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WITH NOTHING ON MY TONGUE	By : KerwinLS Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Slash - Male/Male > Logan/Kurt Views: 1635 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this nor do I make any money from writing it, as if you didn't know that already. I thank all those persons or entities that do own the X-Men for allowing us to play in their universe with their characters.

Chapter List
- 1-WITH NOTHING ON MY TONGUE
- 2-Daddy Dearest
- 1
- 2
WITH NOTHING ON MY TONGUE BUT HALLELUJAH

Part One: THUNDER/STORM

Summary: Logan is off somewhere trying to decide what direction he wants his life to take, while Kurt waits anxiously for his return. After several months pass, he is almost ready to give up hope.

Translation of German words and phrases at the end. I have tried to make the meanings clear in context also.

This story is the fifth in a much longer story arc. There is a chronological list of the rest of the stories including URLs after the German Translation at the end.

From Leonard Cohen’s song, “Hallelujah”

Maybe I’ve been here before

I’ve seen this room, I’ve walked this floor

I used to live alone before I knew ya

I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch

Our love is not a victory march

It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.

. . . . . . . . . . .

And even though it all went wrong

I’ll stand before the Lord of Song

With nothing on my tongue but

Hallelujah

If you’d like to hear this song, here are my two favorite versions:

http://idolator.com/5190814/leonard-cohen-revises-hallelujah-into-a-love-song

Video here of Cohen singing “Hallelujah” live. He improvises a bit in places, and it’s rather long, but very heartfelt and has one of the best backup arrangements I’ve heard so far.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JStOPpNI4Tk&feature=related

k.d. lang’s excellent version.

PART ONE: Thunder/Storm

I am lying on my side in our bed, several hours before sunrise, wide awake, restless and horny. I feel the comforting warmth of Logan’s body behind me, his arm draped over my hips as usual. My restlessness must have awakened him, as his dangling fingers begin languidly stroking my leg, moving slowly down across the top to reach the inner surface of my thigh.

His voice comes soft against my ear. “Ya want it, don’t’cha, Elf?”

“Ja,” I sigh quietly.

His fingers move to my crotch, touching me with a teasing gentleness as his arm tightens around me, pulling us closer together. I can feel his hard cock against my ass. He lifts my leg, propping it up bent at the knee so that he can gain access to my opening. I reach for the lube on my nightstand, taking a glob and smearing it over his member. Thus prepared, he presses into me, spreading me open with a delicious anticipation of pleasures yet to come. I gasp as the head slides inside me, and the rest follows, stretching me, filling me. Oh, yes! Deeper, deeper. Touch that lovely place that feels so good. Ah, yes. Just *there*.

Short thrusts now, pressing against my prostate repeatedly, gaining in urgency with every movement.

His fingers wrap around my dripping cock, milking it in time with his own cock deep inside me.

“I’m so close, darlin’! Oh yeah! Gonna fill you so full with my cum!”

I am whimpering now, quietly in comparison to the guttural noises he makes. “Oh, ja! Make me come! I want to – Yyaahhhh!”

Again, the familiar but always astonishing sensations of orgasm wash over me, drowning me in feeling, as my seed spurts out of my jerking penis and my insides convulse around the hard cock within me. Oh, Gott, if heaven feels like this, death would be a small price to pay to get there!

As the intensity of the feelings fade away, I regretfully return to reality. My left hand clutches the base of the glass dildo up my ass, while my right hand is a fist around my drained penis.   Logan has not been in my bed for several months now. He is away somewhere, searching his soul. Or at least, that is what he said he would do, struggling to decide the direction his life will take from here on. I am supposed to be doing the same thing, deciding if I will still want to be with him when he returns, assuming he will still want me as his partner by then.

Looking down at the white splotch of my cum on the sheet, I know very well what my body wants. But is that the same as what I want?

I think back to the tortured days we spent together, when he told me about the horrible things he had been doing on his solitary missions and what he might well do again in the future. The long discussion we had, when I told him that I was in no way morally perfect either.

I remember the final promise I made to him, when he told me, “I’m not worth it, Kurt. I’m really not.”

“You are. I vill be here vhen you return to me.”

Sometimes now, I wonder if I will be able to keep that promise. A part of me cannot stand this waiting and wishes only to run away, be done with him, stop missing him so terribly. But that is not what I really want. I want him here, now, with me. I want his body against mine, his cock up my ass. And I cannot have it. I can only wait, wondering when he will return. And what if he never returns? What if something has happened to him?

“Seit Logan gegangen ist, ist mein Herz so leer wie mein Bett,“ I tell myself softly out loud.

I tend to lapse into German in times of strong emotion.   In order to help break that habit, I translate it into English and repeat it. “Since Logan has been gone, my heart is as empty as my bed.”

Oh, stop, I remind myself. Enough self-pity. You are not the only person to be left behind to wait and worry about your lover. Think of the spouses of soldiers all over the world, when the soldier is away in battle, perhaps never to return. Or in the old days of sailing ships, when the wives must wait months and years for a husband who may be long drowned and dead, as far as she can know. Do not be such a baby! You did not invent this endless wait, and you will not be the last one to suffer through it, not by a long shot.

Logan leads a dangerous life, as do all the X-Men, including yourself. The day may come when either or both of us do not return alive from a mission. That is part of the life you have chosen.

Yes, but we have always shared the dangers together, until recently when he began going off by himself. And what if he does come back unharmed, but has decided he does not want me anymore?

No, I cannot think of that. I must not dwell upon it. I must live my life, hoping and praying for the best.

I get up, go to the bathroom, take a shower, and get ready to start my day. And change the sheets on the bed yet again. I must remember to have a towel or something handy, so I do not make such a mess next time.

Another day goes by. I teach my German class, check homework, teach simple acrobatics to the youngest of our students, counsel several youngsters who seek my advice, run through my regular routine in the gym, and take a walk outside as the sun sinks toward the west. It is unseasonably warm for this time of year, so I do not even need a coat. I eat supper without paying much attention to the food. I climb the stairs to our rooms without anticipation of anything but sleep.

I turn on the computer in my study. Since I started teaching last fall, I have thought of taking online college courses in education. Tonight I browse the internet, searching for whatever may be available along these lines. Until I have a license for teaching, the students in any class I may teach will not be able to count it towards their educational credits, which makes their participation strictly voluntary. I find several possibilities for online study, but I set them aside for the future.

I have also been working with our nurse practitioner to learn more about emergency medical care, in order than I may be better able to cope with injuries to any of the X-Men during our missions. Since my abilities are not as widely dangerous as those of most of my teammates, I figure I can make myself more valuable in other ways, in order to make up for that.    Perhaps there are some good sites online that I could study for this purpose.

However, until I know what will happen between Logan and me, I do not want to make any definite plans. If I continue here with the X-Men, I tell myself, I will get serious about pursuing all of this. Until then, my future is on hold.

A sudden gust of wind hits my windowpane, catching my attention. From my vantage point on the third floor, I can see the trees nearby waving back and forth. The sun is just above the horizon, but I can make out a bank of clouds far to the southwest.

I check the weather online for the local forecast. The radar shows a very large area of heavy thunderstorms heading in our direction. There must be a serious front coming through. It is a bit early in the year for that, since it is only May.

There is a tentative knock on the door of my study. Before I can answer, I hear Storm’s voice calling, “Kurt? Are you there? May I come in?”

“Ja. Of course. The door is unlocked.”

A breeze ruffles the papers on my desk as she hurries in. As always when I look at Storm, I think how very beautiful she is. She has been our leader and head of the School ever since the Professor died. She carries that burden with grace and aplomb, not to mention confidence and courage. Of all the women here, she is the one I admire the most. But tonight she has the look of an excited child.

“There’s a real nasty thunderstorm coming, and I know you’ve always liked watching lightning. I’ve seen you crouched on the roof more times than I can remember, enjoying a storm. I just thought perhaps tonight you’d like to watch it from my room, since I have a much better view than you do, and it’s still rather chilly to be outside on the roof. Unless --” She hesitates, as if she is somehow uncertain of my answer. Most unusual for her to be uncertain of anything. With a graceful gesture of her hand, she indicates my computer. “Unless you have something more important to do?”

“Not at all. I vould love to!” I start the process of shutting down the computer, then get up from my chair.

Now I am sorry I am dressed so casually in faded jeans and an old sweatshirt. Surely, to spend time with such a lady, I should look my best. But too late now. At least she is not much more dressed up than I am.

Together, we climb the narrow flight of stairs that leads to her room up in one of the Mansion’s towers. There are wide windows on three sides, so she has a lovely view of the surrounding area. Potted plants are scattered all around, some small and some rather startlingly large, reaching to the high ceiling. During the day, this room would be quite sunny and bright, but now it is dim and shadowed. We go to the window that faces west, since the storm will most likely come from that direction. Yes, we can just see the distant clouds, with now and then a diffuse flash of lightning.

As we sit down on the long window seat, I ask, perhaps naively, “Could you not make this storm go avay, since it may vell cause some damage?”

“No, not with a natural weather system this big. I can only manipulate the weather within a fairly small local area centering on me, not over vast distances. In my younger days, I tried to influence more widespread storms, but only found that I made worse problems somewhere else by doing that.”

“Oh. Vell, vhile I am asking questions, vould it be all right if I had a bathtub installed in our bathroom?”

I have changed gears so abruptly that Storm gives me a rather surprised look.

“Sorry. I have been thinking about this for several veeks now and it just came to my mind that I might need your permission. Or someone else’s permission. Or something,” I end rather lamely.

“What’s the matter? Tired of just taking a shower?”

I nod. “Exactly. Vhen I vas a child, I sometimes had the opportunity to play for hours in one of those old-fashioned tubs vith the funny clawed feet. They are deeper than most modern bathtubs. Do you know vhat I mean?”

“Yes, I’ve seen them.”

“I have found such a tub online at a site that specializes in such things. I believe it could fit, if the shower stall vere removed. I vould be villing to pay for the renovations, if necessary.”

“I’ll check into it for you and let you know for sure, but I can’t think of any reason you shouldn’t be able to do it.”

“Good! I vould appreciate that.”

We sit for a while, watching the trees toss in the growing breeze as the sky darkens. Thunder grumbles in the distance, in the direction of the Titicus Reservoir, which is located to the south and west of the mansion. If the wind stays in this direction, it will be pretty rough on the eastern end, especially with the way it narrows so quickly. Maybe even some flooding, if the reservoir is full.

“You just want something that you and Logan can both fit into together,” Storm says, glancing at me instead of the window.

I smile shyly, acknowledging that she has indeed guessed correctly about the bathtub. “Ja.”

“It’s been pretty hard on you since he left, hasn’t it?”

I look away from her, not really wanting to discuss this. It hurts too much for me to speak of it easily. “Oh, I am doing all right. Logan vill be back, I am sure.”

“What if he isn’t, Kurt? Have you given that possibility any consideration?”

“He’ll be back. I have to believe that or I fear I vill go crazy,” I admit.

“He makes a habit of disappearing for his own reasons, you know. It’s nothing you’ve done, or failed to do. That’s just the way he is.” She presses the palm of her hand briefly against my cheek. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve always thought that the one who holds Logan the loosest is the one who will hold him the longest. So far, you seem to be that one.”

“I hope you are right, meine Freundin. Every night, I fall asleep hoping to hear his motorcycle coming down the drive. And every night I am disappointed.” I have said too much now. I do not wish her to think I am so pitiful. I will change the subject.

“Sometimes I envy your ability to fly, and to deal with lightning safely. How I vould love to vatch such a storm from just below the clouds, vith lightning all around me! It must be incredible!”

“You’d really like that?”

“Jawohl!”

“Then let’s do it. I can carry you up there with me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. But we might want to wear some heavier clothing. I can call up a sort of protective shield of calm around us and repel any lightning bolts that come too close, and even keep most of the rain away, but I can’t provide warmth and comfort. Quick, go get into your uniform while I get into mine. That should be enough.”

In the space of an instant, I have jumped down to my room and am putting on the heavy black leather of the X-Men. When I return to Storm’s aerie, she is ready to go.

We look at each other with a strange sense of shyness. Of course, I have had reason to touch her and hold her, and she me, during many of our missions and at practice in the Danger Room. But this is different somehow.

“Vhat shall I --?” I start to ask, but she immediately knows what I mean.

“Stand next to me and put your arm over my shoulder. I’ll hold you around the waist. That should do it, since the cocoon of wind around us will hold up your weight as well as mine, but I don’t want to lose contact with you, just in case.”

I am a few inches taller than she is, but this is a comfortable position. Perhaps too comfortable, as I am very aware of her body where it touches mine, despite the layers of leather between us. Tsk, Kurt, pull yourself together. We are merely going flying, nothing more. But still I feel the slight stirring in my groin that precedes erection. Well, so what? My uniform will hide it from sight, if the situation – uh – arises.

“OK, teleport us outside the window. I’ll take it from there.”

I do, she does, and I find myself soaring westward and up towards the roiling clouds that tumble tumultuously across the sky. They have already obliterated what is left of the sunset. Bright streamers of lightning flash between the clouds and the earth, as if feeling their way forward over the ground below. Storm takes us towards the leading edge of the front, which has already covered the far shores of the reservoir. I am right. The water below us is stirred into sharp-edged waves, unusual for the small lakes in this area, except when the wind blows along the length of those lakes, in which case the waves have time and distance to build up beyond what they normally could.

But then a lightning bolt sizzles down close to us, followed instantly by the sharp crack of thunder. I stop paying attention to the reservoir. Although I know Storm will keep us from being struck, it is still frightening to feel such power so close by.

Another flash, this time very crooked, with many small branches dangling from it. Lightning always fascinates me. So much danger combined with so much beauty.

I steal a quick glance at Storm’s face, close beside mine. Her eyes glow silver-white, as they always do when she is using her power to influence the weather. She appears transformed, her expression rapt and concentrated. I can well believe that she could easily be worshiped as a goddess. Some of my awe in the near presence of the lightning transfers to her, and my body responds to the feel of this wondrous creature next to me.

Another bolt comes sideways across the sky in our direction, but splits and branches around us at the last second, some branches seeking the ground below while others pierce the clouds or disappear into the thick veil of rain blowing around us.

It is surprisingly cold up here, as Storm had said it would be. The noise of thunder, the roar of the wind, assaults my ears. I feel almost confused, dazed by the ferocity of my surroundings. But Storm appears at home in the midst of the chaos and confusion. And why should she not? This is her world, just as teleporting is mine. She has been dealing with this since she was barely more than a child. I am almost jealous of the dramatic extent of her power, but I refuse to let that feeling take root and grow. We are all different and unique. What counts is how we use our differences, not what they are.

Far down below us, I catch a glimpse of a small sailboat on the water, trying to hold its own against the wind that seems to be driving it down towards the eastern end of the reservoir, where the lake narrows precipitously. I watch it for a moment, trying to determine if it is in trouble or not. The boat has one mast, and looks to be about 25 feet in length. I can vaguely make out two people on the wind-tossed deck, one aft at the tiller and the other standing nearby in the cockpit. Only one sail is still set and it is reefed down to far less than its normal size, but the boat appears to be steadily losing ground. Fortunately, the reservoir, especially at this narrow end, is not so large nor so deep as to pose a life-threatening risk. At worst, they can maneuver their boat close enough to shore to make it to safety themselves, even if the boat is badly damaged in the process.

And then the storm abruptly changes the rules, as a streak of lightning flashes out next to us, slants slightly, and finally splits into two near the surface.   One branch strikes the mast of the sailboat.

“Mein Gott!! Storm, did you see that?!”

“What?”

“That bolt struck the sailboat down there!”

Before I can say more, Storm is already swooping down towards the boat, which has suddenly begun to swerve around as if no one is at the tiller. If properly grounded, the mast of a sailboat usually provides the same protection as a lightning rod. However, things can still happen to the people onboard, especially if they are grasping any of the wire shrouds that keep the mast in place.

Storm’s arm is tight around my waist and I am clutching her fiercely as we plummet from the sky headfirst. Through the heavy rain, I struggle to make out what is happening on the deck below. One person appears to be down, lying on the floor of the small cockpit. The other kneels next to him. No wonder no one is at the tiller.

At the last minute, Storm levels off and lands us on our feet on the wildly-plunging deck.

Rain pelts down around us as the single sail flaps out of control just above our heads. A man bends over the unconscious body of a boy, shouting words that can barely be heard over the roar of the wind. “Lenny, Lenny! Son, are you OK?”

“Kurt,” Storm shouts, “check the boy! I’ll take the tiller and settle the wind so we don’t capsize!”

I am there in a second, crouching opposite the man in the now-crowded cockpit. Quickly, I turn the boy onto his back, leaning forward to shield his face from the rain. He is wearing a bulky life jacket, so I do not have to tilt his head very far to make sure his airway is open, as it is already lying back at an angle. For a long couple of seconds, I watch for any sign of breathing motion from his chest, also slipping a hand underneath the life jacket to see if I can feel movement. Lenny appears to be about fourteen years old, not quite a child, but not quite an adult either.

The man, presumably his father, stares at me in horror, too shocked to react. Good. I do not need to be interrupted right now. The boat is tossing violently, almost broadside-on to the waves. As Storm gets to the tiller and takes control of the weather immediately surrounding us, the chaotic motion smoothes out some. Nearby, the wind falls to a safer speed, but nothing can be done about the incoming waves. The same sort of cocoon that kept the two of us dry and safe below the clouds now spreads over the boat, but it is more diffuse. Much of the rain gets through despite Storm’s efforts to protect us.

As well as I can determine under these conditions, the boy is not breathing. Clamping his nose closed with my fingers, I seal my mouth over his and give him two long breaths. Only then do I check the carotid artery in his neck for a pulse. Yes, I can feel the steady pumping of blood. His breathing may have stopped, but his heart is still going. It is not uncommon for that to happen when struck by lightning. It is possible his heart stopped momentarily, then began to beat again on its own, as he is young and healthy. I unfasten the clips on his lifejacket then lean down and give him another breath.

As I finish, the father grabs my shoulder. “What are you doing to him, you monster?!”

“Trying to save his life.”

“But you’re a –“

“A mutant, ja. But I am a mutant who knows CPR and rescue breathing. Your son is not breathing.”

“Kurt!” Storm’s voice from aft. “What’s happening? Do you need help?”

“We have to get this boy to the infirmary at the School as fast as we can!”

“I can fly –“

“No time! I can ‘port him faster!” I turn my attention to the father. “You have to trust me. I can get your boy to safety and medical care. My friend will take you there also, but I am going to do it right away.” I give Lenny another breath, then check once again to see if his heart is still beating, which it is.

I glance at the father, hoping to get his permission. If not, I will jump anyway and worry about the consequences later. Lifting the boy up and out of the lifejacket, I take him into my arms, steadying his head and neck as well as I can by holding it against my chest, just in case there was a spinal cord injury when he fell.

The father stares at me with his mouth open, then manages to say, “Go!” just as I disappear.

Three long jumps and we are in the infirmary. I approached my limit on each jump, and that is not easy when I am carrying another person with me. But I stagger over to hit the emergency button on the wall that will summon Angelita Gutierrez, our resident nurse practitioner, then lay Lenny down on one of the padded tables, giving him another breath and grabbing for the oxygen mask and bag that hang nearby. I take a few moments for myself, leaning forward and breathing deeply several times, fighting off the weakness that threatens to overwhelm me. Every moment is precious right now. I cannot afford to collapse. Fortunately, it does not last long.

By the time our nurse arrives, I have the mask fitted snugly over our patient’s face and can send oxygen into his lungs simply by squeezing the bag. I have also laid out all the supplies needed to start an IV, if necessary, and brought our cardiac monitor over alongside him.

“Buenas noches, Angelita,” I greet her as she comes running through the door.

“Guten Abend, Kurt. What have we here?” she asks, coming to a stop next to our patient.

“Steady heartbeat. No respiration. Presumed lightning strike.”

She pulls Lenny’s shirt open and lays her stethoscope on his chest. “Confirmed.   Stop bagging him for a moment. Let me check if he’s started to breathe again.”

After about half a minute, she shakes her head. “Continue. I’ll set up the monitors.”

As instructed, I continue bagging my patient while Angelita evaluates him. The cardiac monitor is now beeping regularly.

“I don’t see anything wrong, other than the burn on his hand and some blood on his lips.”

Able now to look at the boy more closely, I notice a nasty burn on the palm of his right hand. “If I have to take a guess, he was touching one of the wire shrouds when the boat was hit. As for the blood --”

I lick my own lips and taste blood. “That is nothing. My teeth have doubtless cut his lip. I did not have time to be overly careful.”

Angelita works at starting an IV in the boy’s left arm, in case it is needed.

Just then, Lenny coughs weakly. I feel him suck in a breath of air. I stop squeezing the bag in order to check if he will continue his efforts. Yes, his chest rises again by itself.

Angelita and I look at each other and smile. She continues to check his body for other injuries, after stabilizing his head with some foam rubber forms, in case there has been a cervical injury.

After perhaps fifteen minutes, Lenny shows signs of returning consciousness.

“Wha – where --? Who are you?” He is clearly still groggy and somewhat confused. Not unusual for an accident victim.

Angelita begins asking him questions, trying to assess his alertness. Meanwhile, I strip off my rain-soaked leather jacket and hang it over a chair, which leaves me with a rather damp and sweaty t-shirt, which I decide to keep on, since it covers the scars on my chest and torso, if not the ones on my arms. No reason to alarm the boy any further than I have to.

With the resilience of youth, Lenny starts to grasp his situation. He looks around. “I was on our boat. The lightning – my father! Is he OK?”

“Ja, he is fine. He vill be here soon,” I assure him.

As Angelita continues with her assessment, I see Lenny’s eyes flicker over to me several times. I steel myself against the inevitable reaction to my appearance. I am so tired of being stared at like this, so tired of the fear and disgust that I inspire in ordinary humans. Some of it, I realize, is my own fault. No one made me carve designs on myself, after all. But the rest of it -- I sigh, waiting for the boy to decide whether he is scared or repulsed, or both.

“You’re Nightcrawler, right? One of the X-Men?”

Taken aback, I nod. “Uh – ja.”

“Awesome! Did you save my life?”

“All I did vas bring you here quickly.”

“We teleported? And I missed it? Sh –“ I glance quickly at our nurse. He takes the hint and changes the word to -- “Shucks!”

“Thank you,” he says solemnly, holding out his unburned hand to me.

I take it. Nothing in the boy’s face shows that he is the least bit disturbed over shaking a blue, three-fingered hand with vicious nails and strange scars on the back. Unglaublich! Have all children changed this much, or is it just this one?

Storm and Lenny’s dad come in the door to the infirmary while our hands are still clasped together. “You’re welcome,” I say softly, releasing my grip and retreating back over toward Storm as the man arrives beside the bed and starts asking Angelita questions.

“Looks as if you got him here in time,” Storm says.

“Ja. He is doing very vell. Vhat happened to the boat?”

“We were able to maneuver it into a safe place in the lee of a small point of land. It’s anchored securely, and the storm has mostly gone past now. The father said he heard the storm warning too late. It caught them trying to get back to where they had put in. Once the wind came up, he found it impossible to make much headway against it. He was considering just heading for shore when the lightning struck. They both knew better than to touch the shrouds in a thunderstorm, but Lenny lost his balance and automatically grabbed for whatever he could reach at just the wrong moment.”

We glance over to see father and son hugging each other, while Angelita offers to summon an ambulance to take Lenny to the county hospital for further observation. “You’re welcome to stay here overnight if you wish,” she adds, “But I think you might be more comfortable there.”

“Yes,” he agrees, glancing quickly at Storm and me. “I’d be much obliged if you’d do that.”

Angelita nods, then turns to us. “You guys can go now, if you’d like. I’ll take over from here.”

Storm and I turn and start for the door.

“Wait!” the father’s voice calls from behind us. “Mr. – uh – Nightcrawler, I –“

Uh-oh! What is it now?

We turn back, warily.

“Uh – I just wanted to say thanks to you and your partner for helping us out.” He does not sound quite as enthusiastic as Lenny did, but that is not important.

He seems a bit embarrassed, so I give him a subdued smile, hoping to keep my teeth out of sight. Meanwhile, Storm answers for both of us. “You are very welcome, sir. It was lucky we were in the right place at the right time.”

I notice that he does not hurry over and extend his hand to us, but that is not very important either. I will gladly settle for a thank you.

As he turns back to his son’s side, Storm and I head out of the infirmary. It is clear that we both feel the aftereffects of the adrenaline that has been running through our veins, along with the uplifting sense of satisfaction over how things turned out. I could do anything now; overcome all obstacles, defeat all foes. And fall jubilantly into Logan’s arms, if he were only here.

Storm looks at me, and I see the glory in her eyes. My own are surely glowing as a result of all this. All of a sudden, she wraps her arms around me and plants an exuberant kiss on my lips. I tell myself it means nothing. It is only the result of the chemicals in our blood, the excitement of the storm, our successful rescue. But still I react, my arms clutching her tightly in return. My tail would have wrapped around her also, except that I know that can be very disconcerting to someone who is not used to such a thing happening, so I will it to remain behind my back, even though it quivers with the strength of its own desire to respond.

When we break apart, I am afraid to say or do anything, for fear it will be wrong.

Storm has no such worries. She faces me directly and asks, “Do you – like me, Kurt?”

“Of course. You have long been my friend and comrade. Vhy should I not like you?”

Her lips curve into a small smile. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

I can only reply stupidly, “Then vhat did you mean?”

Her eyes flicker downwards, obviously noticing the slight bulge at the crotch despite my tight leather pants. The edges of her full lips bend upwards in a small smile.

That is when it first occurs to me that Storm may want something more than just friendship. However, that thought fills me with panic. Surely, I must have misunderstood. Even Logan, with his gruff manner, could perhaps be seen as attractive. But me? Not so. Or at least, not so often as to make me expect it.

I continue to stare at her.

“Kurt? Say something. Please. You’re not really so naïve and innocent as you’re pretending to be, are you?

I duck my head in embarrassment.

“No, I am not,” I admit. “It is—how do you say in biology class? – protective coloration. The unfortunate truth is that most women, and especially ones so beautiful as you, vill not even come near me.”

She looks a little puzzled at that but does not say anything right away.

Unfortunately, her silence only makes me try to explain more and I start to babble. “It is just not something that happens to me. Men, sometimes maybe, but men are inherently more curious about such things and more, as you Americans say, horny, and villing to find out vhat – possibilities – may be offered by strangeness. In my experience, vimmen are too frightened of me. Most of them take one look and run away screaming. Therefore, you cannot mean vhat you are saying.”

She almost laughs at my tortuous logic, but stops herself and becomes very serious. Totally embarrassed by now, I turn away from her to look at the wall on the other side of the hallway.

“I always mean what I say,” is her unperturbed response. “Kurt? Look at me.”

I shake my head, turning even further away, sure that my face must have blushed slightly purple by now. That always results in a truly strange sight, as the scars just show up all the more vividly. People usually find it quite scary. This particular person, however, does not seem willing to take no for an answer. Grabbing my shoulder, she pulls me around to face her.

“Cute,” she remarks, after staring at my face for a moment.

“Cute?” I reply, suddenly full of indignation. “I, the Incredible Nightcrawler, am cute?!”

“Yes, silly man. You most certainly are.” She runs a slender finger across the scars on my cheek and then over my lips, as she says softly, “Take us up to my room, Kurt. Please.”

My arms go around her waist as hers wrap around my neck and we disappear together.

We appear in her room. It is dark now, the only light coming from the windows, where the stars are beginning to peek through the thinning clouds. Somehow, we do not seem to want to let go of each other. Her lips touch mine, gently at first and then hungrily as I return her kiss. It is nice to have my arms around a woman, even through the thickness of her leather uniform. Her mouth is soft and sweet, not surrounded by thick stubble. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted slightly back. Our tongues take turns searching each other’s unfamiliar mouths. For so long I have been accustomed to the taste of Logan’s cigars when we kiss, or to beer. It is not that I mind: that is simply how he tastes. I have become accustomed to the taste and smell of his body, and he to mine. This is different, that is all. Not better, not worse, just not the same.

Storm breaks off first.

“Damn, your teeth are sharp,” she remarks as she lights a couple of candles to brighten our surroundings a little.

“I am sorry. Did I hurt you? I did not mean –“

“No. I’m fine. But our uniforms are soaked through. I suggest we take them off and get dry.”

“Uh – Storm, I do not wear very much underneath –“

She is in front of me again, already pulling down the zipper of her black jacket. “Of course not. None of us do. Too hot.”

She pulls it off, revealing her ample breasts covered only by a t-shirt. Then she starts working on her pants. “Come on, Kurt. You don’t want me to be standing here almost naked by myself, do you? That wouldn’t be polite.”

“Uh – no. It vould not.” But I have already taken off my jacket and left it in the infirmary. In a moment, she is standing there in t-shirt and underwear, watching me expectantly. In another few moments, we are both equally exposed, but her bulges are beneath her t-shirt, while mine is behind the fly of my briefs.

Running a finger down the front of my rain-and-sweat-soaked t-shirt, she says, “Better, but still too wet,” grabbing the bottom and pulling the shirt up and over my head. Then she stands there, regarding me mischievously.

Thus challenged, I lift her shirt over her head also, revealing her breasts and small tight nipples. Stepping closer to her, I run my fingers gently over her cotton underwear and between her legs. “Still too wet,” I decide, beginning to draw the panties down her thighs, giving her enough time to stop me if I have gone too far.

Apparently, I have not, as she removes my briefs at the same time. Almost, I want to stop her. She has seen the scars on my torso, but never the ones on my penis.

All right, let us get this over with, I tell myself as I stand still for her inspection, turning slightly so that the light from one of the candles falls on me. She will either take one look and turn her eyes away or – or what? Few women have ever done anything beyond the first choice already mentioned. Maybe this woman will be the exception.

Storm interrupts my thoughts at that point, her eyes widening as she says slowly, “Oh, Kurt. Even there?”

I just nod. What else can I do?

She stares for a moment at the intricate symbols. I can almost hear her thinking what she wants to ask: “Didn’t that hurt?” But she never says it. Perhaps she is intuitive enough to realize what the answer has to be.

“I think that’s beautiful,” she finally concludes, as a broad smile spreads over her face. “It matches the rest of your body. But how did you manage to do this in such a sensitive area?”

I give her my standard answer. “Very carefully.”

“Kurt, I’m serious.”

“So am I. I am not being flippant. That is the simple truth.”

“It must have hurt like hell.”

“Yes. That vas the point. I vill never forget vhat I have done and I must never repeat it.”

The next most obvious question would have been, “What sin does it represent?” But she did not ask that either. Instead, she notices that I have pretty much lost my erection, and asks only, “Don’t you find women attractive, or is it just me?”

“I find both sexes attractive. Especially vimmen like you. So beautiful, yet not afraid to be strong and courageous.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“No real problem. It is just that I am alvays somevhat nervous vhen someone first sees me naked. I have had some very bad reactions to the scars, as you can probably imagine, and the anticipation of such a thing often dampens my ardor. Not to vorry. I vill recover.”

“I’m a bit nervous also. I’m used to men being intimidated by me for reasons that do not include my appearance. At least at first,” she admits. “Maybe if we take things a little more slowly?”

“Ja.”

She takes my hand and pulls me over to the long padded window seat beneath one of the wide windows, where we sit down beside each other.

“This is a little – exposed, no?” I ask.

“Not really. We’re so high up that no one can see inside from the ground. I often lie here naked and bask in the afternoon sunshine. Besides, it’s the middle of the night. With only a few candles burning, no one can see anything anyway.”

We sit down, and are quickly holding each other, kissing and touching experimentally. Running one hand up the silky-smooth skin of her side, I cup her breast with my fingers, using my thumb to just barely touch her nipple as I do so. She sighs as she presses her breast up against me encouragingly.

A terrible thought occurs to me. Does she really feel desire for me, or is it something else entirely? Maybe she is just sorry for me, with Logan being away so long. I give her breast a gentle kiss and sit back away from her a bit.

“Storm, are you sure this is vhat you vish? Forgive me for being rather blunt, but I do not vant vhat is called a mercy fuck.”

She did not laugh, as I almost imagined she would. “Is that what you really think I’m doing?”

“Vell, I vas not sure.   Most vimmen –“

“I assure you, I am not most vimmen.”

Before I can begin to wonder if I have insulted her, she touches my cheek, tracing lightly over one of the scars. “Don’t worry, that’s not what I’m offering. You may not have noticed, but I’ve been attracted to you from the first moment I met you in that old church in Boston. I almost approached you a couple of times after Alkali Lake, but you left so soon I never found a chance.”

“I noticed,” I admit. “I never could dismiss from my mind the vay it felt to hold you in my arms vhen I teleported us into Cerebro, not knowing if ve vould even survive the experience. But I vas not sure if I vould be staying and I felt it vould be unfair to get involved vith you under those circumstances.”

She nods her understanding. “After you came back with us from the battle at Alcatraz, I thought about it again, but as soon as I saw you and Logan were getting together, I decided that I should keep my feelings hidden. And I know that he’s the one you truly want. I’m not trying to take you away from him now, just because he’s not here and you’re lonely and hurting. And --” She looks down at my groin and adds significantly, “in the mood.”

“It vould seem I have gotten over my initial shyness in your presence, ja. And Logan and I both agreed that we vould have an open relationship.”

“I know. Otherwise I would not be doing this.” Taking her breasts in both hands, she lifts them up, offering them to me as if she is giving a gift.

It is a gift I cannot refuse. I take her shoulders and lay her back on the seat, following her down and accepting her offering with my lips.

I have always enjoyed sucking on a woman’s breasts, kissing the smooth skin, grazing the nipples with soft licks of my tongue, then taking each one in turn into my mouth, playing with the hard bit of tightened flesh of the nipple. I loved it as a child, and it is one of the entirely pleasant memories, unconnected to any pain.

I want to suck greedily, to make the milk flow, but I know that will not happen, so I take it slow, easing off if she seems to show discomfort. While I work on one nipple, I touch the other gently with my fingers, as I did when a child, anticipating the time when I would have the other also. Left to myself, I can do this for quite a long time, but I know by her shivers of response and the small motions of her body that she wants and needs more.

Usually, I will keep my tail out of the action entirely, since it can easily freak out non-tailed people, human and mutant alike. Although they can learn to become accustomed to it, as Logan has, it takes time. However, this is Storm, and she is not, as she recently reminded me,“most vimmen“, so I will see what happens.

As I continue to suck her breasts, my tail curls around between us and lies with the flat end gently pressed to that depression between the lower ribs. Storm twitches slightly at the sensation. Probably she has opened her eyes to confirm what she feels. Slowly, I let it glide down toward her sex, the wide part first. Her body tenses, but she does not move or protest.

I keep going. By now she has opened her legs and bent them at the knees. The rest of my tail arranges itself so that it lies coming up between her legs as the end covers her vulva. With a slight tilt of her hips, she presses against it, as a woman does to invite a penis to enter her. But I will not do that with the wide end of my tail. It is far too bony and stiff, even if I try to roll it up as much as possible, to be comfortable inside a woman’s body. However, the very end can twitch very quickly against her clit, while the rest moves against the entrance to her vagina in a manner I have found to be very pleasing to many women.

In this case, it turns out that Storm is not so different from other women than she thinks. Before very long, my tail is wet from her secretions and I know she is ready for more.

Although I have had far more experience with men than I have with women, that does not mean I do not know the things that a woman can enjoy, as much or sometimes more, than actual penetration. Yes, I must thank Herr Grüber for that knowledge also, although I hate to admit it.

My mouth releases her breast and follows the trail down her body that was so recently blazed by my more adventurous tail, eventually displacing my tail and taking its place between her legs.

From what I have seen, there is more variation between women’s genitals than there is in men’s. Some parts that are almost non-existent in some women are far larger and more exaggerated in others. Some are sleek and simple, while others are convoluted and complex, like exotic flowers. Of course, the basic anatomy is always there, but there are many more variations on the theme than one normally finds in men.

The only commonality among women is that they are all beautiful in their own way, especially when they are engorged and wet, clutching at whatever they can grasp and draw inside. They can taste and smell different, but again, it is a variation on the same basic theme, assuming the woman is not dirty or diseased, in which case there are other factors involved, as there would be with men under the same conditions.

Men may react very differently to the tastes and scents of a woman’s body, but so do women also react to men, if they happen to be in the same position with their face in a man’s crotch. We are all physical beings and such things are part of sex. If you are aroused and excited by the woman’s body, all of the smells and such can be quite delectable to savor, just as a man’s may be.

I take my time savoring Storm, enjoying her soft cries and moans, the way she thrusts herself against my eager mouth, the quivering spasms that I could feel quite readily with my tongue, the way her fingers curl into my hair, holding me to her. My hands stroke their way up her body, my formidable fingernails only lightly touching here and there. Her chest arches upwards as I reach her breasts, her muscles taut and hard beneath silky smooth skin. I knead her straining breasts gently, then harder as she gives evidence of enjoying the increased pressure. I take each nipple between my fingers, squeezing alternately one and then the other, then pulling on them carefully together. Her vagina reaches out for me, and I thrust my tongue inside as far as I can. Opening my mouth wider, I draw in as much of her as I can, sucking now lightly then harder on her opening, running my tongue over the hard nub of her clit as I do so.

Her body turns rigid and trembling. She cries out, and I know she is coming, as I can feel her spasms against my tongue and lips. As she relaxes, I release her, my tongue lapping with long slow strokes over her entire vulva until she has caught her breath.

“Kurt, you do that as if you know how it feels to a woman.”

“There have been many times I have vished that I could know that, but such a thing is impossible.”

“Would you like me to reciprocate?”

I lean up onto one elbow, so that I am looking down at her.

“Honestly, no. I have had that many times. Vhat I vould like is to be inside you. I have not felt myself held vithin a voman’s body in a long time.”

“Is it that different?”

“In some vays, yes.”

“I much prefer to be on top, if that wouldn’t bother you.”

“Not at all. I am used to being on the bottom myself. In fact, it is my preference. That vay, I do not have to do all the vork.” I duck my head and look up at her from under my eyelashes, as I often do with Logan. “I fear I am essentially a very lazy creature.“

“Works for me,“ she replies, sitting up and clearly preparing to get on top of me.

“Uh, if ve are going to do this, you vill have to excuse me for a moment.”

“Whatever for?”

“So I can go get a condom from my room. I do not carry them around vith me. Logan and I do not need them, because he heals from any disease almost as fast as he is infected vith it, and so he has nothing I could catch, nor could he catch anything from me. But you are not Logan and you are not a man.”

Storm laughs. “Yes, I’ve noticed that about myself also.”   Crossing the room, she takes an African-looking decorated bowl from one of the many shelves on the wall and brings it over to me. “Here. Take your choice.”

The bowl is full of condoms in assorted brands and styles. As soon as I get over my surprise, I run my fingers through the flat little packages to see what is there.

“Mein Gott! I did not know they also come in colors! Look, there is even one in blue!”

“I know,” she says smugly. “There are quite a few blue ones in there.”

Of course, I must choose a blue one, if only to see how well it matches the color of my skin.

I open the package and roll the condom onto my stiff penis. When I look up, I find Storm smiling at me. “Congratulations,” she says cheerily. “You passed the condom test.”

“Vhat are you talking about?” I ask her, entirely puzzled. “I did not think such a test existed.” Still, I cannot resist asking, “Is it essay or multiple choice?”

“You got me there.” She thinks about it for a moment. “I guess it would be considered more of a practical test than anything else. All I mean is that you automatically assumed responsibility for protecting both of us from unwanted consequences, rather than waiting for me to say something. I always wait until the last minute with potential new sex partners, just to find out if they’ll come up with the idea before I have to tell them. Too many men would rather just ignore such possibilities, or worse, refuse when I suggest it.” She grins. “I like to make sure my lovers have a head on their shoulders, not just on their cocks.”

“My mother taught me it vas my duty as a gentleman to consider such things.” Although I fail to mention what I have experienced during my early childhood, I am telling the truth. Margali Szardos, who took me into her family back when I was hired by the circus in my early teens, taught me many things that Herr Grüber never thought to tell me. I have always considered her to be my true mother, since I was apparently abandoned at birth by my natural mother.

“Kurt, sometimes I think you don’t realize just how sweet you really are.”

I blush at her praise. “Vhat vould you have done if I had not said anything about condoms?”

“My next move before straddling you would have been to get up and offer you the bowl. Birth control is within the ability of any woman to provide for herself, as of course I have already done. However, disease protection requires cooperation.” She comes over and leans down over me. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, I think I was about to get on top of you, wasn’t I?”

“Ja,” I agree, lying back on the window seat again. Placing one knee beside me, Storm swings the other leg up and over so that she is straddling my crotch.

She is still wet and juicy from her own orgasm as she lowers herself smoothly down onto my blue-in-blue cock. “Mmm. Feels nice.“

„Oh, ja!“ I agree, with a shaky intake of breath as I feel that lovely soft warmth envelop me entirely. There is no significant tightness at her opening, as there would be with anal intercourse.

She starts moving up and down, contracting her muscles as she pulls up, then relaxing again as she comes down.

Of course, regardless of what I may have said about being lazy, the one on the bottom in this position does not really just lie there, but rather has to thrust upwards in time with his partner’s movements.

With a hand on either side of her pelvis, I help her ride my shaft. I can feel something press against the tip of my penis at the end of each downstroke, perhaps her cervix or the back wall of her vagina. Such a thing does not happen with men.

It has been a long time since someone rode me like this. Logan, of course, is far too heavy to straddle my pelvis. However, I make a mental note for us to try it out in this position sometime, with me on top.

Ah, Kurt, shame on you! How very ungentlemanly of you to be thinking of Logan while your prick is inside a wonderful and desirable woman!

I open my eyes and smile at Storm. She is intent on what she is doing and barely notices me. I shift my hands to take hold of her breasts, squeezing them in time with her own movements, at first gently but then harder, as she reacts to my touch with a moan and an increase in speed. Her hand goes down between us now, working her clitoris as my cock works inside her.

Beads of sweat run down her chest, following the groove between her heaving breasts and then down to her sex. She is breathing hard now, and I am almost there. Her eyes are clenched shut, her head thrown back, mouth slightly open. Whether on the face of a man or a woman, I know that look. She is also close. The tight wetness of her vagina slides against my penis, holding it even tighter now as she nears orgasm. As I too feel the pressure building inside me, our movements become faster, harder, more urgent.

I am holding back now, in order to give her the woman’s prerogative of being first, but that only makes me want it all the more.

“Storm, I cannot –“

“Just – a – little –“ she says between breaths.

“Ggaahh,“ I moan incoherently, as I thrust upwards for that wonderful release, feeling my seed pump into her. No, I tell myself belatedly, into the condom I am wearing. But that does not really matter.

Storm is still trying. All right, maybe I can stay hard just a little longer. Just a little more. I do not always lose my erection immediately, as some men do. Maybe there will be enough time, if I can encourage her a little. I flip my tail up behind her, angling the tip downwards so that the bony upper surface presses against her lower back hard enough to keep it in contact with her even though she is moving rapidly now. Carefully, I curl the edges together and slide it down, parting her buttocks slightly as I do so. She twitches in surprise, but does not pull away or break her rhythm. Good; I have not frightened her. In fact, it appears I have excited her further, as her vagina tightens even harder around my flagging cock. Thus encouraged, my tail continues its downward progress until it touches her anus, just wriggling slightly, clearly not threatening entrance but merely rubbing against the outside of that sensitive area.

With a soft cry that almost sounds astonished at the sheer magnitude of her pleasure, she lowers herself entirely down onto me, forcing me deeper inside. Her vagina contracts in those hard fast spasms, squeezing out a few last drops of my semen as one final thrill of pleasure runs through me. “Ah! Gott!“

Then she relaxes and sags forward onto me. I wrap my arms around her and savor the slight weight of her body pressing down on me, her breasts flattening against my scarred chest, nipples still prominent and hard.

“Hey,“ she says, as she rouses a little and gives a chuckle. “You’re not half bad at this, for someone who usually sleeps with a man.“

With my fingers happily tangled in her fine white hair, I reply, “I learned long ago how to please a woman. It is like riding a tricycle: something you never forget.“

“Uh – Kurt, you mean bicycle.“

“Verdammt! Have I gotten it wrong again?“

“Yeah.“ She leans up and kisses my lips lightly. “As another saying goes, ’Thanks. I needed that’.“

I smile up into her blue eyes. “I guess I did too.“

She kisses me again, harder this time. One hand reaches behind my neck, pulling me up to her. I feel a finger encounter that nasty spot where William Strycker’s mind-control drug was administered. It is still a circular scar of raised and roughened skin that will never heal. Her hand seems to flinch at the touch, and so do I. She removes her lips from mine and just lies down, resting her head on my chest. For several lovely minutes, we remain that way.

I feel the dawn of a new idea. But dare I ask her to do such a thing? Ja, it is time. She has awakened a faint new hope in my heart by offering me her body.

“Storm, may I ask you for a favor?”

She smiles languidly and props herself up above me again. “Depends on what you would like me to do.”

I reach around to the back of my neck to indicate what she has just recently touched. “Unlike the rest of my scars, this is not something I vish to remember. I am thinking I vould like to turn it into something else. But I cannot reach it easily nor see it well enough to do it myself.”

“And you want me to do it for you?”

“Ja.”

“What would you like to change it into?”

“I vish it to be a Moravian Star.”

“I’m not familiar with that.”

“It is a star vith many points. There are many versions, vith varying numbers of points. I can show you a picture on my computer. It vould be fairly easy. The scar is already roughly circular, so it is just a matter of adding the points. However, it vould take a very delicate touch, since the area is quite small.”

“Why do you want this particular design, Kurt? Is there some kind of symbolism involved?”

I nod. “The Moravian Star has many interpretations. It has been considered a symbol of the promise of Christ’s birth into the vorld and his ongoing presence vith us. Alternately, the rays symbolize the greatness of God, the star vhich led the Vise Men to the Christ Child, and the Divine Star, Christ Himself. One of the simplest explanations is that it represents the star of promise, the star of fulfillment, and the star of hope.”

“What does it represent to you? Or maybe I should ask, what do you want it to remind you of?”

Emotion sweeps over me, so strong that I wish I could turn away from her so she cannot see my face. Storm understands why I do this thing with the scars. Such understanding from another person is so very rare. I am almost unable to answer.

“I have spent enough time carving reminders of my sins. There are more important things that must never be forgotten, like hope and love and caring.”

Gently, as if she realizes the hideous memories it represents, she once again reaches behind my neck and strokes her finger over the shameful reminder of my time with William Stryker. Many times, Logan has kissed me there, but I do not know if he ever fully realizes what horror that brings back to me. He has, after all, too many of his own memories of that man. Storm’s finger seems to convey a different intent, as if she respects what I went through, but wishes she could wipe it away. Her fingertip lingers there while she speaks.

“If you had told me you wanted it done to remind you of your failure to resist Stryker’s programming, I would have refused. But to change this into something that signifies hope and love – yes, that I will do gladly.”

“Thank you.” I turn to her, trying to hold back the tears that come to my eyes, for they are tears of joy and I would not have her think I am unhappy.

“When do you want me to do it?”

“Right now, if you vill.”

She nods. I place my hands around her waist and teleport us down to my study, landing us gently in front of my computer.

“All right, I’ll need a pattern to work from.”

“Just a minute and I’ll pull up a picture for you.”

Into my browser window, I type:

http://i1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb381/Karl-5/MoravianStar.jpg

We are both still stark naked, but this does not appear to bother Storm in the least. She is all business now, leaning over my shoulder and studying the image. Eventually she concludes, “It’s really supposed to be three dimensional.”

I nod.

“That makes it rather hard to draw in only two dimensions.”

“Uh – ja.” I had not considered that before, but she is right.

“Especially if I have to make it small.”

“This is not sounding hopeful,” I reply.

“Depends on how fussy you want to be about it.” She goes back to studying the computer images. “I can make a star with a lot of points, as long as you don’t mind if it isn’t 100% geometrically correct.” She types rapidly and pulls up another website at: http://i1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb381/Karl-5/550px-compass_rose_browns_00.png

“Here, look at this. It’s technically called a compass rose, but it can be considered a star with quite a large number of points.”

“Oh, ja! I have seen that before. It appears on maps and on old-fashioned compasses. That vould be, as you say, close enough for government vork.”

She stares at me as if surprised.

“Vhat? Did I get the expression wrong?”

“No. You got it right. That’s why I’m surprised.”

I laugh shortly, then hit the switch that turns on my printer and make her a copy of each image.

“Come into the bedroom. It vill be easiest if I lie on the bed face down.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a few minutes alone, to prepare myself for this. You understand?”

“Ja, I do. I vill go and get everything ready. You may come vhen you feel like it.”

As I leave the room, she goes over to stand by the window, looking up at the night sky. We have never spoken of her beliefs, but perhaps she has a God, or Goddess, to Whom she wishes to pray.

I set everything in readiness. The reading light clipped onto the headboard of the bed will provide a very bright light. I have a couple of pillows ready to use and I have covered them with an old towel to protect them from any blood. My packet of disposable scalpels is set out on the nightstand, along with anything else she might need in the way of gauze or antiseptic. I have come a long way from the desperate child who used the point of a hypodermic needle and a bottle of alcohol for my first design.

I lie down on my back to wait for Storm and to think over what I am doing.

In my entire life, I have never asked someone else to do this for me. It has always been done by my own hand. Still, it cannot be all that different, and the end result will be the same. This is only a very little scar, after all.

Small in size perhaps, I remind myself, but big in meaning: a symbol of hope, not of sin. A symbol carved from one of the most awful times in my life. I had fought the drug, fought the conditioning and brainwashing that preceded it, but in the end it had been to no avail. If not for a lucky shot from one of his security people, I would have killed the President of the United States, and by doing so, would probably have started a major confrontation between mutant and non-mutant in this country, if not the entire world.

While I do not truly remember all the details of my attack on the President, I have watched the recordings from the security cameras many times. I – who had hoped never again to take a human life after what I had done to Herr Grüber – had nevertheless been turned into a killer and a weapon to be used against my own kind. I do not think I will ever quite get over that, although I realize it was not my choice and therefore I am not truly guilty. Yet still, it fills my mind with horror, for it had been my body that had done such damage, and my hand that had held the knife. I will never forget the expression on my face just before I struck, as recorded by the cameras. It lurks in my nightmares even now.

I hear the door to my study click open and then closed. Storm stands next to the bed.

“Kurt? You ready?”

I turn over on my face, pulling the pillows beneath my chest so that my head can hang forward somewhat, leaving my neck in a good position so that the skin is stretched enough to be easy to work on but not too taut.

“I am now.”

“I think I can get the best angle by straddling you. Would that be OK?”

“Ja.”

As she swings a leg over me and settles her weight on my lower back, I can feel the wetness of her crotch and the slight tickle of her pubic hair just a short distance above the base of my tail. She is still naked, as am I. Good. This is somehow right. There should be nothing between us.

I feel the coldness of the antiseptic solution as she swabs the area she will be working on.

I wait to feel the first touch of the scalpel. As I expect, it is not very painful at all. Indeed, most of the cuts that are needed are so small they are more like pinpricks. And my neck is not nearly as sensitive as other parts of my body. And yet even this small pain is purifying, as if a great load is being lifted from my soul. I allow myself a small sigh. Storm’s touch is so careful, so delicate now, even though these are the same hands that have pulled the lightning from the skies and wielded it as a weapon. How very blessed I am to feel her touch!

A tiny rivulet of blood tickles its way down one side of my neck.

“You doing OK?” she asks softly.

“Ja. Compared to my other scars, this is relatively painless,” I assure her.

“All right, if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

It is right that Storm is doing this. The scar was made by a hand that was not my own. It is now being changed by another hand than mine, a hand that belongs to someone who means a lot to me.

No, she is not Logan. But she has turned my face towards hope when I was looking mostly into darkness. And, when all is said and done, that is surely no small thing.

I smile to myself and wait for her to be finished.

GERMAN TRANSLATIONS

Seit Logan gegangen ist, ist mein Herz so leer wie mein Bett.

Since Logan has been gone, my heart is as empty as my bed.

meine Freundin           my friend (referring to a female)

Jawohl!               Yes indeed!

Mein Gott!!                   My God!!

Verdammt!                   Damn!
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WITH NOTHING ON MY TONGUE

Part One: THUNDER/STORM

Maybe I’ve been here before

I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch

GERMAN TRANSLATIONS