A 1-post collection

Fanfic Time: Love is Blue

This is smut. This is smut written by a much younger writer.

You have been warned.

Disclaimer: TPTB won’t even want this one. Hell, if they knew I was writing it, they’d probably start legal action to make me stop. Odd for a company in a country that stands up for freedom of speech, no? Regardless, the characters are theirs, the twisted concept mine.

Summary: This is one of those ones that leap out at both author and audience, causing much wreckage and mayhem. The K/L/K love triangle in a very weird light. Contains references to consensual m/m sex, and will have both the Kurtty shippers *and* the Lancitty shippers after my neck. Hey, what better way to bury the hatchet, right?

Archiving: email cat@internutter.org and ask nice. I do like to know what happens to my fics. Even warped and twisted ones like this :)

                            Love is Blue

                [Or: You’re Going To Kill Me For This]



  We were always competing, him and I. Even on the first day I met him, before I knew he was a freak. I just thought he was a German weirdo who didn’t touch people much. Of course I wondered why Kitty acted afraid of him, or seated herself between Superior Scott and that telepathic tart, Jean.

  Then Toad dropped the immortal phrase, “blue furred freak”.

  He told me the whole story about the freakshow. About Kurt. About how, if you were ever feeling a step removed from the Human race, all you had to do was look at fuzzy with his watch off.

  And, that afternoon, just to prove his words true, Todd made sure that I did.

  Even though I *was* warned, I yelped. He looked like a fuzzy blue demon. All that was missing were the cloven hooves and the horns. I took objection to him instantly. Maybe because he represented everything I was afraid of becoming. I don’t know.

  He took objection to me, because of what I’d done to her. I guess he was used to being feared. He sure was used to that Look, and those words, “What is it?” flung at him like bullets.

  He can make it look like they bounce right off of him, but trust me, they go straight through and mince him right up. Metaphorical blood everywhere.

  She got over the both of our first impressions at roughly the same time. We both showed off for her. She liked it, but he kept washing out. I got the dates. He just got sympathy.

  We still fought like cats, you know. I think he thought he was 'defending her honour’ or some other ludicrous Kurt-phrase. He has a lot of them. I think he learned half of his English from old movies *full* of words like that. Honour. Justice. Chivalry. 


  Then we had to face off on a mountain. I forget why we were up there. I think someone heard Mystique was hiding out in there. Or there was some lab where some idiot was experimenting on mutants. Who cares, right? It’s where the *real* trouble started.

  It’s why I’m so fucked up in the head, right now.

  He says I started it by rockin’ the mountaintop. I say he started it by trying to save me from the avalanche of snow that came down on us. See? Even now, we fight.

  He’d even warned me not to do it, but I took it as a challenge. I knew it would impress her. Everyone else bugged out of there before I got even halfway started. Almost everyone. There was only one other person on that mountain stupider then me.


  He’d known, all the time, that I was going to bring a mountain of snow down on us. He *knew* what it could do. Hell, he spent most of his life in some pissant whitebread mountain town in the middle of Bumblefuck-nowhere, Germany. He *knew* mountain snow. He *knew* avalanches.

  I didn’t.

  I just stood there, watching it fall, and hoping that I was gonna wake up and find out I’d been asleep in front of the discovery channel or something. Everyone else was heading for safety.

  He headed right into the throat of danger.

  Straight at me.

  You know, all he ever needs to ‘port someone is a touch, but all the time, when he’s saving someone, he grabs them in a hug. Just wraps himself around a person without so much as a by-your-leave. All I remember at that point is the feel of his face brushing against mine, the strength of his arms. Then that sound - {Bamf!} - and confusion, disorientation and lots of white.

  I heard him scream. Something about a misfire. And then he had me across his back and he was bouncing across boulders, uprooted trees, and quasi-stable hunks of compressed snow.

  He was running *across* an avalanche. Not quite a proper gallop, on all fours, because one hand was making sure I was still there. He needed the tail for counterbalance, I guess, 'cause he was jumping around all over the place.

  “Are you *NUTS*?” I demanded. “We’re gonna *die*!”

  “Relax! I’ve done this before!”


  “Okay. Just once. But we *lived*…”

  That is not one of the things you want to hear while being carried across an avalanche, let me tell you. In fact, you don’t even want to be carried across an avalanche. But if you have the option, it’s better than being buried in one. *WAY* better.

  We got clobbered by a glob of snow, and then it was nothing but white and noise and the feel of his hand damn near crushing my wrist. He was gonna die before he let go. I closed my eyes and held my breath and let myself go slack. Somehow, I knew. If I fought it, I was a dead man.

  I guess I blacked out, 'cause the next thing I know, fuzz-butt was giving me mouth-to-mouth. Bet you’re thinking 'yuck!’ right? I wasn’t. Mainly because it was freezing and he was *hot*, you know?

  All that snow and ice and I had to get rescued by a human furnace.

  He’d hollowed out some breathing space. A little pocket of increasingly-stale air. I could tell because nothing else leaves three-fingered prints in the snow.

  Of course I pushed him away. It was more of an instinct, really. That was before I realised how fucking *cold* I was. 

  “What the *fuck* was that for?” I demanded. I didn’t know whether I meant the rescue, the resuscitation, or what.

  “Where I come from, you don’t leave people to die,” he said. “Even if they *are* your enemy.”

  “Keep your hands off of me, freakshow,” I growled. It was all show. Inside, I was obsessing about the feel of his lips. How warm he was. How soft his fur felt. I was starting to wonder if I was gay.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, so sarcastic and cold that he nearly dripped ice from his mouth. I had to wonder if he was thinking the same thoughts.

  Don’t get me wrong. If anything, we’re bi. Or settling for the closest thing we can get until she makes up her goddamn mind. I love Kitty, I do, but God, she can be such a fucking *ditz*.

  I just huddled where I was and tried to put some life back into my fingers and toes. I’d lost my left boot, and I had to wonder how much use the right one would be on its own.

  He just started digging. There was snow all around us. No clue whether we were on the side of a mountain or under a rock, but he kept digging sort of upwards. Sooner or later, he had to hit something.

  I should have been glad no bones were broken. I should have been grateful for his instincts to save others. Instead, I had to obsess about my sexuality while he continued to try and save my hide.

  At length, fresh air came back down with him. It woke me up to the world of hurt I was in. Probably woke him up, too, but he never showed any discomfort.

  “Can’t tell where we are,” he said. Nothing but white, everywhere you look. Es ist dazzling…“

  "So why the hell are we hanging around here? Let’s book.”

  “Nein!” He seized my arm again and dragged me back down. “You go up there, you’ll be frozen and blind!” Somehow, he overpowered me and laid his body on top of mine.

  “What the *fuck*? Get your jollies somewhere else you stupid–”

  “*Clappe*!” He roared the word in my face. “You’re half frozen. We need to share body heat if we want to survive. Do you want to survive?”

  Slowly, I nodded.


  It hurt, for about an hour, as his body heat warmed me up. You know, despite the fact that I call him a fur rug, there really isn’t enough of him to go around a freezing person. He had to warm me up, piecemeal.

  By the time I was thawed, I was changing my mind about him. He was changing his mind about me.

  It was insane. It was madness. We both had to touch each other and hold each other close and - God, we even fought to be on top. We even turn sex into a competition.

  He’s like silk. That soft, warm pelt of his is so smooth. You don't even think of how muscled he is until you’re trying to grab handfuls of it and it won’t go. And that *tail*. He bought me to Heaven with the thing. Twice.

  Then it wasn’t about who got what from whom, but how many times one of us could make the other scream. He won. He always wins that one. I don't know how he knows what to do to make a person melt like that, but he does it every single time.

  He wears me out and I pass out begging for more.

  It’s insane. It’s still insane, because we go at it like it’s a fight, in all the secret little places we have. Where no-one goes. He's insanely jealous of me. Every time I go out with her, he has to 'escort' me off the grounds after I take her home. What he *does* is bamf me away to one of his little nooks, and he takes me in every position I can handle and God, I love it. I can’t help it.

  Kitty’s only ever kissed me once, and that made me fairly happy for a week.

  He’s kissed me a hundred times, and I swear, he makes me fly.

  One of these days, she’s going to let him close enough to her, and he’ll show her all the wonderful things he can do. You’ve never lived until you’ve had someone who can purr, I swear. It’s like lightning. Striking you deeper and deeper with each thrust until your whole body spasms and you think you’re gonna die.

  One of these days, he’ll have her like he has me, now. Only he won't have to fight her. She’ll go down like a dream. You’ll hear the screaming half the world away, and it’ll be me doing the screaming.

  Because the day he gets her, that’s the day I lose them both.


  I don’t even know why we did it in the first place. Maybe it was life affirmation. Maybe it was raw lust. Maybe it was just insane. I certainly don’t know why we continue. He has to be happy with *her*. Katzchen. Mein leibe. Mein Innerbruch - my heartbreak.

  Maybe I keep wanting him because he gets so close to her. Because *I* certainly don’t have a chance. Because I have to have love, or I think I’ll die from loneliness.

  That’s the one difference between Heirelgart and Bayville. People touched me, there. No-one wants to touch me, here. I’m a sensitive elf; and that difference burns me like nothing else.

  He asked me, once, on those rare occasions when we talk, afterwards, what it was like to grow up a freak. He didn’t use those words, but then, I’m allowed to be honest. I looked it up, just to be sure.

  Freak: (n) A person or animal that is markedly unusual or deformed.

  That’s me. Markedly unusual enough to make strangers scream.

  I hate it.

  Every time a newbie comes to the institute, I try to hide behind the hologram 24/7. I’m sick and tired of scaring people. Not once has a newbie taken my true self in, and rushed towards me with a welcoming smile. They all ran, or screamed, or tried to hide behind something. Kitty did all three and broke my heart in a fraction of a second.

  I do love her. I can’t help it. She’s so pure. She hasn’t been stained by the ugliness of humanity. She hasn’t even seen a hint of it. All I want to do is be held safe in her arms, be made pure by her touch, and worship her body with mine.

  Nothing so base as crude sex, no. Kitty deserves a slice of the divine. She’s forever an Angel in my eyes.

  I guess that’s what makes our relationship so strange. She, an Angel. Me, ein blauer Teufel - a blue devil. And Lance, in the middle. Heaven and Earth and Hell. Except I don’t want to be Hell. I was almost burned once, and that was more than enough for me.

  It’s enough that he wants me, when we tangle. That he fights to take me and wants it as much as I do. That he wants me. I’m accepted, even though we fight at it, and struggle against each other in the frenzied insanity that defines our lovemaking.

  No holds are barred. Nothing’s unfair. We both have the same want, and that’s enough for now. We want physical confirmation of love, any way we can get it.

  But she kissed him, once. I haven’t even got as far as a hug by the fireplace.

  Maybe that’s why I keep wanting him. He’s so much closer to her than I. Ha. Sex by proxy. That has to be a new one. I can add it to the collection of the things gone desperately wrong inside my head. Right next to the multiple personas that owe their existence to other people's greed and lust; the secret I’ve kept from everyone except the persons involved.

  Some people in the troupe - ordinary gypsies from the village next door - they used to rent me out as a sex toy for the bored rich. That's why I know Tantric Yoga. It was that, or come back with broken bones. Or get buried in a glass box that’s kept on display in a museum.

  Another nightmare of mine. I keep it next to the one where I become a *real* demon. Sometimes, I even think that some variation of “What is it?” is going to be my epitaph.

  At least Kitty never asked. Not out loud.

  She was too busy screaming.

  One day, he’ll make her scream, the *right* way. Take everything I've shown him in our tangles and present it to her like a gift. Probably in all honour on their wedding night.

  I’ll burn, then, on the inside. Burn up in the light of their happiness until nothing’s left but ashes wrapped in a demon’s blue fur. Then I’ll be able to answer, at last, when someone asks That question.

  Cold ashes and bad dreams.

  That’s what little elves are made of.


  I’m not the sweet little girl everyone thinks I am. Sure, I’m like, still a virgin and junk, but you don’t live inside my head. All that pink and valley-girl talk? It’s a smokescreen.

  I’m trying to hide the dark me.

  The me inside that craves ugly, twisted things.

  The me that dreams about Lance torturing Kurt and gets off on it.

  The me that *can’t* get off unless I think about making love to a certain blue fuzzy elf.

  Yeah, I masturbate to Kurt. So what? In my mind, he can be just as dirty and sick as I am.

  So why do I go out with Lance? Because he *is* the dark side. He's danger. Kurt? Kurt’s *safe*.

  I held him, once, after that failed mission when we tried to draft Rogue. I think I could feel safe forever, if only I could listen to his heartbeat.

  Odd that he was the one who got zapped, and *I* wanted to feel safe.

  Pretty sick.

  Like wanting to get close to him - really close, if you know what I mean - whenever he gets banged up in a fight. I don’t know why, but I'm like, drawn to him when he shows pain. Even though I can’t stand to see that lovely blue fur slick with red blood, I have to look.

  I have to touch, too.

  That time in the garden, when I thought he was in a coma, I took off one of my gloves and felt his fur.

  He’s like, the softest creature on the planet. And so smooth… I want to know what it’s like to feel that fur ruffling itself against my skin. Getting little knots in it because he’s making love to me.

  But instead of finding out, which would be *really* sick, I go to Lance. Lance never has to worry about his hologram. Lance doesn’t have to avoid like, microwaves in convenience stores and junk. He doesn't like, walk like he’s afraid of the world hurting him.

  He’s like, normal. Average, in a bad-boy kinda way.

  If only I could merge Lance’s looks with Kurt’s personality.

  Or vice versa. Have all the danger and all the good rolled into one.

  Would I still be indecisive? I think so. I don’t know whether I want danger or safety. Fur or skin. Introvert or extrovert.

  Though there are times when you like, can’t tell the two of them apart on that last one.

  Kurt’s a showoff of the worst order. I think it comes from like, working in a circus most of his life. Put two other people in a room and Kurt like, thinks its an audience.

  He’s always the one with the wisecrack. With the entertaining idea. With the damn stupid stunt that he somehow pulls off without breaking anything or anyone.

  Lance, on the other hand, leaves a trail a mile wide wherever he goes.

  Kurt just inspires others to damage things. Usually while their aiming at him. His pranks *do* kinda backfire spectacularly with like, several dangerous mutants in the house. If he wasn’t such a fast talker or an agile jumper, he’d be like, lightly toasted every morning.

  Once, I swear I heard him say he loved the workout.

  Kurt’s probably insane, and I love him for it.

  Problem is, I love Lance, too.

  It hurts to see them fight. I just wish there was some way we could all be friends or something.

  I wish I could find a way to satisfy *both* sides of me.

[Author’s Note: Yes, I know it’s sick and twisted. This one isn’t my usual style, I swear. It just leaped on me from a great height. Writing it was the only way to get some peace! Don’t flame? Please?]