Tails of Change [Revamping!]

12) Hormones

[Author Note:

X-men Characters in this Chapter: Nightcrawler (Kurt), brief mention of Cyclops (Scott), Jean Grey, and Spyke (Evan)

OC Characters in this Chapter: _____ (Sorin)

*Italicized words are either German words or English words with a more Germanic spelling. Any words that are dissimilar to the English version (or a bit out of context) will have a translation appearing here:

[] ==

{9.25.2019} Revamped! New material!]

The ride back to the Institute is almost torture. Scott is driving and Jean is in the passenger seat beside him. That leaves the back seats to the group of boys, where Kurt is squeezed in between Sorin and Evan. Kurt's thigh keeps coming in contact with Sorin's and it is sparking a storm of hormones inside of him. It doesn't help that Kurt keeps looking at him in-between participating in the light conversation the others are having.

It's Kurt's fault, Sorin decides. Since Sorin's mutation, once a month, for an inconsistent number of days, Sorin's body erupts in waves of arousal. He's read somewhere that this is referred to as being in heat, but that phrase sounds weird to him so he doesn't like to think of it like that. He prefers to think of it as incontrollable hormones. So far, it has started around the same day. This time, it was early. And Kurt's to blame. It's Kurt's fault for stirring feelings of attraction up inside him.

By the time they get back to the Institute, Sorin can't think straight. He's uncomfortably hard and glad he's got a fistful of bags to carry in front of him when he walks inside. He tells the others that he's going to go put the items in his room and heads in that direction without waiting for anyone's response. He has got to get behind a locked door before anyone notices. Or worse: before he's unable to control himself. Thankfully, he's been alone so far when this happens. But it hitting him out in public like that, that was a first. He doesn't know how long he'll be able to control himself or what he'll do if he can't. Especially if someone he was attracted to was right there.

He gets to his room and drops all of the bags on the floor. Peeling off his clothes as he walks, he heads to the shower. The water is cool and it eases the fire spreading beneath his skin, but he knows when he turns the shower off that the fire will build back up again.

Sorin pushes his hand down on the crevice where his thigh connects between his legs, intentionally not touching himself. His body relaxes a fraction, for a few seconds, and then he's right back to where he started. Sorin groans, a sound that is half futility, half need. He turns the water off, no longer seeing the point to letting it run when it isn't doing anything but putting off the inevitable.

Flopping down on his bed, he lets the towel fall off his waist and fan beneath him. Sorin closes his eyes and waits a moment, hoping the cool air on his exposed body would shock the waves coursing inside him into submission. It doesn't. There's only one way to get the waves to subside. So, he slides a hand down his chest and between his legs, where he squeezes as tight as he can stand without the pressure feeling unpleasant, then lets go. Fisting his other hand in the bed blanket, he grinds the heel of his palm into the base of his shaft and lets his fingers brush haphazardly with the motion. The touch sends shivers of soft, pin-prickly pleasure from his crotch across his skin and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Sorin moves his hand from between his legs to his outer thigh, where, less than an hour ago Kurt's thigh had pressed against. He drags his nails up his thigh firmly. It's not enough to leave marks, but it's enough to prevent the goosebumps feeling of a light touch. Which isn't the feeling he wants right now. He imagines it's Kurt's fingers in place of his own. He imagines it's Kurt's hand, not his, when he drags his fingers back between his legs to grip his dick. He imagines it's Kurt moving his hand up and down his length, running his thumb over the slit in the way that pushes Sorin closer to the proverbial ledge. When he brings his other hand down to tug at his balls, he imagines Kurt doing that too.

The thing he hates most about these concentrated doses of arousal is that he isn't more sensitive to physical stimulation. As he's discovered, there's a thin line between that and the arousal coursing through his veins, but there's a distinction none-the-less. The desire to partake in sexual fun overloads his brain until he can think of nothing else. Thinking of sex more, wanting sex more, and not getting any, was incredibly frustrating. Not getting any meant taking care of things himself. Not getting any meant during these high hormone phases, no matter how or how often he got off, he never felt satisfied. The hormones made him want more, but touching himself never felt any different in or out of these phases. Which brought Sorin right back to: if only the hormones made him more physically sensitive... Then maybe during these surges he could satisfy himself enough to get them under control. But that was just wishful thinking. So, he would do what he could and wait until the phase passed.

This time was easier —thinking about Kurt. He found that it was more fun with someone he could picture clearly in his mind, especially one who he'd had physical contact with recently. The result was an exclamation of Kurt's name when the tension finally released, white splattering his hand and stomach.

Head spinning, he absentmindedly wiped himself off with the towel, pulling it from beneath himself. He curled onto his side, reaching his arm out to the edge of the mattress to drop the towel. It plunked on the floor. With hormones retreated for the moment, Sorin drifted off to sleep. He didn't bother to pull the covers over himself; it would be too much effort in his current state to move himself or the sheets from beneath him to make that happen.

His last thought before he plunged into sleep was that the hormone waves weren't done yet. They were just beginning.