It's alright, not 'getting' Kurt.
He's not to everyone's taste.
It's like a complicated piece of avant-guard music or art.
Not everyone will appreciate it. And it's really hard to explain why you should. But if you do, it's very rewarding.
Oh, on the surface, he's charming and likeable, gregarious and fun. A flashy bit of pop-art.
Get to know him better and you start to notice the quiet. The silence, even, between the high notes.
He's the most likely of us to be reading a book. When he's not swinging from the ceiling.
Of course, if you don't 'get' him, it's your loss, and the X-Men? They notice, they notice how people treat him.
Every movement is lyrical, graceful, sensual. From the theatrical leading with the wrist, to the coil of his tail, to the tilt of his head. We have been friends so very, very long. In good times and bad. It is a simple step, from friends to lovers, but also a vast, undiscovered country to be mapped out, and we mostly do it through touch.
Soft lips opening to me while strong, confident hands caress my back. I run my own hands through that soft fur, I am aware of the privilege I am being granted; for all his wish to be the romantic hero, this is a very private man, in part because he is different and he is, sometimes, quite wary of people's reasons for wanting to touch.
Soft, but strong, the muscles under the fur, the muscles of an athlete, muscles earned by hard work and patient training.
He breaks the kiss. "My lady." His lips nuzzle my neck, hands move to caress my breasts. He is very, very good at this, I can trust him, I do trust him, with my heart as well as my flesh, he is the most beautiful soul I have ever met.
He starts to kiss his way down my body, still standing before me, I run my hands across broad shoulders. He nuzzles my breasts, mouth wet and sweet, while those confident hands move to my hips and my skin starts to sing from the gentle caresses, he moves one, strong, hand between my legs.
"Oh." My knees are starting to feel... unsteady. "Bed, my love." He raises his his head, gives me that genuine, sweet, smile, then he sweeps me off my feet and carries me to my bed, like the maiden in some romantic fiction.
Once he has me on a horizontal surface, I'm his.
Oh, gracious Goddess.
Being the sole focus of the his attention is incredibly intense. I can see why it would be too much for some. He knows, he knows intellectually, how bodies work, he knows emotionally how to give pleasure, he enjoys it, he enjoys the feel of me, the taste of me. Making me happy, makes him happy.
I matter.
I also reach orgasm. Oh! Oh, Kurt. Beloved.
We use a condom, because it will be a cold day in hell before Kurt would put his sexual pleasure before anyone else's physical safety.
Gentle doesn't mean passive.
He moves over me, strong muscles and soft fur. Taking his own pleasure, I stroke his hair, soft gentle Kurt.
Logan is right, precious beyond gold and rubies.
Oh! Oh Goddess, I had forgotten his tail!