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[suchmiracles]

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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.