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Disclaimer: Don’t own any of these characters, they belong to Marvel Comics©. I’m just borrowing them for some amusement.



Marvel universe: Comic



Pairing: Kurt/Ororo/Logan



Archiving; Get in touch with me first.


Feedback is always appreciated :)





Author’s Note; I’ve had the seed of this idea in my head for nearly a year now but baulked at tackling it. But then I decided that if I was going to try it, I just had to get my head down and start. So after many a long discussion about the dynamics of this ‘ménage-à-trois’ (Kurt’s personal struggle, Ororo and Logan’s role within it) with my good friend NemB, I got the story roughly sorted in my mind before sitting down and clacking away. And here is the finished result for your delectation. I truly hope you enjoy it as a story as well as for the smut factor! It does jump back and forth in time but all events take place over the space of a week or two and it should make sense overall...I hope!

This story takes into account Kurt leaving the Priesthood but it is outside of the ‘Draco’ and ‘Holy War’ storylines, so as far as he and everyone else is concerned he really did become a priest. Also, I’d just like to say I’m coming at the ‘religious angle’ from an outsider view, being a non-believer, so I don’t mean to cause any offence, and hope I haven’t.


Also, just a quick warning that this fic does deal with EXTREMELY adult material, so please, please read responsibly.


And finally I’d like to dedicate this story to Nemesis Becoming for being a brilliant beta and for opening my eyes up to ALL the possibilities within this story. And also to Pari for having such a great site. Thanks a million, you’re both true stars, M’iko, xx


*



‘When the wheel of ecstasy is in full motion, there is no textbook, and no order...’

Extract from Vatsyayana’s ‘Kamasutra’(3rd century CE(?))


*


Under blue moon I saw you
So soon you’ll take me
Up in your arms, to late to beg you
Cancel in though
I know it must be
The killing time, unwillingly mine


Fate, up against your will
Through the thick and thin
He will wait until
You give yourself to Him


In stolid nights I saw you
So cruelly you kissed me
Your lips a magic world
Your sky hung with jewels
The Killing Moon, will come too soon


Fate, up against your will
Through the thick and thin
He will wait until
You give yourself to Him...


‘The Killing Moon’ By Echo and the Bunnymen

********************************************************************





The Killing Moon.
****************





He stood. The soft brown veneer of the door that loomed in front of him was the only thing in the world, with its red life veins, its muted sheen... He simply stood. This feeling, this conflict was tearing him asunder. Surely they knew that...she knew that. He couldn’t understand why he was being given this. He would never understand it, and this guilt, his guilt would never go away. His heart pumped, he’d never felt it thump so relentlessly...he couldn’t...he just could not...And so he turned on his heal from the door and headed swiftly back up the oak-panelled thoroughfare; walking with a one-track determination. But half-way down the thick crimson and gold Chinese runner something made him stop. He was only two doors down from the one he’d been agonising over entering, no more. A compulsion made him turn, implored him to; his heart fluttered, rhapsodic, with his growing sense of lasciviousness thwarted, his breath not coming to him easily. And again his mind turned; that sensual kiss, the promise of passion to come on those full warm lips...he found he craved it more than ever. The sudden tightness in his groin at the thought implored him to hold himself there, but he resisted the impropriety of his own touch. Instead, he held on for something more, what was yet to come...


He turned back, slowly, the pain not registering in the blind yellow, but instead in the deep creases of the face; the furrow of his brow, knitting together. Again he imagined her touch...a moan of a breath whispered past his lips. Tight lines ran from his mouth, pulled into a smarting grimace. He cut an oddly shadowy, almost macabre figure with the low light of the hallway lamp coming from behind him; his fur almost black against the white of his shirt and pale blue of his faded jeans. He sighed, holding his face in his hands, the three wide digits of each running up into the lose wave of his shortly cropped hair. He made a noise of frustration, almost a choked sound as his feet moved him back towards the door at the end of the hall; the tread on the carpet ominous to his ears, heavy, daunting. He stopped at the red veined panel and raised his balled hand to its surface.


* * *


The glasses chinked with irregularity and the scrape of the cutlery made for an abstracted symphony, a low-key Alfred Schnittke. No one spoke---they just ate. The mission had subdued them, as they often did. Their mental and physical exhaustion had settled them into a calm sedation. It had been a rather routine excursion, the usual X-Men fodder, stopping a small problem in ‘Mutant Town’, downtown New York, from spiralling out of control. As usual they’d come off looking the bad guys to both sides perception, but they were used to that. More than used to it, it was water off a ducks back, as they say.


Many of the team had decided they deserved a good night out, and so had ventured down into Salem Centre. Only these few remained for dinner.


Not one of the six present felt recourse for conversation though, all settling into a private realm as they ate. There could have been nobody in their proximity at all for all the attention they paid to one another. The Schnittke continued...


“Can you pass me the salt?”


Kurt leant forwards a little, picking up the delicately cut crystal cellar and stretched to pass it two chairs up to Scott who sat sullenly next to his wife. Or rather, not sullenly...but with that well-worn Summers phlegmatic presence.


“Thanks.”


Kurt barely acknowledged it as he came back to settle into his high-backed seat, his eyes casting to his left where Logan sat with complete casualness. But they didn’t move casually away, instead they fixed there...A subtle fascination festered as he witnessed a large weathered hand, slowly dipping down, falling onto a bare coffee thigh...He cut off another piece of chicken, placing it carefully in his mouth. It tasted of nothing...Nothing.


His sallow eyes flitted to the side but it was impossible for anyone present to tell, unless they really concentrated. Their golden swirls were often unknowable. But he watched...He watched as a dry, strong hand ran along the surface of dark silkiness, reaching up and up until it disappeared beneath the high band of her cut-off denim skirt. He briefly looked up at the other three faces around the table; Jean, Scott, and Charles, up there at the far end of the grand twenty-seater dinning table, cutting a most singular, solitary figure. All had their eyes down cast, lost internally as they performed the routine act.


Kurt inclined his head to the left again; her dusky toned face betrayed nothing to his curious gaze at this moment. She chewed demurely on her food, her knife and fork clashing together as they zigzagged across one another, clacking on the bright white porcelain. Though for a moment, just the briefest instant, her hands ceased to move her implements, her blue eyes lidded over and she issued the softest breath he’d ever heard, the most tender of breaths...Then her fork came to her mouth and she continued, as if...nothing.


Logan was watching her now too. Kurt perceived the action with uncanny vigilance as Wolverine coughed spuriously to cover his growl, his feral response to her reaction. His hand still moved with action so subtle as to be non-existent...but it was. It moved beneath her skirt with measured intention, shaded for the most part by the sheer linen of the table cloth.


They continued as if alone, but HE had noticed...Neither of them seemed aware of that.


She titled her head, just slightly, making her Luna pale hair fall down from its precarious balance on her left shoulder, sweeping down as if by virtue of one of her winds. Drawing them in slowly, she wetted her lips, catching them on her teeth for just a second as her dark lashes fluttered; butterflies caught in a net...


Kurt caught his own breath, the lurch in his stomach exasperating the growing heat within. He swallowed down hard, the image replaying in his head, causing his throat to tighten... “Will you excuse me?” he said as he scrapped back his chair, breaking the silence, causing all eyes to fall on him with sudden, yet somehow muted interest. He stood from the table, picking up his half-full plate as he did so. In fact, he’d barely taken a bite; the peas and carrots rolling about haphazardly as if on a tossing ship, the dark gravy splashing and lapping over like waves.


“Is something wrong Kurt?” Ororo asked as she looked up; her voice neutral, her defined features completely impassive.


He opened his mouth to speak, the sharp whiteness of his teeth like a flash from the dark, but the words that were there caught momentarily as Logan’s hand subtly re-emerged, taking up his silver knife that had lain idle.


“Nien,” he stated simply, his features unflinching, focusing on the bright glint of the knife. Looking up he caught Ororo’s eye, and for a moment, the briefest of moments, he saw a keenness flash in their calm pools. A spark of...something...or was his own clouded judgment playing tricks on him?


“Excuse me,” he murmured again, turning and making to leave the large dinning room, all eyes following him to the far end until the door closed to block him from view. They carried on eating, without speaking or exchanging a glance.



* * *



The hands on the clock denoted that it was ten to twelve and all seemed quiet in the Xavier Mansion. Ororo Munroe sighed as yet another minute ticked by and still he hadn’t come. But the sigh was not one of irritation, moreover frustration....Frustration born of anticipation. She shifted as she sat on the edge of Logan’s bed; it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as her own, but it would do. She resisted another furtive glance at the clock, instead peering disinterestedly at her surroundings. The various katana hanging in neat horizontal rows from special hooks on the plain walls in their delightfully intricate scabbards of Japanese jade and smooth black lacquer; just one or two photographs of friends and lost lovers; everything that suggested the mystery that the man was---even to those closest to him. All except her...perhaps.


The light from the lamp that spilt over everything, affording them a soft glow, did not reach the far side of the room; hence it was swathed in a thick darkness. So she turned from its blank canvas, facing again to the door. Waiting. Still waiting...


There was a soft knock on the door; three light hollow raps in succession.
“Hello?” the hesitant voice rang out, trying not to disturb those in the adjacent rooms. “Storm?”


Ororo smiled, the deep red of her painted lips glittered in the orange light. “Come in Kurt,” she called, suppressing a soft laugh at the hesitant shuffle that followed. Eventually the door opened, creeping in with a certain amount of uncertainty, “I am glad you came.”


Kurt stayed on the threshold of the room, his hand still firmly around the brass door knob, his body heat swiftly warming it up. He felt the slight clench of his jaw as his eyes fell upon the Windrider, draped in a white cotton dress that came to her ankles. None-the-less, the split in the side cut the material in two almost up to the top of her left hip; her leg on what suddenly seemed to him gratuitous display. He felt his mouth begin to dry, but somehow be swamped at the same time. He swallowed down, that lurching, tingling sensation arising in his stomach, just like before...


“Ororo,” he said simply, his voice sounding a little frail, encouraging him to clear his throat. “Where is Logan tonight?”


Ororo smiled, adjusting her left leg casually so that the thin dress slipped a little further, exposing a richer cocoa skin; a truly unintentional consequence on her part. “Around,” she answered after the pause, with a privately amused fondness.


“Oh,” Kurt said shortly, trying desperately to look anywhere but at those legs, “I see.” He went quiet for a moment, his sudden nervousness not helped by Ororo’s intent and unabashed gaze.


Ororo regarded him, her look not changing, “Are you going to stand there all evening?” she asked, “Or are you coming in, my friend?”


“Oh, yes. Sorry,” he said hurriedly, tripping over the words as he came into the room and closed the door, quiet as he could, behind him. Immediately he walked over to the chest of draws opposite the end of the bed, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans; even that simple gesture appeared awkward, again making Storm want to laugh, but sympathetically, not cynically. Was it nerves or guilt? She knew full well...


“Ororo I---I,” he stuttered and then sighed in frustration as he lent heavily back against the tall set of draws behind him. “I’m sorry liebchen---but this all feels so strange, so...” he sighed again, this time bereft.


“Sordid?” Ororo offered dryly. He shrugged his shoulders, but then relented with a disconsolate nod of the head. He looked up at her to see her patting the space on the bed at her side left side, “Why don’t you sit?” She was happy that he came forth without need for further persuasion and took up the space next to her on Logan’s king size.


The springs squeaked under the added compression, but only for a brief second before they settled to the extra weight. “Sordid...” He repeated her word, smiling sardonically at it. It was too perfect.


“In a way,” she replied cryptically, saying the words slowly as if she were contemplating the hidden answer behind them even as she spoke. “But only because you insist on seeing it as such Kurt.” She was confident in that, and so obviously comfortable that it did make him question his own reactions. It disarmed him as it were, put him at ease to an extent.


“If I may speak freely liebchen?” he clasped his hands together over his knees, looking down at them as he did so.


“Always, my friend.”


“Why---why would Logan allow this?” he asked, a little sheepishly.


Ororo made a soft noise, a knowing noise, “Allow me Kurt?” she raised a sharply shaped eyebrow at him, “You assume my subservience to him.” She mocked peevishness with good humour.


Kurt considered this, fighting against his conventional morality as he did so. But at the same time, he knew that his two closest friends in the world were anything but conventional in their view of the world---why would their approach to their relationship be any different? Still, it was a concept that he struggled to grasp. “The two of you have been---seeing each other---for a number of years, in one way or another. There has always been a...connection,” he said thoughtfully, admiringly, “...everyone could see it. Yours seemed a perfect match,” he paused for a moment again, “But I suppose it is clear, when I take the time to think on it, that you and Logan are no Scott and Jean,” he laughed, genuinely relaxed.


“Too true,” she replied with fond dryness. Ororo and Logan were certainly not a mirror of the orthodox couple down the hall; their spirits too free, too independent to be slave to such formal notions.


“When I look at you both,” Kurt started, feeling much more relaxed as time went on, “there seems to be such contentment in your souls, when you are together at least, such obvious harmony. You seem so comfortable with who you are and with the very idea of each other that I often wonder; will I ever find that place for myself?”


“You could say so, I suppose.” Storm turned her body more towards him; her legs slipping off the floor and onto the bed as she shifted, resting her weight leisurely on her left arm. She fixed him with her duskily set blue eyes, a curious air in them. She smiled at his subtle flinch, marvelled at the way the light played with the tones of his fur; a soft pelt that was glorious to touch. “Logan and I have certainly come to a much more...quiet place in our lives. But it has taken us time. We were, for years, just as you.”


“But it is difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you’re still floundering in the darkness,” he gave her a weary look that tried for lightness, attempting to brush aside his growing need to hold her, to feel that soft swarthy skin beneath his palms... “Remember that,” he added.


She watched him for a moment, toying over her words before she pushed them into the ‘arena’...“Over dinner last week,” she said after the pregnant pause passed; a demure smile coming to his lips as she saw his genuine ignorance at her words turn into gradual understanding and then furtive guilt. “I saw you.”


“Ack!” He shook his head, dismayed at himself, “I am sorry Storm, I know I shouldn’t have---it was irreproachable of me.” Again he shook his head as he focused on his hands, to embarrassed or perhaps ashamed to look at her.


“Oh Kurt,” she laughed gently as she reached up and ran her hand through his soft mass of vaguely curled blue hair. It wasn’t quiet as easy on the hand as the fur that covered his skin from head to toe but it still felt pleasing to her. “You have nothing to reproach yourself for. We were not exactly behaving in the most courteous manner in other peoples company, after all.”


Kurt made a bitter noise, “That’s kind of you to say liebchen, but it doesn’t make me feel any less...voyeuristic.” He finally looked back up at her, feeling a tendril of pain at the serenity on her face, “But it did make me realise my...loneliness, all the more. My need for the understanding embrace of another person.” He looked away from her for moment, “I can not deny,” he began quietly, “that...I enjoyed it, I enjoyed watching you”your pleasure...Logan’s too,” he added tentatively, diverting his gaze again, “simply by giving pleasure to you.”


Ororo smiled and raised a milky eyebrow at him, “I know my dear Kurt, I know how you feel...,” she shifted slightly on the bed, “We have all been there. All we want now is to help you, in anyway we can.”


Kurt laughed despite himself, “It is certainly a unique gesture of friendship, and I am grateful. But still...” he reached up to remove Ororo’s hand that still lay entangled in his hair at the back, gently placing it back into her lap, “I mean you no offence when I say this but, to be truthful, this all has the unsavoury air of...well...” he shrugged, “just an unsavoury air, that’s all.”

“Prostitution?” Ororo said neutrally, “Is that what you see this as?”


“I cast no aspersions on you, or Logan,” that familiar feeling of shame flushed him, “it is my own conduct, even the fact that I have come here---it says volumes, don’t you think?” he looked at her as if he expected an answer, but he didn’t, “and to think I wished to be a priest only months ago---this casts doubt over my convictions and devotion from the beginning.”


“Your guilt,” she stated; bewildered, amused, “I shall never understand your almost masochistic desire to torture yourself Kurt. What way is that to live your life? But then, I think, is that the attraction?”


He shook his head, “None. I know that,” he answered to her first question and then thought on the second for a moment. He smiled wryly to himself, acknowledging the joy to be had from forbidden desire, the esoteric arousal arising from constant denial, “perhaps I knew that all along and had been fooling myself for years.”


“Perhaps,” she agreed, “but now might be the time for you to change that, do you not think? To finally act upon your deepest...darkest...craving?”


He wetted his lips, their dryness almost painful as his hankering began to rise up from its constant simmering; tracing the hard line of her shoulder with his eyes, down to the barest show of her cleavage beneath the top of her dress... “And you are sure that Logan is completely comfortable with this?” he asked absently, not sure at that point whether he cared or not, one way or the other.


“Logan and I have an...” she rolled her eyes skyward as she searched, “an understanding,” she finished, thinking of that conversation a few days ago, his willingness to please her in any way she saw fit. It took a strong man to submit to her deepest desires, her most lewd of wishes... “It’s really quite simple Kurt...” she said softly as she reached up to his hair again, this time bringing her legs beneath her to kneel at his side as she sunk them both in, her excitement building at a long held fantasy about to come true...



* * *


“Ahhh”argh---ummmm...” Ororo turned her head down into the pillow to smother her verbal passion, her arm reaching behind to grip at Logan’s hair as he pushed further into her. He continued to move in a steady rhythm, rocking against her as they lay cupped and on their sides, his cock now all the way into her anus. His head was buried in her thick hair, surrounded, immersed in the sandalwood as he breathed harshly into her ear, ragged, feral growls. His hands held to her hips, helping in their rolls towards his body. The sounds of their movements filled the contented stillness of the attic room, bathed in the warmth of the late afternoon sunlight.


“Logan...do you---argh,” he pushed into her harder, “---fantasise?” She closed her eyes, tugging gently at his hair, desperate to contain herself.


He made a vague noise of affirmation, a guttural grunt. He began to move faster in accordance with the roll of her hips, the sound of her pants, quiet but wanton. He could smell the wetness of her sex keenly, ready and waiting to expel. He reached down, gliding his hand down her slicked skin until he ran his fingers through the small mound of hair and up into her vagina, penetrating with the same timing as the movement of their unified rocking thrusts. Two thick fingers pushed into her, catching the excitable little fleshy nub between them.


“Kurt was watching us---,” she gasped shamelessly, “huh”ahh”at the dinner table---las---last night---oooohhh...” She arched her head back, her mouth setting into a pained grimace as she became desperate for release.


Logan growled, but she could read his feral noises as though he had spoken the words. His animal language was clear to her. It wasn’t a noise of anger at all. He fucked her faster, the mattress shuddered with their movement.


“He was watching us---watching us from the moment you slipped your hand up my---ahh---ahhh,” she grabbed his hair harder now, her climax coming, “when you put your fingers in---inside me...” He bucked hard into her, a stunted roar flowing into her ear. He bucked again and this time came. Ororo held back her moan as she quickly reached down and urged his fingers on, suddenly exploding a loud breath as she too flooded down and every part of her body screamed with the electric tingle of every nerve end. Her body shook tensely as she made a noise that sounded very much like a sigh of relief, a breeze rustling through leaves.


As they let their bodies wind down from the excursion Ororo turned her head to kiss him lightly, her hand still entangled in his rough tresses, as he pushed himself up on his elbow and came above her a little more. His hand came up from her relived sex to fondle her breast, smearing a light film over it as he kneaded it.


“Did you like it?” he asked gruffly as he moved his lips to her ear and nibbled at it, quickly turning them into rough bites, cooled by the wild lick of his tongue.


“Knowing he was watching?” she groaned softly, “yes...”


He grabbed more insistently at her breast, “Did it make you wanna cum?” His deep voice tickled her ear as he asked her.


“Yes...” she hissed...


* * *


Logan put the beer down on the coffee table already open and settled into the well-worn lazy chair opposite the sofa where Kurt lounged unselfconsciously. The Elf reached forwards and took the bottle from the table, taking a sip.


“Tell me then?” Logan asked as he put his feet up on the coffee table, feeling comfortable in doing so as anyone who would have chastised him for doing so was safely out of the way in bed, so he took advantage of that fact.


“What?” Kurt replied after a time, his fingers idly flicking the buttons on the T. V. remote that lay on the seat next to him.


Logan ignored the irritating flickering of the bright screen, despite the fact that to his eyes it was as bothersome as a strobe, flashing in the periphery of his acute vision, “Why you’ve been walkin’ around the joint with a bottom lip so low ya could trip over it?”


Kurt didn’t react to Logan’s usual flippant attitude, not even the faintest flicker as he changed the last channel and flicked the red off button instead; the set making an odd noise as it screen swiftly faded to black. The silence began to spread; reaching out into the waiting game for he knew Logan would sit contentedly and say nothing for hours, until he spoke that was, until he deigned to answer him.


He looked across the table at his best friend, even the blank glow of his orbs managed somehow to appear sad. No, not sad...weary, listless. “There is nothing I can add that you do not already know, mien freund,” he said.


“Maybe,” Logan said quietly and tipped his bottle back, “maybe not.”


True and not true. There weren’t many in the mansion that did not know of Kurt’s recent crisis of faith, the agony with which he had renounced his priestly studies. But not even Logan had a true idea of just how deep it ran. Perhaps no-one ever would...Was that a blessing, or a curse, he pondered. But he was jarred from thought by Logan’s next words, unexpected words.


“When a man has reason to feel that what he believed was his vocation, was nothin’ of the sort---it’s enough to damage somethin’ inside that can never be fixed,” he regarded Kurt for a moment, seeing that hurt in his friend, feeling that hurt as his own, “that’s if he lets it, o’ course.”


Kurt managed a half-smile at his friend’s words. He could certainly be a wise man when he wished to be, which was not often enough unfortunately for those around him. “And tell me Logan,” he began, “what does the man do to keep that from happening?”


Logan smiled crookedly, his stark blue eyes not affected by the gesture, keeping their detached veneer, “I’m the wrong person to ask about that one bub.”


The German laughed, a soft wry laugh, “I feared that’s what you’d say.”


They each slipped into a personal taciturnity, the hush of the room and indeed the entire mansion in the foreground. Again, Kurt felt Logan was simply biding his time, waiting for him continue, but at his own pace. He appreciated his patience.


“Do you know what the worst thing is?” Kurt suddenly asked.


“No, what?”


“It is...,” he hated to say this aloud and indeed could not bring himself to hold Logan’s eye as he said it, “knowing the reason that have forsaken what I was prepared to give a lifetime and beyond for. The true, specific reason.”


Logan pushed himself up from the gradual slouch he’d been falling into; shifting his body weight via his forearms on the padded arm rests of the chair. “Why don’t ya fill me in on that reason?” Not that he didn’t know...


“It---,” he hesitated, moving forwards in his chair as he subconsciously clutched tighter to his still almost full bottle, “it is really rather embarrassing, mien freund,” he eventually elaborated.


“Hell, I’m sure I’ve heard worse,” he grinned wickedly, “in fact I’m damn sure I have.”


“Perhaps,” Kurt said dryly, “but I am not you.”


“No,” he concurred, “an’ ya should be grateful. If I had half the discipline and dedication you had I’d be better man,” he said with a half-serious knowingness that demonstrated the truth of his words. “But I’m curious?”


“About what?”


“About how carryin’ this constant guilt around is workin’ out for ya?” he asked with a note of satire. “Then again, guess that’s half the fun.” Kurt didn’t take exception to Logan’s words---he found himself hard pressed to disagree with him, “but you still haven’t given me yer reason bub,” he added.


“Isn’t it obvious,” Kurt replied with dismay, coming forwards in his seat a little, “After everything, I found that the one thing I craved most was the one thing the church resolutely refused me.”


“Sex,” Logan said simply, rather crudely.


Kurt shook his head, “No, it is not that specifically,” he flopped back into the sofa, bringing a hand to his brow as if in an attempt to staunch a headache, or smooth back the tense lines that creased it beneath the fine layer of fur, “it is more...it is...genuine affection. True intimacy. Is it so wrong to want these things? ”


“I understand, Elf.”


Kurt let his arm fall back down, dejectedly, “I don’t know if you do,” he whispered.


“Yeah, I do Kurt,” Logan rebuked sternly, “an’ I’ll tell ya somethin’ fer nothin’”ya can’t hide behind that dog-collar anymore. This ain’t got nothin’ to do with yer beliefs or yer damned vocation.” He lent forwards purposefully, placing his bottle on the table as he put his feet back to the carpet. “Maybe yer just learnin’ that yer as ‘human’ as everyone else in this place”an’ that’s just somethin’ you’ve gotta accept Elf. Yer halo ain’t slipped”it was never there in the first place.”


Kurt clenched his jaw but didn’t reply.


“Do’ya know what I think?”


“No,” he replied drably, “But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”


“Ya never really wanted to be a priest Elf. It was just the easiest way out. It stopped from really questioning what’s in here,” he tapped his heart, “Time ya took the wall down an’ faced up to it”ya gotta quit beatin’ yerself up over it.”


Harsh words, but the truth often was...


* * *


“I have noticed the way you’ve been looking at me for months now---the others too,” she crooned as she came closer to him, cupping his head in her hands. Her own passion was tinged with a nervous delight, fluttering in the pit of hr stomach as she moved them knowingly towards this breech of this most risqué of taboos. Moving her lips down to his ear she breathed, “...and I have enjoyed it.” Her lips brushed over his lobe before her teeth snatched forwards to nip it.


“Ororo, please. This is still---.” He tried to pull away from her but his effort was half-hearted to say the least, made all the harder by the fact that he dared not put his hands on her body. He couldn’t be sure where it would lead, but knew within himself where he wanted it to. She was the serpent, whispering in his ear and he swiftly found himself with no will or want the halt her; the dusky brush of her mocha voice stirring the need that uncoiled within him.


“Kurt relax,” she admonished gently, one could say calmingly, “we are doing nothing wrong...” she ran her tongue up to the devilishly pointed tip of his ear, “...nothing wrong...” she sighed again as she sucked on its practically furless steeple, perhaps repeating in confirmation.


“Yes but---.” His words were lost as she moved in front of him and crushed her ruby lips to his. It didn’t take long for the rest of him to go the same way...He grabbed at her waist and pulled her to him, kissing her ferociously; an action he’d daydreamed of so many times recently, not necessarily with Storm as the fantasy object, but he’d be lying if he said she hadn’t featured often. What had happened that afternoon had been hard enough to digest; this was even worse...but enjoyable. Touching her, holding her, tasting that gentle floral musk that surrounded her...Taking hold of her hips, Kurt lay Ororo down on the bed and moved above her, not once breaking from her mouth. His right hand stole down to the split in her dress, pushing it aside so that he had liberal access to her silky smooth limb. He hitched her thigh up over his hip without thinking, giving a random rock of his groin into hers, making her groan in satisfaction at the action.


Ororo’s hands found their way beneath his simple white shirt, attempting to pull it up like a t-shirt rather than bother with the cumbersome little pearly buttons. There was something that felt so familiar about running her hands up his chest, the way the fur parted beneath her fingers was not a million miles away from what it felt like to perform a similar action on her regular lover; the rock hard muscles perfectly set out under the soft growth. It all felt so...natural, so right. As Kurt moved from her mouth to her neck she moaned softly to feel his hands busying themselves at hitching up her dress; grabbing frantically in desperation to uncover her.


Turning her head to face the stare into dark void of the far end of the room, she urged Kurt with her uncontrollably breathy wantonness, “Kurt, slow---please slow...”


He instantly stopped his frenetic fight with her dress, resting his hands on her body for a moment as he pulled back from her neck, panting, “I’m sorry Ororo---it just that it has been such a long time---I...”


“I understand,” she assured him as she gazed up at him warmly, stroking at his hair. She reengaged with his mouth, shifting upwards as she did so. With his hand at her back he moved backwards with her, sensing how she wanted to play this he turned them over so that she straddled his lap and he lent in a half sitting position against the solid headboard. Reaching down she grasped the hem of his shirt, determined to finish the job that she had started, and yanked it up, pulling back for only a second as she removed it from over his head. Letting the garment fall to the floor, she gripped at his shoulders, gradually moving her hands inwards to his neck as if she were massaging him, eventually bringing them up to embrace his jaw.


“Huh-ummm...Kurt...” His hands ran up her thighs, taking the lower half of her dress with them as his fingers slipped beneath the lace of her underwear. His thick middle digit brushed along her sex, spreading the warm moisture along that already came from it, working at lubricating her. But still, even as he did this and even as his erection strained against the crotch of his trousers. Like an ever-present ailment, the pressure that weighted heavy on his soul maligned him---he couldn’t help but feel himself traitorous, no matter what Ororo had said; to his God, to his best friend...to himself.


“Storm.” Her name was muffled against her lips and he had to ease her back as he took his other hand away from her vagina. “Storm---Ororo, please---.”


“What is it?” she asked, still insistent in half-kissing him as she spoke.


Eventually he gave in and stopped trying to break from her and instead to any opportunity as their lips parted to speak. “I know---you’ve assured me---that---this is okay---but---I just have---one---question---why are we doing this here,” he did force her to stop then, temporarily holding her at her shoulders, ”in Logan’s room?”


“I think I can answer that, bub.”



* * *

ToBeContinued...





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