Disclaimers: Not even close to mine, dammit.

Spoilers: Less a spoiler than inspiration. Cover for
upcoming Wolverine comic here:
http://teland.com/wolverine6cover.jpg

Summary: Logan doesn't know what's going on.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Did you *see* that picture?

Acknowledgments: To my We, for coddling me in my
insanity, especially Miss Deb.

Feedback: Yes, please. teland793@sbcglobal.net

*

This isn't the first time.

And Logan's in no mood to count, or even think about
what time this is -- never mind what it all means --
but... not the first.

He gets a little more open every time. A little less...
whatever it is that made Kurt *Kurt*, instead of the
man who comes to him. Who always knows when.

Maybe he counts the beers in the fridge, maybe he
smells it on the air. Maybe -- most likely -- it doesn't
have a damn thing to do with him.

And that's what pisses him off, more than anything
else.

Once upon a time, Kurt was as much of a friend as Logan
had ever had. Someone who understood him, and even
when he didn't made an *effort*. And made that effort
look just as easy and natural as everything else. A good
man, and Logan hadn't been surprised when he'd shown
up with the collar, because if anyone had the right to
be a priest in this fuckup of a world, it was Kurt.

But now... now he thinks he should've said something.
*Done* something, even if it was only to ask if he was
sure. If the religion was *really* all he wanted.
Needed.

These days (and nights, don't forget those), it seems like
the only time the man is easy in his skin is when he's in
nothing but.

When he twists the lock on the door and... Jesus.

Golden eyes not-quite-closed and one strong, strange
hand running down the center of the lean chest. Below
the navel, where the hair is curly and black with a blue
shine. Logan knows that shine now.

Knows the way it will feel to twist those hairs between
his fingers. The noise Kurt will make when he pulls too
hard.

"Logan..."

And this... he thinks he could maybe learn to hate himself
for this. The way the sound of his name in that mouth
makes him jerk a little beneath the skin. The way he
wants to hear more.

But there's only a sigh, and Kurt pads across the floor
to him, casually skirting trash. Not-so-casually pushing
his legs apart with his own.

This is the moment, right here, when Logan thinks he'll
say something. That they'll actually go back to at least
pretending to be friends for long enough for Logan to
catch a clue.

He can smell it on him, yeah. The sex, the hurt, the
*hunger* like acid-edging on a knife, but he has no idea
what it means.

And Kurt's not talking.

He doesn't close his eyes against the feel of that hand on
his face, even though a good portion of his brain is
suddenly focused on cataloguing calluses, on trying to
tease out desire and intent.

Thumb against his the hinge of his jaw, and Logan thinks
he knows, thinks he might even have something to say
about it, but Kurt just tilts his head up.

Looks down at him with all that tangled *emotion*
behind his eyes, lips parted on the edge of... what?

Nothing but a kiss, apparently, and tasting him doesn't
tell Logan anything he doesn't already know. Doesn't
do anything but make him harder, make him wish he'd
had time to drink more, or maybe less.

Nothing new, but God, Kurt's mouth is a furnace, a
dark tease of sharp teeth and slick tongue.

And this, at least, gets him talking. Endless muffled
groans just on the far edge of understandable language.
He kisses like he wants to eat Logan alive, and
sometimes Logan thinks he'd let him.

Just to be able to think something is getting through,
because he sure as fuck isn't.

Kurt, straddling his thighs, and he always thinks he'll
be ready for this -- the next time if not now. But every
time Kurt just seems that much more naked, that much
more obscene and perfect for *just* this. Only this.

Easy to touch and easy to push and pull and *hold*.

Right there. Logan thinks about what he's feeling right
now. The chafe of Logan's pants on his thighs. The
bruises from his fingers that won't show unless someone
looks too closely.

Has to...

Bites down on the long muscle between neck and
shoulder and gets a gasp. Kurt's cock is almost brushing
his belly, Kurt's hips moving like they're already. Fuck,
and it's hard to keep control. Hard not to just *take*
this, especially knowing that it's probably what Kurt wants.

Maybe even what he *expects*.

And what gives him the right, anyway? Who is he in Kurt's
head that he could just... *do* this? Teleport here, naked
and ready, and think he's going to get... exactly what he
*is* getting.

I hate you, he says, but it doesn't get past his mouth.

The work of a moment to knock everything off the table,
beer spilling like a metaphor and newspapers crackling like
fire. Another to push him down, spread him out, and Kurt
just *lies* there. Or... no.

Kurt drops one leg off the table and bends the other one
up. One hand on his cock and one reaching out. Meaning
a lot less than the look in his eyes, than the shocking red
where one of them has bit his lip hard enough to make it
bleed.

"You want this," and it isn't a question.

"Please," is all Kurt says, but that's enough.

And Logan has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment,
because... because it's always been just the little things.
A hand-job, or Kurt on his knees between Logan's thighs.
Quick and painless, right?

Shakes like a dog and tries to focus, to *think* about
this. They need... they have to... he starts back toward
his bedroom, but there's a tail wrapped tight around his
arm and Kurt is looking at him with nothing but urgency.
Maybe something else, buried deep and dark beneath it.

Kurt is sitting up and pulling him close, pulling his hand
down between his thighs and... slick.

Hot and tight but not so tight he wouldn't be able to...

"Kurt --"

"*Please*..." Accent so strong it comes out as a hiss and...
he wants to say it's okay, wants to say that he'll do
anything, that he'd never hurt, and never be anything but
what Kurt needs, but none of the words are coming.

He doesn't think Kurt wants to hear them anyway. Tensed
up all over that body and urging him on. And those legs
around his waist are bad enough, but then Kurt throws one
up over his shoulder.

Holds himself upright on one elbow and tugs at Logan's
pants. And it's like being hypnotized, or maybe underwater.
Like being *helpless*, but it's not like Kurt doesn't *know*
he's hard.

That he wants this so much it feels like his brain is falling
apart.

Sound of his zipper like an accusation, but it doesn't last,
because Kurt has him, has him out in the air and cradled
in his hand. Logan can see the muscles of the man's belly
trembling, and the position is really impossible, but... God.

He wants Kurt to touch him like this all the time. To want
him that much, even when he's all dressed up in his
preacher clothes. Even when there's more to the world
than just this room and the stink of beer and sex.

And Logan has to laugh at himself a little, but that doesn't
last long either. Kurt's stroking him, making those not-word
sounds. Getting him harder and stroking pre-come all
along his length and not meeting his eyes.

I would've given you this, Logan doesn't say, and pushes
Kurt's shoulders down to the table. Spreads him wider and
rocks his way in before his brain can scream at him
anymore.

Inch by inch and it's so hot, so tight, and just barely slick
enough. Like it's gonna burn to do this the way he wants
to, and he thinks maybe *both* of them want it that way.

"Ah --"

But Logan can't so much as pause. Just wraps his arms
around Kurt's thighs and holds on. Fucks his way in and
closes his eyes against the sight. And that just makes it
hotter, like there's nothing of him but his cock, driving in
balls-deep and --

"Oh... oh *god* --"

And Kurt almost sounds like he's *hurting*, but he just
keeps bucking into Logan's thrusts and it's too much to
worry about the niceties. Not with this wealth of sweat
and sex and sleek, downy fur. He wants this in his bed,
the *scent* of it, but more than that he wants just what
he's getting.

Hand on his face and he snaps at it, but Kurt doesn't
take it away, just strokes his cheek and up over his
closed eyes and there's a fire in Logan's belly he thinks
might kill him.

But he opens his eyes anyway.

A hallucinatory flash of a crooked smile fading into just
another face in extremis, dark and twisted. More
beautiful than Logan wants to deal with.

And Kurt's hand falls away from his face and he's got
himself in hand, stroking hard and fast, not even
bothering to match the rhythm. Makes *Logan* want to
match the rhythm and the table is shaking and creaking
across the floor and there's an animal snarl he knows is
his own and he can't stop and he doesn't ever want to.

Wants it to be just like this forever, trapped together
with the teasing promise of connection and the raw
reality of a fuck.

"Logan --" And Kurt is coming all over them both, shaking
and bearing down hard and Logan fights it, fights the
rush of it, even though he can't make himself slow down.

And Kurt's moaning with every stroke, jerking with every
thrust, eyes squeezed shut and Logan thinks if he just
opened them again, if he just... if they could just...

Comes hard and helpless, like a bullet to the spine and far
less easy to recover from.

Braces himself over Kurt's body and just... breathes.

If this was any other time, any other one of their little
encounters, Kurt would be getting up. Slipping away,
and yeah, he's already trying to move.

For a moment, all Logan can think is that, if he wanted to,
he could make it so that the only way Kurt could get
away from this, from *him*, is by teleporting. And when
he meets Kurt's eyes, wide and wild and just a little
scared, Logan knows Kurt can see it on his face.

Logan closes his eyes again and pulls out as carefully as
he can. Eases Kurt's legs down. Grabs another beer
from the case and doesn't look around until he can smell
brimstone.

Until he can feel the rush of air replacing every trace of
Kurt but what was on him.

In him.

End.