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How did it start - ?
It seems like something that just happened, something out of their control, a natural snowballing of glances and touches. They had gotten closer over the years, slowly, becoming friends more than coworkers or teammates. He understands what it's like not having a real home, being a stranger in a strange land, always a little foreign wherever he goes - and she likes the same old movies he does, though she is a little more drawn to romances than action flicks - and how, when she spends any real amount of time with him, can she ignore the naturally soft curve of his mouth and the almost electric brightness of his yellow eyes?
The first time it's almost an accident.
Drinks after a mission, that's all, except they get a little too tipsy and he can't teleport home, so of course she insists he stay with her, they can share a bed, they've saved each other's lives -
But her bed is not that big, and his elbow brushes her shoulder, his knee hitting against her thigh when he shifts, and when she turns over she finds herself flush against his chest, blinking into those bright yellow eyes.
" Es tut mir leid -" he says, I'm sorry - and it sounds like there's something in his throat he can't quite swallow.
" Sei es nicht -" don't be -
Then just like that he's kissing her, and she's fisting the waistband of his pants, pulling him closer, digging her fingers into the flesh just inside his hip. It's just his tail, slipping up along her thigh to her core. It's just her hand with the heavy weight of his cock in her palm. Just their hips and bodies moving until they both gasp and shiver with release. Then just as fast they are asleep and when they wake up late the next morning it's almost easy to pretend that nothing happened, though they are still half entangled with each other.
"I have to apologize," Kurt says first, too much the gentleman. "Last night was -"
"Not everything I wanted," Wanda finishes for him, pulling him closer, putting her mouth to his skin.
It's so, so good, and almost too easy, there is an unspoken language between them, a kind of understanding she's never experience before, not like this, and in the end they agree that they can do this and nothing has to change. There is no need to complicate it. Their lives have enough complications as it is.
It is nothing more than an affair. A series of secret trysts...
Him appearing out of thin air in her room - or rather, arriving almost invisible but so familiar now that he sets off none of her alarms - her throwing back the covers to welcome him into her bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him closer as he puts his mouth on her neck. Running her hands over his skin, up the slope of his shoulders to knit in his curly hair. She likes the weight of his hips against hers. The way their clothes drag and crinkle against her skin. The taste of him. She tells herself that’s all she wants, another body against hers against the dark, heat and sex and company that somehow wards off the worst of the nightmares. He comes to her more than she goes to him, but she always wants him, his hands slipping under her pajamas to caress her skin, his tail snaking around her bare foot and up her calf, his mouth above the collar of her tank top before he’s even whispered a greeting.
“Mm.” A long drawn out sigh against the hollow beneath her ear. “I missed this.”
That is their hello, that is the line drawn between them, the needling thrill. This, not you. This, which could be done with anyone. This -
Her palm cupping the swell of him through his soft pants, his knee pressed between her legs, the way he murmurs absolute nothings in German as he drags her neckline down and kisses the curve of her breast, sending shivers through her whole body.
"I missed you too." It always shows, no matter how long it's been, days or weeks, sometimes longer; the desperation to shed their clothes, the relief when she finally takes him in and they are as close as they can be, his cock hitting that place inside her that just wants to be touched. She could fuck him all day, every day of the week, and never get over it. She never stops getting butterflies, either, even as comfortable as they are with each other. There's just something about him. Something that she's afraid has nothing to do with what he can do in bed.
“It drives me insane sometimes,” there's a flash of something in his eyes, something she's afraid he's going to say, but he finishes the sentence in a way that follows the rules of their game, “lust.”
That is certainly true enough, they have the same hunger, the same need, to drown in the luxurious pleasure of release and to pull the other down with them.
“I just want -” but Kurt never finishes, because she angles her hips up just right and he utters a long, low moan; she feels it flutter up her spine, going straight to her head, oh, yes please -
This isn’t uncommon, she knows, quite the opposite; relationships are complicated when you’re a superhero, but the release of sex is an escape that feels necessary, and when you fight beside someone you already have that connection, heightened by adrenaline, that translates so well to the bedroom.
Of course she knows it is a kind of love. Not exactly the love between teammates, but the same kind of bond. The easy kind.
He isn't her lover; he's her coping mechanism.
When it’s been long enough since the last time that she thinks it might be over, but then he’s in her bed in the middle of the night, apologizing for waking her, half-begging, even if she’ll just let him stay, he can’t stand to be alone - and of course she wants him to stay, she wants more than just him asleep in her bed, she’s become addicted to him. And his hands shake, and she’s half asleep, and they only shove what they have to off before throwing their bodies together, too hastily, she can feel every inch of his cock burning against her as he pushes in, as she pushes herself onto him, moaning and grinding deeper anyways, panting as the discomfort brings her fully awake.
“Fuck -”
“Sorry -”
“Don’t be -”
He licks a callused fingertip and trails it down her breasts, so lightly she almost doesn’t feel it, sliding down her stomach to her core, cool and wet and circling, seeking, skillfully finding the place that will make her wet. It doesn't take long but she's impatient, not starving for sex as much as she is starving for Kurt; with huff she flips him to his side, giving herself more movement while trapping him with her knees around his thighs and one hand knitted in his hair, tugging his head back to kiss his neck, feeling him swallow when she kicks her hips into his, feeling his pulse throbbing in his neck as she fucks him a little harder. “Schiesse -” he squeezes her breast and inhales a long drawn out breath, groaning, gasping.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he says, disjointedly, "I couldn't stop thinking about you and I couldn't stay away -"
"Shh..." he should know that saying it isn't allowed under their unspoken contract, but it sends a thrill through her anyways. She kisses him, hard, to keep him from saying more, pulling him in so deep that neither of them can think beyond the current of movement between them. The way it builds until it's blinding, hot and slick, prickling in her fingertips, before breaking, together, in a crash of overwhelming pleasure; god can he give her a good orgasm or ten, but she enjoys nothing so much as she enjoys his pleasure, the full-bodied intensity of his orgasm, the way it leaves him panting hard, slow to catch his breath but quick to grin, flopped over on his back with his tail in a twist that always takes a long time to uncurl.
He does this thing after where he kisses the back of her hand, her palm, her fingertips, and it might have nothing to do with sex. She's more and more certain that it has nothing to do with sex. But she loves it...
When she goes to him it is not ever quite a spur of the moment thing - she cannot simply teleport without magical preparation - so the rendezvous she initiates are more premeditated, and they include text messages and phone calls to see if he’s in, if he’s busy, if he’s awake - before she takes the time to set up the ritual needed for a transportation spell. She usually finds him with a bedside lamp on (a courtesy to her), and clean linens on his bed (another courtesy), but she is particular about them keeping this casual so there is no other fanfare, no fussiness. Sometimes he is sitting up reading in bed, or showering, or having a beer. She does not care for the taste of his Pilsners but you can’t have everything.
“You just can’t stay away, can you?” He asks with a grin, and she falls into his bed in a way that makes both of them bounce, stifling laughter with kisses, shedding clothes like they’re on fire -
God she loves to get her hands on him, all that lean muscle, so much skin, so much softness, marked by old scars and new, all of it sensitive. She will never get tired of the breathless sound he makes when she puts her mouth on him, the groan in the back of his throat as she slides her tongue under his foreskin...she likes that she can unravel him, she likes it when he swears as he comes, and when she swears as she comes -
Even when things go tragically wrong, even when one of them is hurt, maybe especially then - finding ways to disguise what it really means when they show up at the other's sickbed. When he breaks six ribs and she has to sneak past a gauntlet of X-Men just to fall asleep with her head on the same pillow. When a bad curse gets under her skin and he finds just the cure for it, the Avengers wondering how he of all people would know anything about magic, because they don't know him like she does, how close he grew up to magic, just as she did.
An affair. A series of secret trysts...for a year that is all it is, except when it isn't, when he kisses the pulse in her wrist, or she breaks breaks the world just to make the night a little bit longer.
Then one morning she doesn’t leave before the sun comes up, but lingers in bed to be kissed, and another she finds herself in the kitchen of the Xavier Institute, eating breakfast, and then he asks her to stay...
She says yes.
There is nothing simpler than that.