He's got that cute but smug grin going on. Little brat. The snow is melting under my knees.
I run my hands up his thighs, moving the black fabric against the grain of his fur. His expression changes, he licks his lips, still keeping eye contact. Felt that, didn't you, bright boy?
I put my hand on his crotch, cup his balls, squeeze slightly. I run my thumb over them, his costume is tight, and getting tighter, the fabric is very thin, but incredibly strong, high tech stuff. His breath catches, his cock moves, twitches. I run the back of my hand up it.
"Logan?" There's an air or warning in his voice, anyone could come out and see us, see me crouched between his thighs, touching him. He's looking over towards the mansion and the huge, floor to ceiling, windows.
"What? Thought you were enjoying this?" I continue fondling him through the soft, slippy fabric. It's sliding freely now, he must be leaking, I run my hand over the head, moving the fabric across it.
"Ah!" He squirms again, rocking towards me, he's biting his lip. I move up him, keeping my hand where it was. "Logan, please, what if someone sees..."
"Don't care." I sit beside him on the bench, my breath smoking in the cold. I keep the palm of my hand moving. He's shivering now, so sensual, so sensitive.
"Gonna make you come now." I kiss his neck, breathe in his delicate ear. "An' you ain't gonna go clean up, hear me? I want you dirty." He's trembling. "Dirty, sticky, filthy, smelling of what I made you do." He gasps. Little secret, my boy is fastidious as a cat, absolutely hates being dirty, hates it, walking about with his fur inside his costume all sticky will not be high on His Lordship's wish list. But I love it. He always smells good, but I fuckin' love it when he smells of sex, there's something about his musky odour, mixed with arousal, which drives me wild. "I want you to stink when I peel you out of that costume." His head goes back, he's on the edge now; Kurt can't do is dirty talk. No idea why, can't usually shut him up, but get him all wound up and you short circuit that too clever brain and he loses his words. It's very hot. "And then I'm gonna' ram my cock so hard up your sweaty, filthy, stinking ass." I, on the other hand, am good at dirty talk. "Come for me, darlin'"
And, yeah, there he goes, over the edge, shaking, whimpering to try and keep quiet, gulping air, hips thrusting up into my hand.
So, so hot, the snow melts as it touches him. Nothing is as hot as my lad on a cold snowy day.