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X2: "Aspects of Love" NC-17 Kurt/Various (2/2)

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  • teland@teland.com
    *So* good. Lex -- Mm? I think... I think I am going to come now. Mmm. And Lex wraps one hand around the base of his cock and pumps and squeezes and
    Message 1 of 1 , May 29, 2003
      *So* good.

      "Lex --"


      "I think... I think I am going to come now."


      And Lex wraps one hand around the base of his cock and
      pumps and squeezes and sucks at the head and Kurt
      clutches at the sheets with his fingers and toes and arches
      and spills and collapses. Panting.

      Vague impression of a long, lean body crawling up over
      his and Kurt catches at him with his tail. "Mm, Lex..."

      Wet sounds, and he opens his eyes to find Lex licking his
      fingers. "I could be wrong -- the light in here isn't the
      best, but is this... periwinkle?"

      "Perhaps a powder."

      Lex nods. "Of course." Looks down at the way Kurt's tail
      is sliding up and down his side. "Anything else you can do
      with that?"

      Kurt smiles and turns them over. Wraps the length of his
      tail around and around Lex's cock. Squeezes.

      "Did I mention that it was a pleasure to meet you?"

      Kurt bows his head and concentrates. He can't quite stroke
      as well as he can with his hands, but...

      "A genuine, wonderful... oh *god* --"

      Leans in for another kiss and licks the taste of himself from
      Lex's mouth.


      "Mm," he says, and just barely manages to rub the central
      ridge of his tail's point along the head of Lex's cock.

      "Oh Jesus *Christ* --"

      "Our Lord and savior, yes."


      And then Lex is coming, clutching at his shoulders and
      making a flattering amount of noise.

      Kurt licks the sweat from beneath his eyes, and then just
      continues down his cheek and up over his scalp. Lex
      laughs at bats him away.


      "Just a bit."

      And then they just look at each other for a long moment.

      "Have to go, right. Don't forget the computer."

      "Oh, no, that would be a terrible thing." Kurt uncurls himself
      and slips out of the bed, pulling his uniform back into
      something like order.

      "You know..."

      He looks up to find Lex staring at him speculatively. "Hmm?"

      "You know your way here *now*..."

      Kurt grins. "Oh yes, I think that I could definitely find my
      way back."

      "You do that." And Lex pulls the sheets back up and waves.

      Kurt waves back, and teleports back into the thick of things.
      Logan gives him an odd look, but that... is nothing new.


      They go to mass together every week, or try to. There is
      often something that must be done, some mission that
      needs to be carried out, or perhaps some small crisis at
      the school to be taken care of, but Xavier is very good
      about this.

      He always finds the time.

      The church is not as beautiful as the one he'd found
      abandoned in Boston (and who would leave such a place?),
      but it is soothing, just the same. Incense, and they have
      become regular enough visitors that Xavier's request for
      traditional Latin service is met by Father Jameson with a
      smile and a nod.

      When they go in the mornings, and it is only the two of
      them and a handful of quiet elderly women, Father
      Jameson slips into Latin easily.

      He takes communion, and goes to confession when there
      is time.

      It is... almost like home. It is not so difficult to imagine
      the priest's faint accent is closer to his own, that outside
      the doors of the church the streets are cobblestone, that
      the wood and statuary is old and crumbling, just a bit.
      Candlelight is very forgiving of such fancies.

      Kurt always sits at the farthest edge of a pew, Xavier
      quiet and watchful beside him.

      At first, he'd thought this was something the man did
      merely as a favor to him, something to help him become
      acclimated. But Xavier murmurs the prayers beside him,
      and always lights a candle. The rites and rituals are
      familiar to him, and when Kurt had asked, he found out
      that Xavier had been raised Catholic.

      That there was a time when, perhaps, all of it had meant
      the same thing to him as it does to Kurt.

      It doesn't seem so, now.

      And Kurt is used to this sort of thing. Not many of the
      mutants he has known throughout his life have ever been
      particularly religious, and many of them had reasons for
      it that made him sad.

      Preachers giving sermons on hate, parents who called their
      children devils or worse.

      "God doesn't want us," one young man had told him when
      Kurt had given him food and offered to share a moment of
      prayer. That had been in Munich, but when he looks at the
      others, all of the teachers with black leather uniforms
      hidden beneath the school, all of the students with haunted
      eyes and families who do not visit...

      He sees the same things.

      He sees them in Xavier, too, though the man is always
      careful, always sensitive of his faith. But... it isn't what he

      He knows the care in Xavier for what it is -- sympathy and
      kindness for another person in need, and for the things
      they use to ease it, for whatever 'coping mechanism' they
      need. As if he was so strange for needing God, for *loving*

      And it doesn't seem right, that someone so wise and so
      loving as Xavier should be so... separate from that which
      connects them all. It seems...

      It is hard to listen to him when he speaks of tolerance, of
      the heritage they all share, human and mutant, because
      *Kurt* knows the only heritage that means anything is
      their common Father. Or... not quite the *only* thing that
      matters, but certainly the thing that ties everything else

      All of God's children, united by love and faith.

      Except that he has seen little of either, or little enough
      together. He knows that many of the people who subscribe
      to his chosen faith would have little to do with him, or
      little good. The Pope himself has offered the mutants in
      his charge little but the admonishment against using their

      Love the sinner, hate the sin. It is the old song, but Kurt
      thinks, maybe, that few people sing it quite right. And
      there is danger there, a pride in himself and in his faith
      that could lead him away from the right path as much
      as anything else, but... It is hard not to believe that
      *his* way is the right one.

      The truest form of Christianity, in which all is one and
      all is loved.

      It is something he brings with him to confession, and
      with his head bent as low as he is able.

      Still, perhaps he could use it, find a way to make his
      trips to mass with Xavier something more than duty for
      the man.

      He finds Xavier in his office, after first asking silently,
      diffidently, if he had a moment to spare.

      *Of course, Kurt,* he'd thought in his mind, and Kurt
      had shivered a little at the intimacy of it. Wondering at
      what it must be like to touch the minds (and perhaps
      the souls?) of everyone, every day.

      He files the thought away for a later conversation and
      walks into Xavier's office. Crouches in the chair in front
      of the desk, so as not to crush his tail against the back
      of it.

      "We'll have to find a chair with no back for you."

      "Ah, it is nothing, Professor. I am used to it."

      A smile. "Perhaps you shouldn't be. And please, what
      will I have to do to get you to call me Charles?"

      Kurt smiles, but he has to duck his head. Remembers
      Mystique by the fire, and the brutal simplicity of her

      "Kurt? Is something wrong?" Xavier -- Charles -- wheels
      closer. Rests his hand on Kurt's own.

      "I... no." Shakes his head. "I was just thinking... that
      perhaps the best lesson we can all learn is compromise."

      Charles raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

      "I am... I am comfortable like this." Kurt gestures to
      himself. "There is no need for special chairs, yes? I
      think... I think maybe there are ways for all of us, all
      mutants, to live in this world comfortably, even if we have
      tails that could be smushed if people are not careful."

      Charles looks at him a long time, and nods. "True. Do
      you find yourself worried about our cause here, Kurt? Do
      you think we are trying to remake the world into
      something it isn't?" Gentle-voiced, and genuinely curious.

      He cannot feel the slightest touch on his mind, and
      wonders what it is like to hold such power in abeyance.
      "No, no, that is... your old friend, yes? I would not be
      here if I thought you held such ambitions."

      Charles smiles at him. "I know you wouldn't, my friend.
      I greatly admire your adherence to your morality."

      "My *faith*, Charles."

      "Yes, I know." He looks away for a moment, seeming to
      be focused entirely on the trees beyond his window. "I
      think that I know why you're here. I've been... expecting
      a conversation about my faith."

      "Then you know that I am... worried for you."

      Another soft smile. "I am content, Kurt. Be at ease."

      "But..." He flails a little, feels his tail whipping back and
      forth. "Will you tell me why you no longer believe in God?"

      "I would not say that I don't believe, Kurt." Charles rolls
      back to him and leans forward a little. "Perhaps it is
      simply the habit of a lifetime spent surrounded by the
      fantastic, but I am no atheist."

      Kurt frowns. "Then... what?"

      "There is a theory that God created the universe, and
      then left it and all living things on their own, to find their
      own way."

      "The 'clockwork' theory, yes. I am familiar with it. But...
      does it not seem cold to you?"

      Warm smile. "Perhaps. But I find it... soothing. A God
      who had enough faith in us, enough *love* for us to let
      us stumble and learn and grow, without interference."

      And that is... not something he has thought about. There
      is something almost terrifying about it, like how he
      imagines what it must be like for a child to walk away
      from his mother. And yet... "And this God will never

      Charles laughs. "I don't think that's for either of us to say.
      But, to answer a question you didn't ask, I... I look at
      this world's churches, and all of the ways people find to
      serve and know the numinous and unseen, and... I can't
      quite find a place for myself. For me, it is enough to take
      what I've been given and try to be the best man I can."

      Kurt grins. "To make your Father proud, yes?"

      Charles folds his hands and tilts his head at him. "Perhaps.
      Does it make you uncomfortable that I can't share your

      Kurt catches one of Charles' wrists with his tail, just long
      enough to squeeze gently. "I prefer to think it is only a
      matter of time."

      Charles laughs, open and welcoming, and Kurt has to
      watch, has to bask in it a little Charles has a wonderful
      laugh, and he does not use it often. It makes him more
      real, somehow, human and beautiful.

      He leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth,
      soft and dry, and leans back again quickly, blushing
      somewhere beneath his skin and bowing his head.


      "I... you are a very fine man, Charles, and I appreciate
      this time with you. You have given me much to think
      about." He looks up again through his lashes to find
      Charles watching him curiously.

      And then he nods, slow and thoughtful. "As you have with
      me, Kurt."

      Kurt grins again and jumps down from the chair. "I will
      leave you to your work. Thank you."

      Charles smiles somewhat ruefully and gestures at the
      door. "You're welcome, my friend."

      Kurt leaves, closing the office door with his tail.

      And thinks about buying Charles a rosary.


      She is always feeding him.

      He has asked her if she thinks he is too thin, and assured
      her that he is quite healthy, but she just looks at him
      strangely and says that she knows he's fine. And continues
      to bring him food.

      Homemade hummus -- something he had never had before.
      Bowls of clean, cool fruit. Bowls of ice cream, and bowls
      of soup, and some special kind of rice that tastes good even
      without gravy.

      He especially likes the fruit, though, because when she
      brings that, sometimes she stays to share it with him.

      She cuts peach-flesh away from the stone with a small
      knife, and feeds them both with solemn care.

      She flies to the roof and bids him teleport to join her, and
      they eat out of season apples and fresh, sweet strawberries
      until her mouth is red and Kurt's hands are hopelessly
      sticky. She smiles at him slyly and calls light rainstorms to
      wash them both, throwing her head back and drinking from
      the sky.

      "Are you not afraid of catching a cold?" And he wonders if
      she would consent to wear his coat.

      She grins at him, white-eyed and crackling with power he
      can feel. "Weather won't hurt me."

      Kurt nods, and thinks that this makes nothing but sense.
      Bobby cannot ever get too cold for himself. He, himself,
      has never broken a bone or sprained a muscle, no matter
      how much he tumbled and flipped. There seems to always
      be a benefit to mutation, no matter how strange the
      mutation itself is.

      When he looks up again, she is standing. Or, actually,
      hovering. Her arms are up, palms raised to the sky, head
      thrown back.

      "You are a work of art," he blurts without thinking, and she
      thumps back to the roof, falling into a crouch. Kurt winces.
      "I'm --"

      "Do you draw?" she asks, interrupting his apology. Water
      runs down her face, soaking her shirt .

      Kurt swallows. "Only on myself." Tries for an apologetic
      smile and knows he's staring.

      She comes closer, kneels and takes his hand and traces
      over the points of his claws lightly with her thumb. The
      part in her hair is, perhaps, the most vulnerable seeming
      aspect of her, and Kurt wants to cover it. Kiss it. "With

      Kurt blinks, tries to focus. "I... what?"

      He can see her smiling, even though he can't quite see her
      eyes. "Did you do them with these?"

      "I... oh, yes. It seemed... fitting, yes?"

      She doesn't answer, but she does look up. A strand of hair
      is stuck to her cheek, and Kurt stares, feeling a little
      helpless. He knows that he is going to embarrass himself,
      very soon, but has no idea how to stop it from happening.
      And then there is roughness against his mouth, and the
      scent of sweetness.

      The last strawberry, and Kurt bites down, taking half. She
      watches him and he watches her watching, and he can't
      quite taste anything but the acid hints of his own need. And
      then she pops the rest of the strawberry in her mouth,
      dropping the stem to float in the water pooling in the bowl
      they've brought with them.

      She eyes him steadily as she chews, unashamed and open
      and so beautiful he aches. Soft hand on his face, palm
      rubbing against the scars, and there's a curious blankness
      in his mind for a moment, two, before he finds himself
      kissing her, tasting strawberry on her tongue and smelling
      sweet, summer rain all over her.

      He slides his hands into her hair and she crawls closer,
      straddling his crossed legs and pushing him down into a
      puddle. He shivers and she purrs into his mouth, pushing
      her hips against his own --

      "Oh, oh God --"

      -- and biting his lip.

      Her eyes are still white, with just a hint of blue at the center.
      Difficult to focus on, impossible to look away from, and she
      does not seem to blink, just stares down and into him and...

      Dancing against him slow and purposeful, making him hard --
      harder -- and making him need.

      "Shh," she says, and Kurt realizes he is praying, but it is,
      perhaps, not right for this. There has been nothing in his life
      more viscerally holy than this moment, but right now, he has
      no prayers. Nothing within his experience, or his studies,
      though perhaps...

      Perhaps something about goddesses, walking the earth
      independent of time and the faith of men.

      She rears up over him and moves faster, wet jeans against
      the wet cotton of his trousers, and Kurt can't help but
      buck. Arch and gasp in rain, breath only incidental.

      "You are... you are nothing I have ever known..."

      She smiles down at him and grinds her hips until he can
      only moan. "Good."


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