He moves up me, slowly, easily, gracefully, always gracefully.
The warmth of his lean body against mine gets the usual reaction from my cock.
He feels so different to a woman, flat and hard with muscle where there would be curves and softness. He smells different, musky and always that underlying acrid tang of spent matches that's uniquely him, I'd know his scent anywhere.
But his mouth is warm and wet, so's his pretty ass with a bit of lube. He's up for it. Up for pretty much anything as far as I can tell. 'Just healthy aerobic exercise, between consenting adults, ja?' he told Chuck, many years ago, when he was challenged over the stream of pretty girls in and out of his bed.
His mouth is on me, all over me, hungry for the taste of me, the sensation of that velvet fur across my skin is intense. Needle sharp teeth nip at me, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make me shiver, almost too much stimulation, sensory overload.
I catch his head in my hands and tilt it up towards me, looking deep into those matchless eyes,
"You know I'd never hurt you, you know, physically?" His brows draw together, puzzled, he opens his mouth to speak. But I need to say this and he needs to hear. "Shh. Let me say this." He nods, still puzzled. "You've got to stop letting me hurt you in other ways too, Elf. Ya' gotta call me out when I say and do dumb things which upset you, which make you feel like you don't matter. 'Cos you're important to me, you're always important to me, I'm just shit at remembering that sometimes, mostly when I'm thinking with my cock. I'm a selfish, stupid old man and you need to call me out on it."
There, that's more than I think I've ever said to him about us, our relationship, over all those years, happy now Jeannie?
He looks stunned too.
"Okay?" I ask. He's speechless. That's a first. He manages to nod but he turns his head away. Aha, not so fast, my lad, I know him too well, I know when he's evading. "I mean it, Kurt." I turn his face back towards me, he knows I'm serious when I use his name.
"...Okay." Small voice, but it's a start, I think.
I'm not, contrary to Jean's current opinion, actually stupid; it's going to take more than some kind words and good sex to rewire what's wrong with this relationship. I lock my feelings for him safe away in a box when I'm not with him. I always have, for his safety as well as my own. That's not going to change. What he needs to understand that he can have access to those feelings for him, and the responsibility they entail, anytime, anywhere, not just when I choose, but when he wants or needs me.
I run my hand down that velvety flank and lower my voice. "And I would very much like to fuck you now. Please?" He nods, still speechless.
Keeping eye contact, I reach out for the purple blooms with the heady scent, they crush into silky smooth lube and he opens his thighs for me. I don't deserve him, it's a fucking honour to be allowed to touch him; as far as I know, I'm the only man allowed in his bed, to see him like this, relaxed, wanton, writhing as my fingers move in him, making a little mew in his throat as I find the sweet spot.
We move so I'm kneeling and, still keeping eye contact, he lowers himself down onto my cock; I'm a big guy, he's... not. But we've been doing this for years, his body knows me, trusts me.
"Ohh..." His eyes close as he concentrates on accommodating me. He's biting his lip and his head goes back. I stroke his thighs, supporting some of his weight. "I... oh!"
And I'm in, oh god he's tight. "Okay?" He just nods, his own cock is starting to harden between us, he's okay. We're okay.
He starts moving, all those sleek muscles working together.
His eyes open and he's looking at me again, lowering himself to my chest, so his cock is sandwiched between us, he's so supple, I'd snap if I tried half the shit he can pull off.
He sits up again, rolling his hips and I start thrusting up into him, so tight, so hot, so fucking good. I wrap a fist around him, my hand still slick with lube and slide his foreskin back.
The words are tumbling from him now, mostly English, some German, he's lost a lot of that soft accent over the years, but, short circuit that overthinking brain and it's still there, under the surface.
His tail thrashes on the bed, wild, beyond his control and he comes over my hand and stomach, the smell of him and the feeling as his muscles tighten involuntary with the spasm of his orgasm makes me lose my control.
I roll us, so he's under and I can get purchase and start to thrust hard, I can hear myself growing, so much for him making me tender, he's closed his eyes and just lets me. I know he doesn't like the weight of me, I know having the base of his tail ground into the bed is uncomfortable.
I stop myself by sheer willpower, still buried in him, arms trembling and drops of sweat raining down on him. His eyes open again.
"Logan?"
I can't speak, but I can make him more comfortable, lifting his hips, which changes the angle and causes a slight gasp, not pain, just stimulation, he's sensitive, he's still trembling slightly from his own release but now his tail is off the bed, he should be more comfortable. I reach for another flower, this must not hurt, he moves his legs down, clasping them behind me. Better, if anything, deeper than before.
He keeps his eyes open as I start to thrust again, watching my face, arching his back as the tempo increases, then that fucking tail snakes up, the spade of it running down my spine and then around my ball sack, squeezing, oh fuck, it's too much, the sneaky bastard is grinning in triumph and I'm coming inside him and may never stop.
I bury my head in his strong shoulder as the stars explode behind my eyes.
I've had sex with other guys over the years, but this is the only man I've made love with, the only one who sleeps with me afterwards, and when he's asleep on me, warm and safe and happy, that's the best feeling of all.
That's one of the two things I need to remember. Jean will be proud of me.