Me and my Kurt are having a little difference of opinion.
See, he likes me to come up his tight, hot little ass. Likes to feel it in him. Says it makes him feel connected, part of me.
Me? I like to come on him, on his back, over his balls, up his belly. I ain't that fussy. Just on him, so I can rub it in his fur, mark him as mine, with my scent. I want him to reek of me. Of what we've been doing. I want, I need everyone to know. To know he's mine. Hands off. To know we fuck. To know this beautiful creature lets me touch him, let's me do that to him.
Oh, I can still smell it when I shoot my load inside, but nowhere near as strongly.
He alway smells fuckin' hot, musky, sexy, it's the fur.
He doesn't sweat like we do. He sweats like a horse, works himself into a lather. Fresh, it barely smells at all, but if ya' work him hard and he doesn't get clean right away, he gets a sweet musky odour that drives me insane.
He's aware of this. He hates it. I know he does.
I know why he hates it; he absolutely hates bein' thought of as an animal. He's a man. A unique man but a man nonetheless. And the fur, the sweat, the smell, singles him out, makes folks think he's less than a man, makes them think he's an animal. He's a man. A kind, gentle, guy. My best friend. And I'd defend him to my dying breath. I'm the animal, I'm the dangerous one.
So yeah, I get it. An' I won't force the issue. But to me, he smells fuckin' hot, particularly when we come back from a job; sweat, adrenaline, cordite, sometimes blood.
Peeling him out of his uniform, he fuckin' stinks. He doesn't get it. He thinks he smells dirty, he does, a hard workin' man, worked hard. That's the fuckin' point!
It's damn well mouth watering and it makes me want to bury my nose in his crotch, or to bend him over and take him rough and fast, right in front of the whole team, add the smell of my come to the mix.
But I don't, Chuck would have a heart attack an' more important, Kurt would be embarrassed. So I behave. Still want to though.
But all the fuckin' showers. Baths. Another shower.
He spent the first nineteen years of his life in a caravan, nothin' much more than a box on wheels, no plumbing, no frills, with three other people. Before he came to us, he'd bathed with a bucket of water and a flannel. So havin' a bathroom of his own, a bath, a shower he can use anytime he wants, it blew his sweet fuzzy little mind, bless 'im.
Hah, when we first started this shit, he wrecked the plumbing of the whole feckin' Mansion, fillin' that big ass tub of his. Chuck had to get a whole new boiler system fitted.
But an hour? In a bubble bath? Reading a book? That's weird.
Hey, showers can be fun, good, clean fun, when he's slippy and wet. Oh, yeah, he's supple, too, athlete, ya' wouldn't believe the positions he can be comfortable in, and he doesn't weigh much
His legs round my waist, arms round my neck. I brace my legs apart and fuck up into the warm wet space between our bodies, as the hot water beats on my back. The sweet musk of damp fur rising from him and the friction is a great combo. Then his tail snakes round my waist to pull me closer, the spade of it runs between my butt cheeks and I grunt as it starts to fuck me. Just the tip, the whole spade is bigger than my hand, that takes prep, but the tip, yeah, get it in there. Dirty, dirty boy, it's part of what I love about him, he's got imagination. I come up his stomach, hittin' as far as his chest, with a happy grunt.
He's been watchin' my face the whole time and we kiss, long and slow, while the water, sadly washes the scent of my marking him away.
But I'll give him this, he does look darn pretty when he's all damp and freshly showered.
So, he'll probably win this one. 'Cos when you know why he wants to be clean, when you know what it means to him, then, well, how can I argue? Him being happy trumps my macho instincts, goddamn' it.
But I still like it when he smells of me.