The third first time Krakoa, third time's a charm?
He doesn't actually 'port us from the pool, where we'd been fooling around, into the bed. He has developed some common sense over the years, not much, but some. We arrive in his shower, along with a gallon of muddy water and several water lilies, including the one behind his ear and an offended frog. I still have my hand on his dick and he's already half hard. The shower really is a warm waterfall. "Oh, that's, mm, distracting." He leans into me. "We, we could have ended up in the wall."
"Nah, you're too good these days to make a rookie mistake like that." I'm working him faster now and his head is on my shoulder as he pants. "Too. Good." I mouth into his neck. He comes over my fist with a grunt of pleasure.
The bedroom is huge, vast windows open to the east, vines and flowers crawl everywhere.
"Wow." The view is stunning. He stands behind me and wraps his arms about my neck. Safe, warm, very much alive, unlike two days ago, when we both took a swan dive into the Sun. Nice shiny new bodies for both of us this time. I push the dark thoughts away again. Safe now. "Who did you sleep with to get this fancy pad?"
"Krakoa likes me."
"So you're two timing me with a fuckin' island now?"
"You have such a filthy mind, Krakoa loves me for my intellect."
Chuck has some weird shit going on about optimal and perfected bodies. My Elf currently has the optimal and perfected body of a horny little goat, with the refactory period of a teenager. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, he's damn beautiful. And getting brave; he kissed me in front of everyone. Well, in front of family, who with the possible exception of Warren, already knew, but even so.
" 'I am half sick of shadows' "
"Huh?" I grunt in my most erudite manner. I know it's a quote, but fuck knows where from.
"I don't mind being open." He waves his hand in a vague manner, I interpret this to mean in an open relationship; he still does like his pretty princess', doesn't he. "I just don't want to be a secret anymore." His voice is no more than a whisper. Kurt's good with words, except when he isn't, when it comes to asking other people for something. When it comes to asking me.
"Alright, hon'" He didn't need to explain, I knew what he meant. We'd kept this under the radar for years, I always claimed it was for his safety, because it was a big enough risk him just being my friend, it would have been pinning a huge target on his back to be more. He doesn't have any enemies, I have more than enough for both of us. And then, of course, there's my damn machismo. I'm the fucking Wolverine, I'm not soft on another guy. Except, of course, I am.
I kiss his long, strange, perfect fingers.
His mouth nuzzles the back of my neck as his dick is hardening again.
He shoves me onto the bed and climbs on top of me, nipping with those sharp little fangs, right where I like it.
I assumed the position, Kurt doesn't often want to top, but, boy, is it worth it when he does. I know I'm too heavy for him, he's very flexible but I weigh twice what he does. I don't much care; doggy style, he can get in nice and deep. The purple veined with blue flowers make lube when crushed, not the yellow ones (soap) or the red ones (astringent, ow). How does he know this, and why is the bed wreathed in them? I swear to god they weren't there when we walked into the room, it's like the Island is pandering to his every whim. Creepy.
Oh, I am so ready for this, those long, elegant fingers, the strength of his legs, his beautiful, uncut, cock in me. He moves his hips like a snake, all the time his teeth are at my throat, across my back, sharp, teasing. He licks a broad stripe down my spine.
His clever, wicked tail coils around me, milking me but he never breaks his stroke, I am his sole focus, it's very intense. I come first, all over that beautiful bed, he pulls out and finishes a few strokes later, across my back, marking me with his scent. He knows me so fucking well, knows exactly what I like.
We spoon up together, after another trip to the shower, things were getting sticky and I remember that first time in Canada, dumping him in the cold lake. All those years, not bad, for a casual little affair. Out of the shadows? We may be in for interesting times.
I become aware of a pair of tiny eyes, watching us. There's a frog on the pillow.
"Elf... why is there a frog on your pillow?"
"It came with us, from the pond. I've adopted him. Her. It."
"It's distracting me."
With a long suffering sigh, he rescues the little amphibian, returning it to the bathroom. "Come on, little chap, you are intimidating big, mean old Wolvie."
Now, back to business, was it the purple or the yellow flowers?