Chapter Twelve: Together

"I want you, Kurt."

Kurt stood blinking at Kitty Pryde, the beautiful woman from the future who'd saved him from a cage, bested him in a swordfight, taken him for tacos, nearly killed a man on his behalf, slept all night on his shoulder, and soared through the air into his arms. The woman he'd been wanting to kiss for three days. The woman he was sure he'd been waiting his whole life to kiss.

He was standing in the darkness of his own room, facing the bright light of hers. But he wasn't seeing the luxurious couches, or thick carpets, or the multi-tiered chandelier, or even the bed. He only saw her. Ever since he'd met her, his entire world had felt different. Bigger. Better. Brighter. Like the glittering chandelier he couldn't bring himself to look at, because he was too busy getting lost in the damp glitter of Kitty Pryde's eyes, which were, by some miracle, equally lost in his.

He had no doubt about what he wanted. In some way he didn't understand and made no rational sense, it felt like he'd been searching his whole life for Kitty Pryde, missing her the entire time. And now, she was here. At his door. Saying she wanted him.

It was perfect. Like a dream. Like a fantasy…

It was, he realized, entirely too perfect. Just like it was too much of a change from an hour ago, when they'd parted hurt and angry. Not to mention the day before, when they'd ever-so-briefly kissed, and she'd wrenched herself out of his grip. He wanted to trust her—wanted to believe she knew what she wanted and wouldn't regret it in an hour, or a day, or a few weeks after that. But it was a mistake he'd made with Kitty before—assuming he knew what she really wanted, or even who she really was.

Kurt forced a deep breath into his lungs, carefully released it, then said, in the clearest voice he could muster, "No."

It was Kitty's turn to blink. "No?"

"No," he repeated. "I want you to be sure. I want—"

"Kurt."

Kitty placed a hand on his chest, and he dropped his gaze to look at it, needing to confirm with his eyes what he felt in his body, which was the weight of her palm and the subtle tense and squeeze of her fingers, so gently stirring his fur.

Knowing his resolve wouldn't last long if she kept doing that, Kurt tried to pull away, taking a half step back into his own room.

Kitty's hand slid off his chest, clutching the air for a moment before dropping to her side. "You don't believe me." It wasn't a question.

Kurt's own hands flexed at his sides, remembering the trapeze and Kitty's small, strong hands slapping his and then griping, for dear life and joy. God, she'd looked gorgeous on the trapeze, auburn hair rippling in the wind as all those lovely lean muscles squeezed up her arms and thighs. Her firm, beautiful thighs…

"Well?" she prompted.

Kurt ran his thumbs over his fingers. "Would you blame me if I didn't?"

Kitty bit and chewed her lip, sneakers shuffling on the thick carpet. Kurt's heart clenched at the sight. His hands felt cold, like something very precious was slipping through his fingers.

Her voice was eerily flat as she said, "I guess that's it, then."

"I suppose so." He spoke the words like the world's worst actor, reading from a terrible script.

Kitty shuffled her feet again, then stepped back into her own room. She fumbled a bit with the door, and it took all Kurt's resolve not to help her, not trusting himself to get closer. Through the crack of the door, she said a quick goodnight, and he returned it, words dry in his mouth as he watched the light from Kitty's room fade to a sliver, then snuff out altogether when the door finally closed, followed by the clunk of the lock.

Kurt turned from the door, then forced himself to move, walking from one side of the room to the other. He walked around the bed, and back. He circled one of the wing chairs, and lingered next to a side table bearing a bouquet of pink roses, fingers tickling their soft petals and pulling one free. Then he turned back toward the door, staring at the paper-thin strip of light beneath it. As he stood staring, the light blinked off.

For five minutes that became ten, Kurt continued to stare. He wondered if Kitty was asleep, and how she could possibly sleep when his own heart was performing sickening somersaults, worse than anything he'd ever felt on a trapeze or after a teleport, even with a passenger. He wanted to know what she was thinking, and feeling. Wanted to explain. Wanted to…

Before he knew what he was doing, he was moving toward the door. A lock was nothing to someone who could teleport. But he'd never do that—would never invade her privacy without asking first. He'd have to knock, and hope against hope she answered.

He raised his fist, then hissed a startled curse as the door shimmered strangely, wavering and melting in front of him. His body reacted instinctively, telling him to be somewhere else.

A split second before he teleported, he recognized Kitty, phasing through the door. Every nerve ending in his body spiked, acutely aware of the danger of catching part of her in the 'port. The only solution was to make sure he caught all of her. He fell forward into her blessedly solid flesh as he surrendered to irrepressible instinct, and disappeared.

They reappeared in Kitty's room, too close to the coffee table. Momentum tumbled her weight into his chest, and though his arms and tail moved quickly to catch her, doing so required falling again, into the too-close table with Kitty on top of him. Kurt was dimly aware of a sharp pain in his shoulder as he fell, but his primary focus was the dearly welcome thud of Kitty's whole body slamming into his chest as his back slammed into the carpet.

"What the—"

"Areyouokay?" he interrupted, breathless worry turning three words into one.

"Yeah, did we just... teleport?" She was twisting against his hips and chest, searching for her bearings in the dark.

"You were phasing through the door, and I thought—"

"Instinct."

"Ja. I'm sorry. I can't always—"

"It's okay. I know the feeling…"

Kurt didn't realize how firmly he was holding her until she placed a hand on chest and began to wriggle free. He released her quickly, tail all-but snapping the air in its awkward hurry to uncoil itself from her thigh. The room was dark, though that mattered little to him; he saw as well as felt Kitty push herself off his body to her feet, noticing that she'd changed out of her clothes into a dark tank top and a pair of flimsy shorts. Of course, his tail had already known that; his favorite appendage wasn't as sensitive as his hands, but there was no mistaking the difference between jeans and bare flesh.

While she went to turn on the light, he climbed to his feet in her wake, awkwardly readjusting his own shorts and t-shirt.

"Kurt."

When he raised his eyes to hers, they were wide, directed at his right shoulder. Following her gaze, he realized why his shoulder was throbbing; the sharp brass edge of the coffee table had torn a generous gash up his bicep.

"It's nothing…" he began, but trailed off when he tried to cover the wound with his palm. The pressure prompted a generous gush of blood that quickly escaped his fingers to pour down his arm, dripping vivid scarlet onto his shirt and the carpet.

"Bathroom," Kitty stated, already leading the way.

Kurt followed her dumbly, trying not to drip as he went, and not quite succeeding. In the glitteringly white bathroom that was at least as big as the room he'd spent most of his life sharing with Stefan, Kitty closed the lid on the toilet, pointed, and said, "Sit."

He did as he was told, because he'd learned not to question Kitty's judgement about important things, and because he was increasingly distracted by the pain in his shoulder, his spike of adrenaline giving way to an achy, burning daze.

Kitty collected a towel that was as glitteringly white as the rest of the bathroom, and said, "Now—take off your shirt."

Kurt hesitated, eyes flicking from the very clean towel to Kitty's equally clean hand and his own decidedly not-clean hand, stained maroon with blood.

Kitty pushed a breath through her nose. "It's nothing I haven't seen before. And besides—your shirt's covered in blood."

Both of those things were true. Kurt opened his hand, letting the blood flow freely as he peeled off his shirt, clenching his teeth to work it past his bleeding bicep. Before the shirt had fully fallen onto the tiles, Kitty was wrapping the towel securely, and rather roughly, around the wound. "Hold that. I'm gonna find a first aid kit."

She found it in the third bathroom cabinet she tried and returned to his side carrying it and another towel, which she wet in the sink.

"Is it still bleeding?"

Kurt checked, and it was, but less so. The cut wasn't particularly deep; he could do without stiches, though he'd definitely have a scar. It also definitely hurt. He couldn't stop his wince as he tossed the bloody towel in the sink and let Kitty apply the wet one, dabbing around the edges of the wound before holding it against the still-bleeding center.

He watched her for a while, entranced by her intensity. "I can do that, you know."

Kitty didn't seem to hear him. She remained intent on her task, her hands becoming gentle, thoroughly cleaning everything before riffling through the first aid kit for disinfectant. Telling himself he'd exhausted his options, Kurt gave into her ministrations. It wasn't difficult; it was nice having her close, tenderly touching and stroking at least some parts of him that didn't hurt.

She warned him the disinfectant would sting, and it did, but he didn't mind. Not when Kitty was applying it, then dressing the wound, thoughtfully wrapping the gauze to prevent the tape from catching on his fur. It felt like something she'd done before.

Kurt closed his eyes and breathed, concentrating on Kitty's fingers smoothing the tape, then tickling up his bicep to his shoulder. What her fingers were doing there, he had no idea. And he didn't care to question it, so long as she kept doing what she was doing. He'd always loved being touched, but especially now, after the cage and the horrible 48 hours that followed, and the better but yearning-filled days after that… When her hand rolled over the curve of his shoulder, a memory came unbidden to his mind, except it wasn't really a memory, because he couldn't place it beyond a fog broken up by a feeling, of a hand very much like Kitty's reaching through the dark to touch him, stroking his matted fur with a calm, certain tenderness he'd so desperately needed.

Her hand reached his neck, thumb stirring his fur at the crux of his jaw. A murmur of contentment didn't quite escape his lips, but did rumble in his throat, beneath Kitty's palm.

"You really like that, don't you?"

Kurt opened his eyes into Kitty's. "I expect your Kurt Wagner feels the same."

Kitty's eyes flicked away. "I wouldn't know."

"Surely you've noticed."

She seemed to consider it, then slid her hand off his neck. "I'm sorry."

"For touching me?" When he realized he'd embarrassed her, he added, "You don't ever have to be sorry for that."

Kitty still wasn't looking at him or touching him, but she hadn't pulled away, either. She remained close, slouching a bit to be near him, a few wisps of auburn hair brushing her forehead.

Gently, he asked, "Why did you phase through the door?"

"Because I was worried that if I knocked… you wouldn't answer." She tucked one of the auburn wisps behind her ear, then asked, "Why were you standing by the door?"

"Because I was preparing to knock."

Kitty's snort of amusement was whisper-faint. To Kurt, it was like beautiful music.

"I wanted to tell you something," he said.

"Me too."

"Which one of us should—"

"I'm sorry," she interrupted, eyes finding his. "For lying to you. And leading you on."

"That's it?" he wondered, very much hoping it wasn't.

"No. I also wanted to say… I meant what I said. I don't know if you're him, or he's you. I only know what I feel."

"Which is?"

"That I wish I knew my Kurt better. And that I'd held on tighter. And… I don't want to make the same mistake twice."

Close as she was, she'd never felt so far, because he wanted her so much closer. "Touch me."

"I—"

"Please."

Time must have been passing, but Kurt wasn't sure. For seconds that could have been years, they contemplated a great turning point in history, one that would lead to riches or ruin, or more likely both. Kurt couldn't know which, and didn't care. He just wanted Kitty to touch him.

By the grace of god, she did, placing a hand on his bare chest, over his heart, before stroking back up to his neck, into his hair, as her face tilted down, inch by fateful inch, until she finally, surely kissed him.

It was awkward, and so was the second kiss, until Kitty gave in to gravity and his gentle hand on her hip, and fell forward into his lap.

Suddenly, she was everywhere. Both hands were in his hair, holding him steady amid the fervor of her embrace, all of her lips and tongue pressing and sucking along all of his as his own hands gripped her back, pulling her deeper into his hips. Or at least, one hand did—he had to use the hand attached to his bad arm, since the other remained covered in blood. His bicep burned as he flexed it, but his tail was there to help, coiling around Kitty's waist and firmly, needfully squeezing.

She ripped off her own tank top, and in his eagerness to touch her breasts, he forgot his bloody hand. He left a handprint on her pale skin where he touched her, but when he tried to recoil and apologize, Kitty dove forward and caught his lips, rubbing her bare skin against his chest as her weight rocked on his thighs. Kurt exhaled a helpless moan into her mouth, lost in the squishy-firm friction of her breasts in his fur, not to mention the fingernails tracing his spine, questing down, and up, and down again, to the waist of his shorts, and then… and then…

He broke off the kiss to swear with pleasure against her cheek, almost angry at how good it felt, because when her fingers caressed the top of his tail and scooped under it, stroking, scratching, and playfully, tortuously tickling, he lost all control of his hands and everything else, utterly disarmed by her too-clever hands. She went from tickling to clasping, and he had to tell her, had to make her…

"…stop…"

It was more of a sound than a word, but Kitty got the message. Her hand retreated to his back, and when he could breathe again, he said, "Kitty, we should—"

"Now, Kurt. I want you now."

He met her close gaze, and saw the determination there. Determination, passion, and something wilder. He'd seen flashes of that look during the raid on the circus, and again on the trapeze. It scared him a little. And made him want more.

He seized her neck and kissed her, roughly this time, the hand caked with dried blood tangling recklessly in her hair, clawing at the elastic until all her auburn waves were tumbling down her back and shoulders, bouncing with her eager motion. She met and matched every inch of his own wild passion, eagerly greeting the press of his fangs as her weight pressed deeper into his pelvis, knocking his spine and shoulders into the cool ceramic basin of the toilet. The toilet. He was about to have sex with Kitty Pryde while seated on a toilet. And no force on earth could have stopped him.

His hands dove into her shorts to cup her firm, perfect ass, compelling her closer to where he needed her most. In response, Kitty hissed against his lips, her own hands strafing up his thighs under his shorts, finding his hips and glutes and confidently kneading.

He was at least lucid enough to consider protection, but Kitty had thought of that, too. With one hand still massaging his ass, she fumbled in the cabinet above their heads, slamming the door open and clumsily knocking down several items, including a toothbrush, and floss, and finally several condoms. Every condom eluded her fingers, but he caught one between his toes, and handed it up. She fumbled with the wrapper while he fumbled with her shorts, wanting to at least touch her before she thrust all of her need onto his.

She whimpered as he caressed her wet heat, and almost dropped the condom. At the last moment, she recovered, and began wrenching off his shorts. His cock sprung free, and with a little help from Kitty, his tail soon followed. She stroked its length as she freed it, and tweaked the tip when she finished. He groaned and coughed a bit on a laugh, because how could she possibly know that—that in the wrong moment, he hated that, and in the right moment, he adored it.

They parted just long enough to kick the last of their clothes to the floor. Kitty was on him again in an instant, rolling the rubber down his length before slamming back into his hips, clattering his shoulders against no-longer-cool ceramic. Then, at last, she was there. With him. Around him.

He savored it for a moment, rocking lazily in her tight warmth, both hands and most of his tail full of the rippling motion of her ass as her breasts continued to rub their delightful softness against his chest, her skin pleading for more of his fur. He accommodated her, shifting his weight to his toes to arch himself into her heat and flesh, deeper now, and then faster, and deeper again, Kitty's lips hot on his throat.

She reached a second time for his tail, knowing what it would do to him. He had to bite his own cheek not to growl, then did it anyway, because the sounds Kitty was making were hardly more dignified. She was lost, and so was he, surrendering to the sweaty, carnal need of being together, truly together—skin slappingly, lip lockingly, overwhelmingly together.

He gasped when she threw herself back, secure in his tail as she opened her chest to the ceiling, pert breasts saluting the sky. With the reverence of a man beholding heaven, he watched her gaping mouth release a silent cry, body rapt in glorious ecstasy that quivered through her into him. When she began to wilt he seized her shoulders, pulling her hard and tight into himself, fangs pressing her neck under hair as he came unglued inside her, not crying her name, but thinking it, like a prayer or a mantra, again and again as the waves of pleasure spilled over him and then settled into a wonderful calm, in which all was right with the world.

When he came back to himself, Kitty was kissing him—his ear and his jaw and the edge of his lips, nuzzling her cheek against his fur wherever, however she could. He sighed into her hair as he shifted under her weight, gradually remembering his backside was throbbing along with his arm. But that could wait. For now, he only cared about Kitty. The smell, and feel, and fact of her, naked, damp, and liquid in his arms.

After a while, she drew back to meet his gaze, face and lips alluringly flushed. "So."

"Ja," he agreed, smilingly dreamily into her bliss-cloudy eyes.

She took a breath and released it, warm on his cheek. "That was... wow…"

"Ja…"

She sighed again and kissed him, lightly and sloppily, looking less for the kiss itself than an excuse to stay close, and continue caressing his fur with her cheek.

"This feels like a dream."

They were her words, but could have been his. "It's real," he said, as much for himself as for her. "It must be."

"Why?"

"Because I've never had a dream this wonderful." That was true. He usually had nightmares, something he'd never told anyone.

She smiled against his skin, and suddenly, he forgot every nightmare. They seemed impossible, in a world that had such women in it. No, he corrected himself. Not such women. Anywhere, at any time—there was only one Kitty Pryde.

"What was it you wanted to tell me?" she asked.

The hand stroking her back paused, then resumed. "I may have already said it."

"Tell me anyway."

He inhaled the scent of her hair, and said, "I was going to say… that I lied, and I'm sorry. Because I've already fallen in love."

Time stopped again, followed by a tiny, muffled sound, as Kitty dropped her face into his shoulder. "I know, Kurt. I know."

He pressed a long, slow kiss into the spot below her ear while Kitty held his shoulder to hug him tighter. She fit so perfectly there. Like she'd always belonged in his arms, and always would.

Lips tickling his ear, she said, "I don't know if I can move… Don't know if I want to move…"

Kurt knew how she felt. "But I'm afraid you'll have to—if you want to do this again."

Her lips twitched again until she finally, reluctantly peeled herself off his chest, arching her back to stretch before sliding free of his flesh. The spectacle of her continuing to shamelessly stretch her firm curves in front of him took the edge off some of his own discomfort, but he still grunted a little as he pushed himself to his feet and looked to his bandaged arm. A new bloom of blood was visible under the tape.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes," he admitted, then shot her a fang-tipped smile as he added, "Thankfully, I have other options."

Kitty made an amused sound, and began inspecting her own body, quickly noticing the handprint on her left breast. "Is that…"

"Blood, yes. I'm sorry, my hand was—"

"Then we'd better have a shower."

Kurt paused in the middle of working a kink out of his good shoulder, and cocked an eyebrow. "Together?"

Kitty responded with a delicious smirk. "What do you think?"

Sometime later, his brain and body had acquired many more magnificent memories, involving the wet slap of smooth flesh on slippery fur and the sound of Kitty's tremulous lips moaning his name. His mouth learned the shape of Kitty's breasts and the taste of her pleasure, and his tail, always a quick study, learned many new things about many different parts of Kitty's body.

Later, they made a nest in the exact center of the enormous bed, tangled together like they thought they were sharing a cold one-person cot, or like they thought one or both of them might vanish if they didn't cling to as much of each other as possible, as securely as possible.

In the dark of morning, they woke up again to get closer again, Kitty crouched forward on her knees and forearms as he thrust languidly into her warmth, longing to spend the rest of his days in the sway and roll of her hips.

He fell asleep a second time using her chest as his pillow, his tail he couldn't tell where, because it was threaded too many times through her legs and his.

He fell asleep a third time not inside her, but close, his spent pleasure tucked between her sticky thighs as she buried her face in his chest, her breath damp and delightful in his fur.

The fourth time they woke, it was in response to a knock on the door. Bodies still tangled, they wriggled deeper into the Egyptian cotton sheets, and ignored it. But soon, they couldn't ignore it, because the knock became a male voice in their heads.

"Kitty Pryde. Kurt Wagner. We need to talk."

Notes: Uh-oh… wonder who that voice belongs to…? Stay tuned!

But seriously—everyone who's still reading this story, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patience. Things have been crazy, but I *will* finish this thing.

And don't worry too much about the phasing and teleporting shenanigans. Superpowers are magic and should be treated as such! Ditto with the very-conveniently-placed sexual accessories. If I need to make hotel bathrooms more well-stocked than usual to keep safe sex sexy, I will do so :)