half-formed pleas that shape both men into something feral and pure all at once. There's no space between them for lies or deceit. Not a breath reserved, even, for self-consciousness or polite reservation. He feels it as they both give in to the most primal parts of themselves. That flash of tension before they lose themselves to waves of earnest pleasure. Maybe it's the one thing Deerington can't corrupt. The single thing they own in this place that can't be taken from them or twisted and manipulated to be used for harm. It's gratitude unfolding from a singular point, and rippling out in long and languid waves.

When Kurt is depleted -- body still humming in aftershock -- Wrench sits back on his heels and wipes his lips. He regards the two men with green eyes made bright by the distant crackle of lightning. A smile parts his lips and reveals the gentle gap between his front teeth. The earnest expression seems for a moment almost shy or startled by what he's done, but the longer he goes on watching himself be watched by the two men who haven't even found the wherewithal to separate themselves, the more that grin shapes the curved corners of his mouth into something more coy.

He holds up a hand to stop the man who beckons him, and shapes his fingers into a spread Y instead. Stay, Wrench insists of the both of them, and crawls on his knees just far enough backward to be out of reach. Nipping his lower lip, he takes himself in his own hand, not so unlike the way he'd been before he was discovered. Just feet from them, he gazes unflinchingly at his rapt audience as he strokes himself more urgently, wetting his lips and letting his own breaths fall heavily as the little urgent sighs give way to deeper groans. The mounting sensation of his own pleasure makes him want to tip his head and gasp toward the ceiling, but he keeps his focus on the two men, insisting their attention as he writhes under his own doing and works himself to a moaning completion for their own observation.

The feel of Logan bucking and shuddering underneath him is delicious enough to extend Kurt's own pleasure, shivers running like the pulse of electricity through his body in gradually slowing waves. His awareness thrums, cast wide and held in small individual moments at the same time. The ache of Logan's teeth against his shoulder, already bruising; the warmth of Wrench between his legs and the slide of his tongue and lips as he leaves him, replaced by the cool breath of the night air.

Kurt leans back against Logan's solid warmth, his breathing becoming steadier as he watches, through lowered lashes, Wrench move to sit back away from them. He's tempted to ignore Wrench's instructions and follow him, replacing his fingers with his own mouth, but the thought of watching him touch himself is enough to keep him in place for now. He rolls his body a little, enjoying the feel of Logan still inside him and the low rumble of his response. Reaching down, he encourages Logan's hands to dig into his fur, not quite tired enough to resist the urge to be playful as the storm accompanies Wrench's moans.

His softly glowing eyes devour the sight of their newest partner reaching climax, his pointed teeth catching his lower lip as his own hips rise and fall in unconscious response. As Wrench subsides, he carefully lifts himself off of Logan's lap, giving the Canadian a lambent glance and a brief caress of his tail across his jaw as he stands up, only slightly shaky. This, he decides, is far from over.

He pads over to Wrench, the shadows of the dimly lit room turning into inky brushstrokes across his fur, then kneels between his spread legs. Slowly, he reaches down and takes up Wrench's hand in both of his, raising it to his mouth to carefully and delicately lick it clean.

Edited 2019-09-29 21:51 (UTC)

When Kurt finds his feet gracefully, the groan that escapes Logan is anything but. A short, pained and totally involuntary sound brought on by the unexpected stimulation and shiver that takes place of the warmth that once surrounded him.

More exhausted than he'd typically expect to be after just one round, he can't help but feel like that lethargic feeling that people tell him will eventually go away has already over stayed its welcome. He lets himself drop back to the bed, but's a short lived relaxation when Kurt's tail gazes his chin and pulls his attention down towards the pair of them knelt there before the bed.

If watching Wes make a show of himself wasn't already enough to make him think he can rally for more of this, he moans some frustrated obscenities when the two of them paw at each other. Propping himself up on an elbow he watches a long moment, stroking himself, letting his breath heave, until that ragged breath dissolves into a cough.

"If you're gonna keep that up you both need to get up here where I can reach you," he grumbles. Maybe it's the minor work out, his shallow breath or just his satiated expression, but Logan, despite himself, looks more tired now than he did when he woke them up for this.

Arced back on his heels, Wrench feeds Kurt his fingers like a priest offering blessed communion. The body is his own, shared at the other man's lips and compressed against his tongue until his own mouth parts in kind and he shudders out a hot, quaking breath. The heady insistence leaves no room for his gratitude, but it's what Wrench feels most profoundly as he looks past the man drinking him in to the bed where the third in their trio lies stretched across the mattress like a fresh body laid to rest. For a moment he's overcome by what he doesn't know about these men -- what they still don't know about him -- but the peace he's found here nevertheless. There's an implicit understanding shared in the silence between their bodies. A sort of forgiveness between men like them who know better than to ask the questions they might not want to answer for themselves.

Wrench drags Kurt's lower lip into a pout with his finger and leans in to kiss him, brazen and unapologetic and intended for the watchful eyes of the man on the bed whose hand moves against himself again. When Logan beckons to them he smiles and finds his feet, dragging his shorts back up himself but discarding his undershirt before offering a hand down to his companion. He gestures to the bed, but doesn't move to join the duo immediately. Instead Wrench notes the flush on Logan's skin and the bead of sweat that lingers on his brow. You need water, he notes, and pads through the darkened cabin to the kitchen to return with a filled glass for the man.

He doesn't intend to stay, expecting on this night like the ones before that his restlessness will only keep the two men up. But as Wrench settles at the edge of the bed to insist that Logan drink, he finds his own sense of exhaustion almost overwhelming, and the desire to settle in with them almost unignorable.

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