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[suchmiracles]

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cw: sexual content

[wwrench]

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

[suchmiracles]

Wrench's teasing is excruciating, each practised slide of his hand sending ripples of pleasure outward from Kurt's core. His body thrums with it, impatient for something other than pain and grief and muscles locked up with tension. Kurt is only too happy to let himself feel every second, doing his best to put aside the darkness of the last few days for the way the bed creaks under him and sun warmed skin sliding against the insides of his thighs, holding the moment and letting it go with each shuddering breath.

Logan, he thinks, would understand.

The soft keening noises he's barely conscious of making are interrupted by a stuttering groan as Wrench takes him into his mouth, hot and wet and unexpected, his leaning weight preventing Kurt from rocking his hips up to meet him so instead he comes up on his elbows and arches his spine, tail shivering and toes digging in to Wrench's sides.

As Wrench settles into a rhythm he's able to lift his head and look down at the other man, the sight of him between his dark-furred legs is almost enough to push him over that inevitable edge. Instead, he reaches out and brushes his palm over Wrench's cheek, eyes wide and wet with thankfulness, then buries his fingers in those rust-gold curls; not quite holding him, allowing him to set his own pace, but wanting that connection.

cw: sexual content

[wwrench]

It's a connection Wrench longs for, too. Holding Kurt here at the edge of his own pleasure is a dizzying honor. He wants to snuff his nose and lap him up, to taste and smell and feel every bit of his mounting desire for release. The hand in his hair makes him twist his head, hoping to inspire that touch to take root in honest. Wrench wants those wide fingers to grasp the tender coils of his hair and give a tug. He wants Kurt's agony before he drives him to his pleasure.

When he feels the man coiling and twisting to find a better way of meeting him in his mouth, Wrench withdraws. His smile is too clever a thing to carry the false way he quirks his brow and stares up the length of his partner's torso, as if seeking his confirmation. It's a delight that pools in his own belly and makes him feel warm and relaxed and entirely in control. Maybe for the first time ever since coming to this place. But Wrench relishes the bucking trembles, and Kurt's earnest and impatient expression, so Wrench flicks his tongue at the underside of Kurt's cock and lets his breath sigh over the tortured organ. His hand spreads over his partner's chest, keeping him close enough to feel the signs of delight or mounting frustration.

He wants Kurt to forget everything outside this room. Everything that doesn't exist in the moment of their shared breath and their bodies joined together. Wrench wants to make that moment stretch, like a promise in a dream. To hold them both there until Kurt's pleas are for nothing in the world but his own pleasure. Only then does he take him back into his warm mouth to shower him with the attention he craves.

cw: sexual content

[suchmiracles]

Kurt is no stranger to being held like this. Even outside of the bedroom, he has a habit of skating along the edge of risk and reward, always one cross-dimensional jump away from salvation or failure and more than willing to take that chance. With the X-Men it was easy to get away with it, a certain amount of risk taking being part of the job, but he'd still gained a reputation for leading with his heart instead of his head, throwing himself into the midst of things for the sheer thrill of being able to do so as often as for the sake of the mission. Scott had upbraided him for it more than once, not helped by Logan's knowing smiles in the shadows behind him. Still, he couldn't stop himself. The feeling of weightlessness as the trapeze bar slides out from one's fingertips, a split-second leap of faith; the knowledge of the blades hidden behind a hand pressed to his throat. It's the feeling of being alive, the single high note of sheer existence, weighted in heartbeats and hot breaths against the insides of his thighs.

It's decadent, addictive, sinful. It's what he gave up Heaven for.

Now, though, all he knows is that he wants more of it. Wrench's tongue and fingertips in his fur, the leaning weight of him, the look of satisfaction in his expression as he dips his head down. Kurt shudders and writhes, begging in a breathless stream of German as his grip tightens in Wrench's hair and he fights the urge to push his hips up to take what he'd rather be given, heat rolling through his body as the muscles in his thighs tighten.

With an effort, he forces himself away from giving in. Breathing hard, he drops his hand to Wrench's shoulder, the other touching the side of his face, asking for his attention as his tail loops around his hips.

"Please, ah.. no more, I can't.. come here, please." One-handed, he repeats Wrench's own words, I want you, before leaning down to press the sentiment, if not the words, against Wrench's mouth.