Strawberries

STRAWBERRIES CHAPTER THREE
Disclaimers Apply


A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies and BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (tm), whoooo! Another chapter! *g * InterNutter, TC and Maxwell Pink are lovely for archiving. :) Readers/Reviewers: Paradigm shift here...this one is from Kitty's POV..*
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{Kitty}


Anyone who says that girls don't get sexually frustrated is full of it. After the kissing in the kitchen, I had to take another shower. A very, very cold one. Twice. Damn it. It's weird, but the more I thought about it the less freaked out I was and the more sure I became that I had fallen in love with Kurt and it had happened a long time ago. I know what the others here say and the kids at school-I'm an airhead, I'm superficial, all I care about are boys and clothes and what's cool... They're wrong. I mean, okay, I care a little but not as much as they think I do. I pretend, you see. It's easier than dealing with reality because reality really blows sometimes. The reality that for three years I would make myself sick after I ate so I could stay thin for my mother, the reality that I dated Lance because he was the only one who ever asked and for a little while, it made me feel special and important and loved, the reality that sometimes-a lot of the time, really-I didn't like myself very much and it was just easier to hide behind clothes and makeup and giggles and who's cutest than to face myself. The one tiny bit of myself I allowed out was my love for science and computers and books-as Jubilee called it, my nerd tendencies. I wasn't about to act dumb for anyone. Kurt, though, saw through all those walls I threw up between me and the world and I think that's why I was so scared of him at first. I was afraid he would call me out, show me for what I really was. That was before I realized he has his own walls, that he wasn't always the devil-may-care, charming (yes, I noticed he was charming even before I fell for him, so ner), goofy self. When I looked harder, I could see how much it hurt him when I turned him away, how much it hurt when Amanda and Tabby each went on their ways, unable to really, truly deal with being with him. He once said something to Scott that didn't make sense to me when I heard it but in my rush of post-kissing euphoria, made perfect if vain sense to me. He had told Scott that he couldn't be with anyone because "her ghost is between us." For a while, I had this whole story cooked up in my head about a dead girlfriend back in Germany or something equally, tragically romantic, but he never let on when I finally, sheepishly asked him about it. All he did was smile at me in that fangy way of his and say he had to go into town. It was eleven o'clock at night.
I hated thinking about stuff like that not because it hurts my poor little brain but because it makes me sad. I was cold from my shower and still a little turned on, especially now that I was dwelling on Kurt. I wanted things to happen and happen fast, like a kid at the holidays who can't wait for presents but is being made to wait for the right time. And also like that kid, the anticipation was building and threatening to burst through my skin in a babble of words and deed and near begging in order to find what I wanted. It was late by this point so I shed my robe and climbed into the ridiculously high bed the Professor had put in my room. He seemed to dote on us, even behind his calm demeanor. Jean said he may have had a kid once himself but none of us ever got the nerve to ask, sensing that it was not a happy story either way. As part and parcel of our rooms, he had seen that we all had tons of bedding, from thr threadcount sheets to thick duvets and comforters, the latter of which I pulled over me then. It was a warm night and the room itself was comfortable, but I had just taken two frigid showers and my skin was a mass of gooseflesh. Not pleasant. The bed was so nice and, like Golidlocks would say, just right, that I felt myself start to relax, forget all the stuff I'd been worried about a few moments before. Instead, thoughts of Kurt and only Kurt crept into my mind. I found that I was thinking of every time he had touched me, looked at me in that heart-stopping way he had, flirted with me, teased me...and now kissed me. I wanted more of him, more of the touching and kissing and talking and everything! He really had been my best friend for a long time, putting up with me when no one else could. My mind took fantastical turns, taking past events that had been, to me, innocent, and turning them into wonderfully erotic fantasies. The one that finally took, stayed firmly in my forebrain as I lay beneath those fine sheets and thick comforter, was a night not too long ago when we had stayed up very late to watch some silent movies he had rented. He didn't want, he confided, to be teased about his love for the old films and we both knew that Evan and Bobby would rib him mercilessly about his swashbuckling complex. As I remembered the evening, I begin to pick out tiny clues that my subconscious was already moving towards Kurt and away from anyone else. I had leaned against him as the first movie started, sitting there in the dark with the pale flickering light off the television playing over us I had leaned against him and even put my arms around his waist like it was an every day thing. And I didn't even pay attention to it then. I knew his breath had caught in his throat but he did not respond when I had asked him what was wrong. I stayed like that until he had to get up and change movies, then I did it again, this time laying my head on his chest and telling him he was better than a pillow because he was so warm, giggling when his tail wrapped itself around my arm and he tried to unwind it, embarrassed. I had told him to leave it, it was nice. All that time, I had not realized that I was flirting with him but now I was sure he knew and it made me feel so bad that, while I was all over him like that, he restrained himself. What would have happened if things had taken the turn they had in my imagination then?
What if, instead of just sitting there, still as a stone with his arms along the back of the sofa, not touching me except for his errant tail, Kurt had returned the embrace? I felt warm all over as I picture it, the movie flickering and silent, the faint hiss of the television with no sound to emit. Kurt's breathing beneath my ear would have been a little ragged, as it tended to be when he was nervous, and I knew my own would not have been much better. Would I have jumped in surprise when he touched me for the first time? Not as a friend does, but as someone who wants and needs to touch... The comforter was too hot all of a sudden and I kicked it off, sending it in a pile to the floor. I could see it as clearly as reality, me pressing my face against his chest in an awkward embrace as his arms closed around me, pulling on me to lift me to him, to kiss me. Not that I would do anything to replace that first kiss in the kitchen, but in my fantasy the first kiss was that night in front of the movie. He would have kissed me very softly at first because he was tentative but that only made me shiver with the delicious thought of what could come of such a small brush of the lips against skin. Who would be the one to make it deeper? Would I part my lips beneath his and sigh as his tongue slid along mine, joining us as my hands moved to his shoulders, laying back against the arm of the couch and drawing him down on top of me? Or would he nip my lower lip with his fangs, making me gasp and then taking the opportunity to draw me into his mouth, to pull me down on top of him? My imagination decided on to save that particular scenario for later, having already chosen the former for this evening. I could feel, in reality, my body responding to the phantom touch of Kurt's hands on my body, my breasts starting to ache as his imagined fingers found them through the cloth of my shirt. I knew I would have a bruise from Lance's rough touch earlier but in my fantasy, that didn't exist. Lance didn't exist. Just me and Kurt. Had he ever touched a girl like this before, I wondered, but that was like a dash of cold water on my heated skin. I shoved the thought away and focused instead on what I would feel if the evening had gone the way I now wanted it to.
I sighed and felt myself sink into the mattress a little as, in my head, I sank against the cushions of the sofa. Kurt's hand would have moved down my side, follow the curves I hated but I knew he stared at, somehow making them less vile in my mind, and he would squeeze my hip as I arched my neck for his kiss. I could practically feel the warmth and seductiveness of his lips on my throat, his fangs barely nipping me but sharp and tantalizing. Even as little as a few days ago, I would have felt hot shame at thinking of Kurt this way but now I just felt...well, hot. The sheet joined the comforter on the floor as my fingers fumbled and caught the edge of my nightshirt, inching it up over my thighs. I didn't give much thought to what I was doing, instead imagining that it was still Kurt touching me, his gold eyes glowing in the dark as the rest of him seemed to disappear in the shadows of the room, strobing under the flicker-light of the movie. Logically, I knew that things would not have moved so fast, that Kurt had a sense of chivalry and this odd respect not just for me but for women, people in general, that would have prevented him from touching me like this. The kiss in the kitchen was evidence of that. Oddly, I didn't think it was annoying and it endeared him to me all the more, knowing that I would never be rushed with him and that he would not be hurt or angry if I wanted to take our time. The room was cooler than my flesh then and I shid asd as the breeze from the air conditioner sent an eddy of chill air across my thighs and a bit higher. I blushed alone in the dark, almost embarrassed about my thoughts but finding them too wonderful to stop. I saw Kurt, in my mind, unbuttoning the sweater I had been wearing and pushing it aside to expose one of my white bras, thin enough to see through if your eyes were good enough and I knew his were. This thought sent a spike of heat through my body and my fingers crept up to my breasts then, one hand feeling the soft flesh and wondering what Kurt's hands would feel like, what he would sound like as his mouth found my nipple, hard and nearly painful from arousal, suckling on me through my bra because we were both too hungry for touch to care much about taking it off. Would I moan, I wondered, or just sigh and murmur? Moan, I decided, because that was the sound bubbling in my throat then, under my own touch. The ache between my legs was growing to be too much and I squeezed my thighs together, seeking relief and finding only the bare minimum as I rubbed my own nipples, pinching and tugging on the stiff flesh as I wanted Kurt to do. I abandoned the complex scenario and just thought of Kurt with me then, touching me instead of my own hands. I wanted to feel him against me again as I had in the kitchen, his arousal pressed into my skin, not sickening as Lance's had been but something that made me burn.
I had done this sort of thing before but never with such exact images and wanting. Usually, it was just a response to a basic urge, quick and futile and hidden and something to be forgotten once I had done it because I was almost embarrassed about it, no matter how healthy the biology teacher said it was to satiate sexual urges through masturbation. But now, I had pictures in my mind making me desire, images and sounds and even the scent of his skin and clothes to fill my fevered dream state and I knew it was the inevitable conclusion to my evening and nothing to be ashamed of. I was surprised at my own touch then, fingers slowly moving between my thighs. I had not even noticed the traverse of my hand until I felt the ache in my belly intensify. I couldn't help it then, I said his name just loud enough for me to hear in the room, barely a whisper. I didn't care then who could get psychic waves off of me, who could hear me with their superhuman ears...all I cared about was the idea of Kurt wanting me and me needing him. I gave into the more basic of human desires then, raising my hips a little and cautiously, unsuredly, touching myself in my most secret of places. Usually, I didn't pay much attention to what I felt like down there when I did this, trying to hurry up and satisfy desire and get the hell on with my life where lust and want didn't play such a big role. Now, though, I wondered what Kurt would feel when he touched me, what he would think and if he would like it. Hesitantly, I slid one finger along the length of my entrance, biting my lip at how it made me feel warm all over again. Especially when I touched one particular spot. I knew the mechanics, obviously, and the general anatomy, but I had never thought of myself in those terms before. Now, I focused on that spot, on the pleasure it gave me when I touched it and slowly began to trace small circles over it, pressing with first one finger, then two, thinking how Kurt would do it and how different it would feel. One hand remained at my breast and was kneading my flesh, secondary sensations to those coursing upwards from the fingers between my legs. I began stroking in earnest then, exploring my core and wondering at the sensations, slow and hot and building, that I could produce within myself. Again I returned to one particular spot, the hand at my breast moving to join the one lower on my body, taking up exploration while I concentrated on the nub of nerves at the apex of my sex. I could feel the burning start hot and hard, the electric feeling of urgent need tightening my muscles and making me breathe hard and ragged through my open mouth as sweat began to dapple my skin. I knew I must be red in the face and neck but I didn't care-no one could see me and eventually, when Kurt did see me like this, I knew he would like it. I rubbed against myself with two fingers and gasped loudly as fingers from my other hand found entrance and slid into my own body. I didn't think I could feel like this and that thought drove me over the edge. I felt myself tighten around my fingers as I stroked frantically at my pleasure center, my body shaking and arching as I bit my lip hard to keep from crying out. One single cry escaped, though, a name that emerged more loudly than it should have.
I withdrew my hands from my center and groped blindly for the bedclothes on the floor, pulling my nightshirt down in the process. I covered myself up, deciding I need a moment to breathe before I rose to clean up. I was wonderfully sleepy and alive and buzzy all at once and I knew I had to share that with Kurt somehow. I'm not stupid...I knew he does something similar and probably quite often...but to do it together... I sighed and pulled the sheets up to my chin as the knock fell on the door. I knew who it was, I knew he had heard me... "Yeah?" I called, trying to sound like I was not out of breath.
"Katzchen, did you call for me?"
"Um...no. Must've been some sort of aural hallucination..." I giggled then, unable to stop myself.
There was a long silence and then, "Well...good night then."
"Night." I knew then with great certainty that from here on out, whether he knew it or not, Kurt Wagner was mine.