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[suchmiracles]

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[suchmiracles]

Over the years, Kurt has had little reason to make a conscious effort to avoid his birthday. The work of the X-Men is seemingly never done, and he can often count on being busy enough fighting for his life or the lives of his friends, being bounced around various dimensions or just up to his pointed ears in teaching duties to keep his mind off the auspicious date.

It's not that he minds aging, specifically -- though he's still not entirely sure he wants to think too much about whether that particular mark of humanity will even be available to him, the child of a shapeshifter and a seemingly immortal ruler of the underworld -- but the fact that his birthday has frequently been the lodestone which has drawn bad luck and worse down on his head and those of his loved ones. Margali and her schemes are a long way behind him now, but he can't get past the habit of avoidance, or at least a certain amount of wilful ignorance.

When the day comes, he finds himself in a contemplative mood, already stacking tasks ahead of himself. He greets the dawn out in the forest, working himself hard through his usual exercise routine that's as meditative as it is essential, until the burn of the cold air has settled deep into his muscles. Returning to the cabin, he heads towards the bathroom already pulling his sweat-damp t-shirt off over his head, then blinks in surprise when he finds Wes waiting for him.

His gaze takes in the assembled items and the slightly sheepish smile from his partner and feels, suddenly, both foolish and immeasurably grateful. An answering smile wreaths his expression, letting his love for the man in front of him show in his face. In some ways it's still something he's getting used to, having the uniqueness of his body not just tolerated but appreciated, admired, longed for. To be reminded of that, to be offered without question a space where he's cared for, salves an old ache that he hadn't realised was tugging at him.

I would like that, he replies, without hesitation, dropping his shirt onto the floor and stepping in to the warm oakmoss and leather scented space around the taller man. The yoga pants that Wes himself gifted him last Christmas are the only thing he has on as he sways into him close enough to brush his hands against his chest when he continues. I love having your hands on me.