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The Killing Moon: Part Two



* * *


The sound was oddly comforting as Logan ran the lint-free cloth along the bright flawless blade of the sword; a muffled drawing noise, not unlike the sound that issued as he unsheathed his own deadly weapons, but with a softer edge. Her blue eyes trailed the path that his sure hand ran; the careful caress of a lover across the body of his beloved...


“Tell me again...” she asked sleepily, her voice husky with content as she watched him, resting on her side her, in his bed, letting the cool breeze that flowed from the slightly open window brush its cooling effect across her entirely bare skin.


Logan looked over his shoulder at her and smiled vaguely, a crooked twist of his lips”the only sort one could expect from him. “About what?” As if he didn’t know...


“The sword...” she crooned, her voice soft as the air itself, caressing her with deference, ruffling the disarrayed sheets every now and then...


His smile broadened into something much more genuine, even reaching his eyes, albeit tinged with a bitter-sweet edge. She witnessed it just from the corners in half-profile as he faced the wall that held his katana, but was turned to her a little. The cloth reached the edge of the lethal blade, slipping seamlessly off its perfectly sharp point. “Masamune,” he said, with a quiet reverence, “crafted the blade for the very first Lord of the Yashida Clan.” He had a detached vacancy to him as he spoke about the sword, as if lost in thought.


“You told me...” Ororo said as she lazily, trailing off as she rolled onto her back. Her hand crept up between her bare legs, resting lightly between them close to the top of her long thighs, as the other reached back casually into her sprawled hair, “You told me all about the swords history... but you never explained what it means,” she stretched with an easy elegance, looking for a time like a bronze statue, perfectly moulded, “what it means for you...” she added with the lightness of sleep once more apparent in her voice.


“No, I didn’t,” he said as if to avoid the question; practically in statement as he turned fully back to face the wall. He breathed in deeply, brushing the unusually soft cream cloth along once more, although it did not need it; the ritualism of the action already complete. It was an action he routinely perfected almost every day. The blade tipped forwards slightly in his hand, in a cut-off vision he saw himself reflected in its mirror-esque surface; a stoic face that betrayed nothing in its hard deep lines and heavy pale eyes.


Ororo took her hand from her hair impossibly long, thick locks and pushed herself up on her elbow, her other hand still resting betwixt her legs. She watched his back carefully as he appeared to be studying the sword with familiar interest, “What does it mean?” she asked again with the clarity of an innocent determined to have their answer; a beautiful naïveté born anew, a constant fascination to him. How could she be at once so wise, so knowledgeable about all things but still retain that core, that pure core that she possessed and he had recognised the moment Charles had brought her back from Kenya, from the pedestal of a Goddess, all those years ago. Still the Nature Child of the African planes...


Logan made a noise; half wry laugh, half unpresumptuous sigh. He held the handle firmly, the handle that was as deep a red as the Life’s blood that had been spilt on its blade over its hundreds of years of existence. The golden tassel brushed softly against the back of his hand, whispering against the dark covering of hair as it hung gracefully over it, shining in the light like the most beautiful jewel, in belie of its purpose; to bring death, honourable death.


“It’s an honour sword,” he explained, “this piece o’ metal represents the very soul of the clan it was made for”symbolises their dignity as a line of distinguished noble men...of samurais.”


“The Yashidas,” Ororo said plainly, thoughtfully. She smiled at him as he looked around at her; stirred by the light in his eyes as he observed her deeply toned flesh under soft light, stretched upon his pale sheets. She moved slightly, aroused by his observance of her nakedness, her mind drifting from the object he held in his hand to other things. That was until he spoke again...


“Yeah...one of the oldest families in Japan,” he resisted the urge to whip the perfect blade around in a precise swipe of demonstration, for he had never wielded it; in practise or in combat. “Some of the most honourable men have held this sword”brought nothing but righteous death with its blade.”


“But not you,” she said as she watched him and the temptation he held, as if reading his thoughts.


He remained quiet for a moment before picking up the swords intricately detailed gold and black scabbard from the dresser top and placing it back within its secure vicinity with the sound synonymous with the sheathing of his own claws.


“No...not me.” He could not...he dared not. His worth was a tormenting question that did not have an answer. He carefully placed the sword back onto the hooks drilled into the wall, there expressly for its mounting. And so it hung there; observed with a dignity all of its own. His life, his failure...


Ororo slipped from the bed and walked over to him as Logan took up the ‘sword’ that lay beneath the Masamune blade; his Bokan. The practise sword of the samurai; its smooth rich surface told in places of its story; every hit, every scar, every dint caused by unruly use. As the former Goddess got up from the bed with the lazy but perfect agility of a sleek cat and sidled up behind him, pressing her stunning body up to his partially clothed one, she reached down to touch it. She let her legs brush against the thin cloth of his wide legged black trousers that he used for his meditations, his only form of dress, as she ran her hand along the smoothly crafted Bokan; touching every imperfection with a natural curiosity.


Logan watched observantly as her slender fingers worked their way over the caramel wood, weaving slowly over his own digits as they reached them at either end of its length. His grip tightened automatically around this weapon; his worthiness of the Bushido it would decree always there with the gentle touch of it...so close but yet so far...


“And this was your practise sword,” she crooned delicately into his ear, resting her cheek down on his broad hard shoulder; the hair that covered it wonderfully lenient against her skin. He had told her of this long ago; its purpose, its significance.


“Yes.” He drew it along, pulling it through her hands slowly, “But I was never worthy...I could never prove myself with it.” His openness, his honesty touched her with its acceptance, its familiarity...


Ororo planted a kiss on his solid shoulder and then moved her patient lips up to his neck, letting her hands fall from the round edged length of wood down to his flat hard stomach. She brushed up through the dark hair, loving the feel, whispering delicately against her fingers, and she adored the surface of the compact muscles beneath. Up they went; gratuitous in their fondling and then down again, over the elastic band at the waist and further south...She clutched with a genteel urgency at the quickly hardening mound that lay underneath the black material of his traditional dress; rubbing up and down, receiving a deep feral groan in response. She smiled, making her movements more insistent, noticing the slackening grip on the Bokan as she continued to arouse him...


But then, unexpectedly, he seemed to stiffen; his entire body suddenly tense.


“What is it?” Ororo asked as he placed the sword down rudely on the dresser top and moved away from her. Quickly she slunk back across to the bed, no more than a couple of steps away, automatically pulling the pushed back sheet over her body to cover her nakedness as she watched her lover prowl purposely.


Logan got to the door of his room, instantly noticing the slight crack where it had not been shut properly; surprised that he hadn’t sensed it earlier. He reached for the handle and yanked it open quickly, half stepping out into the hall. It was vacant; he looked down it both ways to make sure. But not quite satisfied he tilted his head up in order to scent the air. The faint trace of sulphur made his oversensitive nostrils twitch...So he hadn’t imagined the noise that had disturbed him...


“What is wrong?”


Logan gave one last check along the hall, “Nothin’ darlin’,” he replied concretely, before closing the door firmly and making his way over to the bed.



* * *



Kurt walked past the rows of classrooms on the second floor of the east wing. It hadn’t been that long ago that these rooms were unused bedrooms, lying idle, waiting for the next intake of X-Men. Now they were bona-fide teaching facilities, just like the notice on the front gate had always said they were. They were no longer living a lie...in so many ways. But inside, Kurt felt its interminability more than ever...There was nobody about right now, the summer holidays having thinned the ranks of the permanent pupils. These corridors lay as uninhabited as they had been formally, and would do so for another month. He was only up here to collect some personal effects; books that he’d lent to Charles for teaching purposes. His own desires to teach had been unexpectedly stunted by his position as the leader of the second team, for the tenure that that ill-fated venture had lasted, anyway. Another failure...


He felt as if he were cut off from everyone else as he made his way down the hallway---everything was so still, so quiet.


The hard *pock* sound of a shoe, someone else’s shoe, cut through Kurt’s solitary rumination.


He stopped, his rubber-bottomed sneaker squeaking. It echoed. And then she appeared. Her lose long skirt mirrored her flowing hair; her peachy strapless top hugged her torso like a corset.


Ororo smiled affectionately as she came towards him; serene as ever, “Good afternoon Kurt,” she said as she slowed on approach, fingering at the edge of the slim volume she held.


“Gutten tag frauline,” he returned, “what brings you over this way?”


She gestured with the book in her hand, flashing the title up. It read ‘Les Liaisons Dangereuses”by P. A. F. Choderlos de Laclos’. “I left it in my desk at the end of term. I’d been searching high and low for it.”


“Ah,” he indicated in comprehension with a small nod, somewhat self-conscious in his manner.


“Is there something the matter?” she asked, a little confused at his, what she could only describe as bashfulness.


“Nein, nein,” he protested, holding her eyes to convince her of its truth. He took his hand from his pocket, distractedly pointing at the book she held in her hand, “I was up here for the same reason”to collect some books the Professor borrowed.”


She would have let it pass and continued on her way, if it were not for that thought that had harangued her all week, had not left her any peace. Even more so since her talk with Logan that morning. “Kurt, may I speak with you for a moment?”


“Certainly, liebchen,” he agreed, wondering what could have warranted the seriousness in her tone, the almost dire sense of import.


“In here.” Ororo walked to the small lecture hall on the left of the corridor, just a couple of doors down from where they’d stopped. Kurt followed wordlessly. The windowless room was almost pitch black; the rows of red plastic seats that rose up to a high point at the back were just discernable. The front area with the white projection screen came into light as Ororo turned on the overhead strip bulb used to highlight the speaker. Kurt stood as Ororo half-lent, half-sat on the edge of the desk, both hands clasped around her book, resting on the top of her thighs.


“You know you are a dear friend Kurt, and I’d like to think you could speak to me about anything that is concerning you.”


“Ja, of course,” he shrugged as if the notion were obvious, it were negligible to even speak of it.


Ororo nodded amiably, “It is fair to say that you have not been yourself of late, is it not?”


A dawning of realisation overcame him, and his usual passivity abandoned him, “Have you been talking with Logan?” his German accent developed a bite that was not normally there.


“He mentioned that the two of you had---.”


“He had no right!” Kurt snapped uncharacteristically, turning from her in rare anger, an anger that was tinged with shame.


“Kurt,” Ororo said calmly yet firmly and waited for him to face her once more, which he did, eventually. “we are concerned about you, that is all. You are one of our oldest friends”our best friend. If we can see that you are suffering, then of course we will discuss it.”


He nodded, just barely, “Ja...I’m sorry,” he sighed, scratching at the back of his head, “But what I told Logan, I presumed it to be...in the strictest of confidence, you understand.”


“Logan did not break your confidence Kurt,” she informed him, “and I’m surprised you would think such a thing.” He cast her a guilty look. “He only told me you had finally opened up to him”no more.”


“I see,” he said quietly, feeling a fool but also relieved, “I am sorry for jumping to conclusions and thinking the worst. And I dare call myself a friend?” he said self-deprecatingly.


Ororo smiled and moved off from the desk, placing her dog-eared book upon it, “You are a friend,” she countered, “and a good one at that,” she confirmed and would hear nothing to the contrary from him or anyone else, “besides, Logan did not need to tell me anything. There was nothing he could say that I would not have already known my friend.”


That sudden relief he had felt a moment ago drained from him as he spoke; a deep dread churning in the pit of his stomach instead. “What do you mean Ororo?” He hoped she had it wrong, he prayed...


She descried him, very much in the manner Logan had, waiting for him to make the first move instead of foisting it upon him. But when he resolutely refused to say anything further she decided to take it upon herself to move the matter forwards. “Kurt, the pain has been all but etched on your face for months,” she told him, “that regret, that loneliness,” she paused, gauging his reaction, “that desire...”


He hung his head as her last words echoed in his ear, the stirring low melody of her dusky tone, his eyes squeezed tight; distinguishing their bright glow in a stroke like water had been poured on them. His head began to shake gently from side to side as inside his resolve began to break; this weight was too much to bear, this constant need for contrition had all but crushed his soul. And as he felt the warm comfort of slim bare arms embrace him, it finally cracked under the pressure. Kurt held onto Ororo as if for dear life, the wet of his unexpected tears pooled on her shoulder as she murmured words he had no comprehension of into his ear. His hands held to her back all the firmer, holding her as close as he could as he shuddered with silent cries.


“Shhh,” Ororo soothed as she stroked at his hair; she had a fair idea of his turmoil, but would openly admit that she could never understand it completely. All she could do, as a friend, was treat the symptoms. He would have to work through the deeper issues alone. But she would do anything to help him. Anything. “Oh Kurt, if your hurt was such, why did you not come to us sooner?”


Slowly his tensely jerking movements slowed, and his hands weren’t so tight around her. He pulled back a little more, taking one hand from her and swiped at the wet that had made the indigo of the fur on his cheeks even darker. Ororo noticed the shake in his hand and gently took hold of it, bringing it to her mouth and planting a soft kiss on the tips of his two fingers. “All you need is to let go, you can not hold onto feelings that have long died inside you.”


“Nein...” he whispered as he locked with her eyes, instantly calmed by the tenderness he saw in the often hard sapphire. And although it was all that his mind currently dwelled on at that precise point, he was still taken aback as she let go of his hand to cup his face and pressed her lips to his. He held onto her again; demonstration of his agony all poured into that kiss, his desperate embrace. But soon a mournful sound came forth, muffled for a moment until he forced himself to part from her.


“Mien Gott---mien Gott---mien Gott...” he repeated to himself in a fierce whisper again and again as he stumbled back, aghast at what he’d just done.


Ororo expected as much and so let him vent his shock for a while longer until she attempted to help him find reason. The remonstrations wouldn’t be long in coming, she was sure. “Kurt, I know you may think---.”


“You’re my best friend’s girlfriend, and through my own damnable selfishness and self-pity, I can not even control myself with you,” he spat bitterly, directing the diatribe at himself as he turned his back on her, not able to stand the thought of her looking at him, as if her gaze were as deadly as Medusa herself, “If I can be so fickle in life, then what chance did I ever stand in becoming a priest.”


She made an attempt to take his arm but he pulled away as if her hand were laced with poison, “You have this all wrong my friend, this is not a betrayal---.”


“How can you say that?” He raised his voice again, but immediately looked apologetic, “How can you say that?” he repeated quietly, with an air of disbelief, for he really did not understand.


Ororo came to him, slowly this time, as if approaching a horse that might bolt at any moment. But he didn’t move, or flinch when she held onto his arms, in comforting gesture. “You crave something...no,” she corrected, “need something, that can be given so easily---why should you deny yourself”torture yourself”because of it. I say, no more,” her voice was stern, held its normal command, “I can not watch you suffer any longer.” She moved closer to him again and he didn’t resist. He let her kiss him; his need was too great to give in to the fact that he knew it was wrong or at least felt it to be so. Her lips moved softly, carefully; in capitulation, Kurt was swayed by her guidance. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, through his light knit sweater she could feel his body tremble, pulsing, his breath gradually speeding up.


Gently, she slipped her tongue into his mouth, purposely snagging the tip over one of his well developed canines; his two little devil fangs that served to enhance is devilish appearance. He was hesitant at first, but was soon persuaded to reciprocate; taking her tongue up with his own and drawing it deeper into his mouth, only to drive forwards and delve his further into hers with an expertise she hardly expected.


Ororo made a sound, like a half sigh of pleasure, prompting Kurt to hold her closer; his hands at her back, catching up in the great mass of loose silvery strands that shone luminously as the moon with the strong, crisp light coming from behind her. He remained uncertain as to why she was doing this, why he was allowing it to happen, but when he felt her trying to part from him all he knew was that he had to hold her tighter. He was all but grasping at her when eventually he allowed her to pull away, by now his entire body trembling with all the nerves, desire, shock and relief that suddenly swamped him.


They were still in an embrace, albeit a gentler one, as Ororo slowly ran the fingers of her right hand through his hair, just brushing back the curl of his fringe over and over...He looked so...innocent, with his eyes pursed shut, still looking so lost that it made Storm’s heart break. Break with the pain she felt vicariously for her friend.


“Kurt,” she began musingly; he didn’t respond, “Meet me tonight.”


At that his eyes did open, just as she broke away from him completely and went back over to the desk to collect her book. He watched her, a wounded look overtaking him; why was she doing this to him? Tempting him with what he must not, could not, have?


“Ororo...why do you toy with me like this?”


She looked at him, utter sincerity upon her features as she clasped her book to her stomach. But she did not answer him. She walked past him to the door, leaving him to watch after her. As she came to the door, she instructed him further, “I shall be in Logan’s room. Meet me there, at twelve.”


Before he had chance to question any of this, Storm had left the room, the door closing in near silence behind her. Kurt listened as the muffled pitch of her footfall receded into nothingness, and he was left alone, dowsed in the small pool of light. The bell tolled; his soul, that hung by the merest thread, threatened to unravel, to shatter into infinitesimal shards. How long could he keep his grip on all the frayed strands, their raw edges like nerve-endings? The shadowy demon held his head in his hands, the man who would be the priest further away than ever...



* * *


Kurt froze, for a moment not daring to look in the direction that the deep, rasping voice came, emerging as if from the depths, out of the consuming dark half of the room. He held no notions of fear, only a silent understanding. He may have been training for ‘the cloth’ but he was far from naïve. It was all a question of conscience, his mores. He could see now, as he followed the path of Ororo’s dangerously glinting blue eyes to watch Logan emerge from the gloom, that they were offering him a way out. That was all.


That pang, that sharp stab returned to Kurt as Logan came up to the bed, casually leaning forwards slightly to kiss Ororo as she remained astride him. Bright yellow pools watched them joining in a kiss so deep it was as if he were not there at all. And in that moment, he recognised the cause of that stab that had wounded him so deep for a second. It was that green devil...jealousy. Not the petty kind, born of the male ego. This was a man far above that. No, he was jealous of the level of their intimacy, their trust, their love...


Ororo pulled back from Logan, stroking at his hair as she had with Kurt hours earlier, brushing back the wild, perky whips of his fringe that fell into his eyes. She turned from the man who now kissed at her neck and gave lovingly, a beatific smile to the other. The most beatific look he had ever seen among women or angels. His heart expanded in his chest; a butterfly breaking from its cocoon after such long slumber.


“If you do not want this, then say now,” Ororo whispered as she lent in to kiss him. Kurt responded to her offer by locking her in the hardest kiss he could muster; his sudden abandon liberating. He felt the bed tip, springing back up as Logan’s weight moved, away from it where he had kneeled on its edge for the kiss, and then heard the measured, heavy tread on the floor as he walked around to the other side of them. He looked down on them with unreadable eyes, their pale glassy appearance almost containing a cynical light; a jaded light.


All around it floated like an invisible mist, the aroma of Ororo’s arousal, of Kurt’s arousal mixed with an apprehension, an unknown fear. And then, of course, there was his own desire, Logan’s desire, lurking beneath it all, the menacing alpha male. It became all the stronger as he watched Kurt kissing Storm with the beginnings of release, of the liberation of all his hidden lust; the feelings he’d denied for so long... But the cage remained around the locked down animal that threatened to surface. Instead a different pleasure asserted itself, a new feeling to be experienced; her insistence, her wistful, wilful joy. He lived for her, nothing but her now...everything she wanted... If this was her desire, then so be it...


As Ororo broke from him and lent back, Logan immediately came to her from the left side now, smattering frantic kisses over her shapely neck and shoulders in his uncontrolled need to reclaim her at that moment. His hands found its way past the plunging neckline of her dress to fondle her breasts as Kurt’s slid up her thighs to take hold of the two thin bands that kept her knickers settled on her slender hips. She kneeled for him as he edged them down and as they came to her knees, Logan did the honours; taking a hand from her chest and sliding out just half of one claw, so slowly it didn’t make a sound, only a thin trickle of crimson emitting. In seconds the lace bands were sliced and the underwear discarded. Ororo lent forwards then, manipulating her nimble fingers around the buckle of Kurt’s belt. The sound of the hard dry leather drawing out against itself was loud and long; eyes of both saffron and sapphire focused on it as Logan kept his attentions elsewhere.


That was until, after Ororo had undone the top brass button and teasingly pulled down the zip, she turned to Logan with a sultry smile, telling him, huskily into his mouth, holding back from kissing him, “Take his jeans off.” The power she felt on utterance thrilled her...


He tried to kiss her but she pulled away, taking Kurt’s hands from her too as she rolled onto the other side of the bed, the top sheet cool beneath her. Her eyes flickered with a dulcet excitement as Logan came onto the bed, acquiescing without question, and took hold of the now loose waistband of Kurt’s jeans and began to pull them down.


Kurt’s back slipped down the varnished wood behind him, sinking slowly into a lying position. He felt his heart thumping in reaction to a pleasure so furtive, he’d never known anything like it. He gasped as the sharp clamp of teeth enfolded his nipple and soft sandalwood scented hair fell over his chest. He wound his fingers up into it without thinking as he lay fully naked now, his eyes lightly lidded; the feel of her tongue wetting the fur exhilarating. His breathing became deep and his mouth dry as this new world opened up to him, and he slowly gave himself over to revel in its dark delectation...It was this new world of sin and he could no longer fight it; he had not the desire to. Not anymore. The heart of a man would prevail...


Ororo worked her way down, achingly slow, relishing Kurt’s every gasp, every soft, longing moan, her desire building deep within her, anticipating the moment of full contact, the embrace of both lovers. But her will and patience were strong....Though she did not have to wait long for the exasperation of her own pleasure as she felt Logan’s hands close around her hips and gently move her so that she was once again straddled across the striking blue body beneath her. Logan’s searing breath blasted against her ear as he moved himself over her; his still sheathed erection briefly pushing against her arse, and his voice seemed to her deeper than usual as it was his turn to deliver the orders...


“Put his dick in your mouth....”


He backed off from her then, kneeling close behind but no longer touching as he pulled his t-shirt off over his head and began to unbutton his jeans.


Kurt whimpered as he heard Logan’s words and further still when Ororo’s hand closed around his exposed penis. He muttered something in guttural German, something that turned into a half choked prayer as the moist heat of her mouth touched the bare blue skin of his cock, the only patch of his body that remained furless. Her head bobbed up and down in a measured rhythm as he gave himself over to what was a new experience; no other love had graced him such....Ororo’s sudden moan caused the sensation to multiply. He opened his eyes for a moment to find the cause, seeing Logan, on his knees, right behind her, his right arm moving in a quick, purposeful motion...


Storm tried to channel all her concentration into the warm manipulation of Kurt’s dick, swirling her tongue around its tip every time she came up to it. But her distraction was a most welcome one as Logan thrust a finger into her vagina and his hard skinned thumb brushed at her anus. Her moans against Kurt’s now completely erect cock matched the timing with which Logan’s fingers pushed in and drew out; first one, then two and then three, loosening her.... She cried out and her head flung back despite Kurt’s hand tightly grasped in her hair urging her head down during the fellatio, a reflex reaction to Logan’s thick thumb pushing quickly into her anal flesh. She strangled a second, potentially louder scream, as he began to move his fingers within her in a rougher manner as he often did. No matter how many times, the rawness of the sensation remained, like each time were the first. She could do it again and again and again...


Logan couldn’t resist it anymore, the lust was close to choking him, its scent filling his head, the taste of it the most pungent he had ever known. More so now than ever....He growled with furious heat, un-tempered desire. The familiar sharp zing of adamantium rang out, making an appearance for one job and one job only. Ororo licked her lips, her head tilted back as the cold smooth surface of one claw ran its flat along the side of her body, accompanied by the rendering sound of her dress being slit all down one side. A drop of blood, his blood, dropped onto the sheer white; the scarlet of Snow White lips against ashen skin...


Kurt marvelled at the trust. Pure trust. They way Storm seemed to relish the feel of the flawless metal against her skin suggested to him she had felt it often and she enjoyed it; relished the proximity of such danger. It stirred the heat in his loins all the more...As soon as her breast became exposed as the thin white material was pulled away from her body entirely he reached up for them, feeling them with wonder, a precious curiosity.


Her eyes fluttered open with that serene smile of hers as she placed her own hands atop of his, encouraging his thoughtful gropes. Suddenly her lips parted, nothing emitting at first as Logan’s hands became firm about her hips. She edged her knees further apart, preparing herself as the rounded tip of his cock nudged against her from behind, just ahead of the perineal flesh.


“Ohhh”Lo”GAN!” she shrieked...


Kurt quickly sat up and caught her to him as she lurched forwards with the force with which Logan shunted himself into her. He wrapped his arms around her midriff, laying a steadying hand on her lower back at the same time. He couldn’t resist a groan himself as, with her chin resting momentarily on his shoulder, she moaned directly into his elfin-like ear. Another quickly followed as Logan eased back from her and pushed slowly in again.


But he only repeated the motion twice as a readjusted Ororo took charge of the situation. She suddenly pulled back from Kurt, an action he wasn’t for, only exasperating his oddly pleasurable surprise as she roughly shoved him back down to the bed by pushing at his chest; his upper body bouncing against the soft mattress. Logan moved forwards as she did, edging further up Kurt’s body until she was above his large erection. It only occurred to her briefly as to whether or not she would be able to take both of these men at once, but she soon brushed that thought aside with a mental wind. Taking hold of Kurt’s manhood with a steady grip, to which she smiled gently, but with a hidden edge, at his groan and the uncontrolled buck of his lower body, she lowered herself onto it, wet enough for it to slide right in. She took his entire girth in one, with just the barest quiver of her lips as he filled her. She held herself still for a moment, regulating her breathing as her body adjusted to this unnatural but none-the-less gratifying position; her sex and anus now easily pliant to both men. Her friends, her lovers, this ultimate intimacy...


“Ready darlin’?” Logan’s sandy voice came as if from nowhere, as if from that dark place, taking her from the abstract sensation of the moment.


“Yes,” she breathed, before repeating the affirmative again as she locked eyes with Kurt beneath her, the unspoken agreement passing between them, “Yes.” She answered for them both.

And in one fluid movement Ororo began to ride Kurt as behind Logan rode her. They started slow, only the bed groaned at the action, their breaths rustling and rambling in the quiet. Only the occasional illicit moan from the Windrider broke through it. Tears pricked at her closed eyes as she rocked herself and was in turn rocked, the feeling almost indescribable. She moved her upper body down, wishing again to feel his velveteen pelt on the tip of her tongue, titillating his nipples. She let out a sharp brief laugh at Logan’s obvious pleasure at her shift in position as he began to pump into her harder, taking a fistful of hair for good measure.


Kurt fought to contain himself, holding desperately to the pillow beneath his head. He let himself descend, free fall into the climax that was steadily building inside of him, flowing as did his blood, agitated and hot, whipped up to boiling point. In this welcome disquietude the bud of true life exploded into existence. And he gave himself over to its warm pleasure, its surreptitious elation. Just hold on...just hold on...He needed to gain a point of focus, a place of concentration as resisted the flood of delirium that threatened to spill over. His eyes moved past the mound of her stark white hair, over the dip of her body with its soft sheen that rose up again in a smooth hillock, clasped by two strong hands, beyond his form as it rutted with hard tense movements; forwards, forwards, forwards...Tripping through this buzz, this amalgamation of physical and mental furore, over Logan’s right shoulder he found his point. The Bokan, Logan’s Bokan mounted alone, away from his other katana and his prized Masamune crafted honour sword. This simple wooden crafted practice katana stood alone”the exact opposite of the Masamune. And at that moment Kurt knew. He at last understood that glassy look in the man’s eye. But he kept that Bokan there, kept it in full view for him too see at all times. The symbol of his ‘infra dig’. His failure...


Ororo sat up again, as much as she could manage, and began to ride him faster, in accordance with Logan’s haste, the ache of this great stretch rapidly being replaced by a different sort of ache that she would soon cry for release from. She steadied herself by grabbing at the solid length of Logan’s arm behind her, fixed down rod-straight to her hip and then taking hold of Kurt’s raised thigh that ran along side her. Harder and harder she rocked herself, for there must be some relief. And she was unbridled at the sheer fecundity of this love; this impossible compassion...


They were filled, as if with free-floating blossoms, smothered with the sound of his frantic breath, her longing moan, his animal grunt...


“Move,” Ororo gasped suddenly as she pushed herself backwards, taking herself from Kurt’s erection, prolonging their torture for her delectation. Logan did as she bade him; withdrawing from her and helping her turn over to face him; whipping one long leg over and around. There she knelt, her legs still spread wide, ready to take them both again in renewed fervour before its ephemeral nature took it from their grasp, dissipating it into nothing.


Kurt had abandoned his all now, not slow to do what Ororo wished of him, he knelt up behind her, placing his hands formally where his best friends had been. Her body shook in quick spasms as Logan entered her at the front without mercy. The fact that he’d never taken a woman in this way before as he steadied his cock against her anus, mattered little. All false decorum had broken down in him, all pretence of moral servitude. He was in walking, waking death no more. No more denial. There was more to love than goodness, a truer path than virtue. He had found it, they had shown him....In all his newly unfettered carnal desire he thrust himself forwards and back into her, to which she bucked helplessly forwards with the most wicked cry.


And so their movement began anew, but their journey towards that ultimate point, that blissful implosion, was as near as ever. They moved with a rhythm, a perfect syncopation. Ororo held her lovers close, holding tight at the nape of Logan’s neck with one hand, grasping at Kurt’s hair behind her with the other as one man used her thighs as leverage and the other her trim waist. His six thick nails pinched at stomach and back in their wrapped around position, making the sweat sting as the start of long horizontal bruises began to appear beneath Logan’s hard clenching fingers....


As the final paroxysm began to herald with the quickening thrusts on the verge of convulsion, their union reached its high point. With unrestrained pants, shrieks and roars, they each came to their conclusions. Ororo broke first, arching, flinging her head back to rest on Kurt’s shoulder as she could take no more, weeping like her rains, her body racked as if by a tempest of her making. Logan followed with one final furious thrust as her sex clenched about him so tightly it could do naught but submit to it.


And there, finally with a sweeping current, Kurt was taken in too. Passion welcomed him, sorrow cleansed by its warm waves; this love, his sanctuary, at last. He could rest now, he could rest as he came inside her, instantly slumping against sleek, fiery brown skin; his check rested in the space between her scapulae, his breath harsh and quick.


The sleepy push of sated lust overcame him, with such natural force he would not have thought such bliss were possible, his bleared eyes again went past the two in front of him as they fell into kissing lightly and tenderly. He was only dimly conscionable of them moving from him, Logan taking Storm into his sure arms, letting her now slack exhausted body rest in his lap, wrapping her in a protective embrace. But all of this action existed on the periphery of his vision and his mind, the smooth curved wood of the Bokan again the only fixed thing as his spend body collapsed back against the bed, his head sinking into the pillow.


Honour, dishonour. Courage, weakness. Control, unruliness. Strength, passion...Kurt smiled, releasing an indifferent sigh.


~The End~





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