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At two a.m., the library of the Xavier mansion was a quiet place. Those inclined to party were elsewhere; those inclined to study were asleep in their own beds, or working in their own rooms. For the past hour or two, Wolverine and Nightcrawler had the place to themselves.
The room was silent, except for the occasional turn of a page.
Wolverine lounged on the sofa with a motorcycle magazine propped on his knees. A pile of earlier issues was on the floor beside him, each tossed aside as he finished it. He'd started with the January issue; it was September in his hands now. He had long since stopped reading it.
Instead, he was watching Kurt.
Kurt was curled up in an armchair, one foot curled under him, the other idly hanging over it. His tail was hooked over the arm of the chair. He was wearing khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt. He was reading something in German - a thick book. It looked heavy. Theology? Philosophy?
Occasionally his bare foot would swing gently, or his tail-tip. The book implied Kurt, the mature scholar. The pose said, Kurt, the playful boy. Wolverine admired both, the swashbuckler and the bookworm, each aspect as much a part of Kurt as the other.
Nightcrawler turned a page. Lamplight caught the deep blue tones of the skin on his arm, more textured than velvet or satin. His long, graceful fingers caressed the edge of the page, poised to turn to the next one, as if teasing it. Kurt read quickly, but the print was dense. Logan watched as Kurt's eyes came to the end of the page. The supple fingers flexed, gripped and turned to the next page, then relaxed to motionlessness. Logan swallowed.
At this time of night, there was little enough noise in the mansion at all. The library was its central core of quietness. In the Danger Room there was always a low hum of machinery, perhaps not perceptible to the others, but loud to Logan's sensitive ears. In the Main Hall, there was the ticking of the grandfather clock. Other rooms held electronics, machines, people, music or conversation or the sounds of work.
Here and now, there was silence.
If he thought about it, inside that silence Logan could hear the measured rhythm of Kurt's breathing. He could watch the minute rise and fall of his chest: the soft T-shirt stretched over his muscular, lightly furred chest. Without much effort he could inhale Kurt's scent; they sat four feet apart, with no competing smells. With every breath he could breathe in the sweet odor that was Kurt and Kurt alone, as sharp and sensuous as if he had pressed his face to Kurt's throat.
An arousing thought. Or maybe it was just the sight and scent and sounds of Kurt arousing him. Kurt shifted in his chair, changing his position, and Logan had to glance away for a second just to keep from growling aloud. Totally unselfconscious, Kurt tucked one foot on top of the the other, so that one knee was on the seat of the chair, one upright, thighs splayed. The casual pose was so beautiful that Logan could hardly bear it.
He knew how silky Kurt's skin was to the touch. He'd never touched it the way he wanted to. He'd longed to pet it, to play with it with his fingers, to let it slide over his body. He wondered if those magnificent, prehensile feet were as soft as they looked; as sensitive to the touch.
"Logan?" Kurt was looking at him, the book lowered to his lap. In easy comfort, he looked mildly bemused, relaxed. It was easy for Logan to think of the pose as wanton. Provocative, even. But he knew Kurt didn't pose deliberately. He had no idea. Kurt was sharp, smart, quick on the uptake, but unaware of his own striking looks, or the effect he had on others. Well, specifically, he was unaware of the effect he had on Logan.
Kurt had long thought himself a freak, but had learned to accept himself as he was, without realizing what that might seem to other eyes. Trusting and friendly, he was innocent in ways Logan had never been innocent.
The Elf had no idea.
Logan was sweating a little, now, though no one would say it was warm in the library.
"Logan, you're staring."
"Yeah?" It came out a bit of a growl. Couldn't be helped.
"Something on my nose?" Kurt rubbed his nose. Logan longed to lick it.
"No."
"So why are you staring at me like that?"
"Because you are so fucking beautiful."
"Oh." Kurt looked thoughtful. He didn't blush - even in this light, Logan knew how to read his coloring. His scent didn't change, or his position. Hard to tell what he was thinking.
Caught staring, Logan decided he might as well make the most of it. "I want to kiss you," he said. He'd hoped to sound tough and macho and confident, but wasn't sure it didn't sound like begging.
Kurt tilted his head, now watching Logan very closely. He did not seem inflamed with desire, but at the same time he hadn't recoiled from horror at the idea of being kissed by the ugly old guy, either. "Oh?"
"Please," whispered Logan, and now it really did sound like begging.
"All right," said Kurt, but he didn't move. The tip of his tail twitched, and stilled.
Logan rolled off the sofa, feeling clumsy compared to Kurt, all speed and strength, but with none of that sinuous grace. He put his hands on the arms of Kurt's chair, tossing the book to the floor. Kurt didn't even glance at it, much as he loved his books. He kept his eyes fixed on Logan's. His eyes were dark and lustrous, holding depths, holding - did Logan dare to believe it? - invitation.
"Elf," said Logan. His voice cracked.
"Kiss me, then," said Kurt, half commanding, half teasing. He did not move.
Logan moved swiftly. He pressed his lips against Kurt's. Kurt opened his mouth and sensation flooded through Wolverine's whole body. It had been one thing to warm himself from afar with the pleasure of Kurt's scent, but the impact of his taste was overwhelming. A taste totally unknown, totally new, totally Kurt. Logan groaned.
Kurt opened his mouth still more, exploring with his tongue, opening himself to Logan. He ran his fingers up Logan's arms, where the coarse dark hair was so unlike his own short, silky fur. His arms, which Logan knew to be amazing in their strength, were half the thickness of Logan's. He stopped with his hands on Logan's shoulders.
Logan pulled back. He was trembling inside: hoped it didn't show. Couldn't think. Could hardly breathe.
Kurt smiled. A sweet, open smile - how not to read invitation into that?
"Well?" He said, and the smile turned into a mischievous grin. Clearly - invitation.
Logan dropped to his knees on the floor in front of the chair, with Kurt's hands still on his shoulders. He closed his eyes, savoring a moment he was afraid would disappear if he claimed it. His own hands were loose in his lap. Kurt's fingers touched his cheek, lightly.
Logan lowered his head, knowing Kurt was still looking at him, unable to look himself. Frozen with hope and need and desire, he stared at the floor, at his own hands, at Kurt's feet, tucked close to his crotch. Logan tried to speak, and couldn't.
"I know," said Kurt softly. His fingers traced Logan's lips. Logan opened them slightly. Then Kurt put his hand on Logan's head, and pulled his head down till his cheek rested on Kurt's lithe, warm, open thigh. "I know, Logan. Me too."
- end -