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....hm. The feverish one has a point.
[Another forehead kiss. Iggy's gonna get sick of them.] All right, we'll talk about it. When you aren't deathly ill, because you need to rest.
[Another forehead kiss. Iggy's gonna get sick of them.] All right, we'll talk about it. When you aren't deathly ill, because you need to rest.
Yeah. Okay. I'd like that a lot, actually. Will you stay a bit if I sleep? Just a little while.
Yeah, babe. I'll stay as long as you need, all right? I'll be here when you wake up.
[Honestly, Iggy always looks good to Corry, and therefore he always looks good, because Corry is always right, obviously. The little video is almost torturous, making him think of all that he's missed and missing, and making him seriously consider just quitting his job.
He doesn't return the favor -- not yet. Iggy has to earn it.] Good for a start. But don't be shy. This shouldn't be too easy for you.
He doesn't return the favor -- not yet. Iggy has to earn it.] Good for a start. But don't be shy. This shouldn't be too easy for you.
have I ever bene shy in my life?
you want it live? I can do live, baby. I have all sorts of toys and things, too.
you want it live? I can do live, baby. I have all sorts of toys and things, too.
A private show? Just for me? You'll spoil me, darling.
I have an hour. Let's see how not shy you can be in that time.
I have an hour. Let's see how not shy you can be in that time.
just for you, darling. 😘
[It just takes him a minute to video chat him instead - Iggy smiles into the camera, genuinely happy to see Corry even through a screen.]
Hiiiii baby. You look delicious.
[Iggy has his phone set up so that Corry can see him easily - the advantages of being a cam boy. He grins and sits back, kneeling, ass on his heels. He's still hard and he strokes himself a few times before he shifts, reaching off camera. He re-centres with a truly impressive dildo in his hands.]
Yeah? No?
[It just takes him a minute to video chat him instead - Iggy smiles into the camera, genuinely happy to see Corry even through a screen.]
Hiiiii baby. You look delicious.
[Iggy has his phone set up so that Corry can see him easily - the advantages of being a cam boy. He grins and sits back, kneeling, ass on his heels. He's still hard and he strokes himself a few times before he shifts, reaching off camera. He re-centres with a truly impressive dildo in his hands.]
Yeah? No?
[ God, his hands are so strong. The contrast between their power and the softness of her breasts is intoxicating, and another dribbled whine leaves her little pink lips as she’s fondled.
The boys are frequent nursers, and she’s been astounded just how much she can make in a day. Warm droplets are leaking easily from her ducts, soaking through the fabric of the top. ]
Mm … both … I want both.
[ Greedy, needy. Whole body on fire as she’s reminded how his cock changed her. The evidence of his breeding her dramatic and obvious. ]
The boys are frequent nursers, and she’s been astounded just how much she can make in a day. Warm droplets are leaking easily from her ducts, soaking through the fabric of the top. ]
Mm … both … I want both.
[ Greedy, needy. Whole body on fire as she’s reminded how his cock changed her. The evidence of his breeding her dramatic and obvious. ]
[Does it take Corry an embarrassingly long time to make sure his mike and camera are turned on? Yes. Because he's a dumb old man.
But then he sits back, as attractive an angle as he can manage, though he only shows Iggy his chest upwards. He's here to tease, after all. Don't make it too easy for Iggy to get through this -- if he chooses to be good, of course.] Hey, darlin'. God, missed that cute fuckin' grin.
[Then he nods, faux thoughtful.] Almost as big as the real thing. Almost. Better get it ready, baby.
But then he sits back, as attractive an angle as he can manage, though he only shows Iggy his chest upwards. He's here to tease, after all. Don't make it too easy for Iggy to get through this -- if he chooses to be good, of course.] Hey, darlin'. God, missed that cute fuckin' grin.
[Then he nods, faux thoughtful.] Almost as big as the real thing. Almost. Better get it ready, baby.
[Corry shakes his head slowly, clicking his tongue, his thumbs tracing slow, delicate circles around her peaked nipples, feeling the fabric soak through, cling to the tender buds.] Ah-ah-ah. Don't be greedy, darling. You only get one at a time, after all.
[As if he hasn't multitasked at least a million times. But he's going to make her earn it.]
[As if he hasn't multitasked at least a million times. But he's going to make her earn it.]
[That gets Iggy to grin again, because a genuine and relatively innocent compliment? Yeah. He loves them.]
Yes, sir.
[He turns again, deliberately flashing some ass. He returns with lube, which he uncaps and drizzles onto one hand. He wastes zero time in fingering himself, shifting so Corry can watch.]
I miss you.
[Moaned softly, but honestly.]
Miss you so much. Wanna be... oh, yeah. Mm. Good for you.
Yes, sir.
[He turns again, deliberately flashing some ass. He returns with lube, which he uncaps and drizzles onto one hand. He wastes zero time in fingering himself, shifting so Corry can watch.]
I miss you.
[Moaned softly, but honestly.]
Miss you so much. Wanna be... oh, yeah. Mm. Good for you.
[ An indignant little huff in between soft whines, that bratty side of her unable to keep from shining through when she’s becoming uncomfortably horny. She looks up at him with her huge, doe eyes and a pout. ]
You could give me both.
[ She loves his cock, thick and powerful. Loves the feeling of its lava hot warmth spreading her open so achingly wide, stretching her tight little pussy to fit. But she also has become addicted to feeling his palms hefting her breasts, playing with them like toys. ]
You could give me both.
[ She loves his cock, thick and powerful. Loves the feeling of its lava hot warmth spreading her open so achingly wide, stretching her tight little pussy to fit. But she also has become addicted to feeling his palms hefting her breasts, playing with them like toys. ]
Babe, I have kinks you've never even heard of.
I don't generally base my sexy outfit choices on logic.
I don't generally base my sexy outfit choices on logic.
I suppose it'll do. If you think you can ride me without us getting caught.
Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.
Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.
hey, as prince said: lemme show you baby I'm a talented boy.
yeah, I kinda figured that out during our first encounter.
yeah, I kinda figured that out during our first encounter.
It's hard work, being pregnant. Not that Kurt actually does any work, per say—the pack barely lets them anymore, swooping in to take any dishes or laundry or cooking herbs out of their hands despite all their protests—but they're still kept plenty busy. The more their body changes and swells with Alpha's pup, the less they're able or allowed to do on their own. Some days, they require constant attention.
Every day, that's exactly what they get.
Kurt can barely go a minute without someone's hands on them. Whether it's Corrigan caressing their rounded stomach, Leo teasing the pert swell of their tits, Naseer massaging all their tender achy spots, they're always surrounded by touch, crowded with affection and love. Even after months of pregnancy—and months of pack bonding before that—it still feels surreal. Their mates are all so attentive, so doting, insisting Kurt not lift a finger until the baby is born. All five of them make sure every day that their little human mate stays fed and cleaned and rested...and satisfied.
Which is easier said than done. Pregnancy has made them ravenous, their body always eager and ready to take one or two or all of their mates at once. Kurt is so sensitive now, even the slightest touch gets them all shivery and hot—and they're never not being touched. Thankfully, the pack is more than eager to provide, affected just as badly by all the pregnancy hormones as they are. They'll take turns leisurely fucking them while wrapped up in soft, warm furs, enjoying the tight squeeze of their throat while they come their brains out, savagely pounding them until they scream with pleasure, knotting their plush ass for hours at a time. The wolves don't let them go empty for long.
It's hard, demanding work. But Kurt has never been happier.
Despite the constant, vigilant attention from all five of them, Kurt still insists on doing some things alone. They seriously don't need help going to the bathroom just yet. If anything, they enjoy the rare moments of privacy it affords them, just getting to be alone with their thoughts. Just them and the baby.
They understand, of course. After the incident with Miles, Corrigan has been so careful not to leave Kurt unprotected, not even for a moment. They've all been so careful. But it's been months without a sighting at this point, and nothing ever came of the man's threats. It should be okay. Kurt's just right outside, right by the tree line, only ever gone for a minute or two. Nothing bad can happen to them in a minute or two.
Right?
Every day, that's exactly what they get.
Kurt can barely go a minute without someone's hands on them. Whether it's Corrigan caressing their rounded stomach, Leo teasing the pert swell of their tits, Naseer massaging all their tender achy spots, they're always surrounded by touch, crowded with affection and love. Even after months of pregnancy—and months of pack bonding before that—it still feels surreal. Their mates are all so attentive, so doting, insisting Kurt not lift a finger until the baby is born. All five of them make sure every day that their little human mate stays fed and cleaned and rested...and satisfied.
Which is easier said than done. Pregnancy has made them ravenous, their body always eager and ready to take one or two or all of their mates at once. Kurt is so sensitive now, even the slightest touch gets them all shivery and hot—and they're never not being touched. Thankfully, the pack is more than eager to provide, affected just as badly by all the pregnancy hormones as they are. They'll take turns leisurely fucking them while wrapped up in soft, warm furs, enjoying the tight squeeze of their throat while they come their brains out, savagely pounding them until they scream with pleasure, knotting their plush ass for hours at a time. The wolves don't let them go empty for long.
It's hard, demanding work. But Kurt has never been happier.
Despite the constant, vigilant attention from all five of them, Kurt still insists on doing some things alone. They seriously don't need help going to the bathroom just yet. If anything, they enjoy the rare moments of privacy it affords them, just getting to be alone with their thoughts. Just them and the baby.
They understand, of course. After the incident with Miles, Corrigan has been so careful not to leave Kurt unprotected, not even for a moment. They've all been so careful. But it's been months without a sighting at this point, and nothing ever came of the man's threats. It should be okay. Kurt's just right outside, right by the tree line, only ever gone for a minute or two. Nothing bad can happen to them in a minute or two.
Right?
Miles had waited for two reasons -- one, he wasn't a fucking idiot. He knew Corrigan would be hypervigilant when protecting his little mate, wouldn't relax his protective hovering for weeks, if not months. He knew all about the overproduced breeding pheromones -- he could fucking smell them from the woods outside the cabin. They were a constant torment, a teasing reminder of what the rest of the pack got to enjoy every damn day, but he was forbidden from. He could hear the little human slut, whining in pleasure as they were used by the pack, as they rode Corrigan's cock until he came inside them for the millionth time. And still Miles -- the true Beta, the true Alpha, he'd argue -- had scarcely even touched them.
The only benefit of the sickening, heavy tang of heat hormones is that Miles can linger close to the cabin, learning the shape of the treeline, the best places to hide in the shadows, the routines of the pack he used to call his. He watches them, notes that Kai likes to sneak away with Leo or Benji for a mid-afternoon riverside fuck, that this usually coincides with Corrigan and Naseer reviewing the food stores and planning hunts, or making note of improvements on the cabin. They're planning to knock out a wall, built an additional room for the pup before their mate is due. Before Kurt is due.
Miles watches them closest, of course -- sitting in the sun with Leo braiding their hair, handing Naseer clothes to hang on the line (the most strenuous task the pack will allow), cuddled in Kai's lap, fucked in every possible combination at every possible hour. He feels like he knows the way their soft, freckled skin would feel, the way their ass would fit perfectly in the cradle of his hips, how they'd moan when he thrust inside them. How they'd look with his spend coating their face, filling their throat, spilled over their tits. What his cock would feel like, finally buried to the hilt inside them.
It's all so real, so vivid, that a lesser man might've been satisfied with merely watching, with hiding among the bushes and stroking their cock to the sight of Kurt being bred over and over and over. Someone less determined would've let the fantasies be enough. Miles was not a lesser man. He'd challenged the strongest alpha in the woodlands, he hadn't surrendered what was rightfully his. With Corrigan's mate in his arms, his bed, Miles would have enough leverage to take his place as Alpha. When his pup was growing in Kurt's belly, he'd return, demand acceptance to the pack, and take leadership.
And until then, he had numerous plans for how to occupy his and Kurt's time.
First, though -- taking advantage of the pack's preoccupation to seize his prize. Miles moved silent, almost liquid through the forest, towards where Kurt lingered by the treeline, stretching their lower back, their unprotected belly soft, rounded, vulnerable. A slight rustle of bushes, a flash of silver, and there was a knife, tip pressed lightly to the swell of Kurt's stomach. Miles remained in the shadows, unseen, barely breathing, taking advantage of the pack mate's scent to hide his own for the handful of instants required.
"Don't make a sound. You can scream, but I'll kill your whelp by the time anyone hears." Miles's voice was soft, barely a whisper. "Don't look behind you. Step forward. Now."
The only benefit of the sickening, heavy tang of heat hormones is that Miles can linger close to the cabin, learning the shape of the treeline, the best places to hide in the shadows, the routines of the pack he used to call his. He watches them, notes that Kai likes to sneak away with Leo or Benji for a mid-afternoon riverside fuck, that this usually coincides with Corrigan and Naseer reviewing the food stores and planning hunts, or making note of improvements on the cabin. They're planning to knock out a wall, built an additional room for the pup before their mate is due. Before Kurt is due.
Miles watches them closest, of course -- sitting in the sun with Leo braiding their hair, handing Naseer clothes to hang on the line (the most strenuous task the pack will allow), cuddled in Kai's lap, fucked in every possible combination at every possible hour. He feels like he knows the way their soft, freckled skin would feel, the way their ass would fit perfectly in the cradle of his hips, how they'd moan when he thrust inside them. How they'd look with his spend coating their face, filling their throat, spilled over their tits. What his cock would feel like, finally buried to the hilt inside them.
It's all so real, so vivid, that a lesser man might've been satisfied with merely watching, with hiding among the bushes and stroking their cock to the sight of Kurt being bred over and over and over. Someone less determined would've let the fantasies be enough. Miles was not a lesser man. He'd challenged the strongest alpha in the woodlands, he hadn't surrendered what was rightfully his. With Corrigan's mate in his arms, his bed, Miles would have enough leverage to take his place as Alpha. When his pup was growing in Kurt's belly, he'd return, demand acceptance to the pack, and take leadership.
And until then, he had numerous plans for how to occupy his and Kurt's time.
First, though -- taking advantage of the pack's preoccupation to seize his prize. Miles moved silent, almost liquid through the forest, towards where Kurt lingered by the treeline, stretching their lower back, their unprotected belly soft, rounded, vulnerable. A slight rustle of bushes, a flash of silver, and there was a knife, tip pressed lightly to the swell of Kurt's stomach. Miles remained in the shadows, unseen, barely breathing, taking advantage of the pack mate's scent to hide his own for the handful of instants required.
"Don't make a sound. You can scream, but I'll kill your whelp by the time anyone hears." Miles's voice was soft, barely a whisper. "Don't look behind you. Step forward. Now."
It all happened so fast. Kurt didn't have time to process any of it, to parse the threat in any way, before their world was brought to a screeching halt and crashed to ruin all around them. In the space of a breath, a passing thought, their life was changed forever. And they'd had no chance to see it coming.
There was a knife to their stomach. There was a voice in their ear, quiet but clear, telling them in no uncertain terms what was going to happen next.
Kurt couldn't breathe for a moment, lungs like stone in their chest. They could only stare. They could see their own face reflected up at them in the silver of the blade, could see the moment the dumbfounded confusion in their eyes morphed into blind, debilitating panic.
They thought they knew fear. But until that very moment, Kurt had never known true terror.
"...yes." It was scarcely more than a breath, the word stiff on their tongue as they felt their throat close up. But they didn't hesitate to comply. Any thought of resistance, of defiance, evaporated as soon as it entered their mind. Calling his bluff wasn't worth even thinking about. Kurt's singular priority was—and always would be—the baby growing inside them. Nothing else mattered.
Keeping quiet, Kurt did as they were told and stepped forward, slowly, carefully, muscles stiff with mounting terror. They kept their hazy eyes ahead, unblinking, not looking, not looking. Their hands were trembling, knitting into tight fists at their sides, their knees felt moments away from giving out underneath them, but they never once wavered. It wasn't even a question.
Kurt would sooner die than hurt their baby.
There was a knife to their stomach. There was a voice in their ear, quiet but clear, telling them in no uncertain terms what was going to happen next.
Kurt couldn't breathe for a moment, lungs like stone in their chest. They could only stare. They could see their own face reflected up at them in the silver of the blade, could see the moment the dumbfounded confusion in their eyes morphed into blind, debilitating panic.
They thought they knew fear. But until that very moment, Kurt had never known true terror.
"...yes." It was scarcely more than a breath, the word stiff on their tongue as they felt their throat close up. But they didn't hesitate to comply. Any thought of resistance, of defiance, evaporated as soon as it entered their mind. Calling his bluff wasn't worth even thinking about. Kurt's singular priority was—and always would be—the baby growing inside them. Nothing else mattered.
Keeping quiet, Kurt did as they were told and stepped forward, slowly, carefully, muscles stiff with mounting terror. They kept their hazy eyes ahead, unblinking, not looking, not looking. Their hands were trembling, knitting into tight fists at their sides, their knees felt moments away from giving out underneath them, but they never once wavered. It wasn't even a question.
Kurt would sooner die than hurt their baby.
Miles moves in time with them, like he'd always known they'd obey -- which he had, of course. The protective instincts of a wolf towards their pup were sacred, insurmountable. Only the devotion of a pack to their mate came anywhere close to that level of devotion. He could've commanded Kurt to slit their own throat, to let him cut out their tongue or tell them to get down on their knees and service him, right then and there in the woods. That last thought was, admittedly tempting.
But Miles preferred to have their first time be somewhere he could take his time with Kurt, could truly savor every moment of claiming what was rightfully his. Still, he couldn't resist stepping forward as soon as they were hidden in the treeline, pressing up against Kurt's back, one hand coming up to cover their mouth. The other, still holding the knife, slowly traced it in lazy circles over their stomach. "Very good. Hold out your arm. I need some of your scent to linger here, while we get a head start." Miles nuzzled his face against the hollow of their neck, pressing his lips to their shoulder, adding softly: "And don't scream. I only want you, I have no qualms about slicing you open and leaving your pup here, before I take you."
When Kurt obeys -- because of course they will -- Miles draws the tip of the knife over the soft skin of their lower arm, from wrist to elbow. It's just enough to cut, just enough to prompt drops of blood to well up, dripping onto the brush and grass. Not enough to be immediately identifiable as blood itself, but enough to leave Kurt's scent there, at the treeline.
Satisfied, Miles moved his hand away from the trembling human's mouth, then nudged them forward, hard. "By the tree, on the ground." Folded there were baggy, shapeless garments -- a dress, a cloak, shoes. Too big for Kurt, all of them drenched in the scent of the woods, grime and sap and pitch rubbed into the fabric. Even their familiar, beloved scent would be smothered, impossible to detect as Miles dragged them farther and farther away from Corrigan's territory.
Miles kneed Kurt hard in the back of their legs, hissing out impatiently, "Put them on. Quietly. We need to move."
But Miles preferred to have their first time be somewhere he could take his time with Kurt, could truly savor every moment of claiming what was rightfully his. Still, he couldn't resist stepping forward as soon as they were hidden in the treeline, pressing up against Kurt's back, one hand coming up to cover their mouth. The other, still holding the knife, slowly traced it in lazy circles over their stomach. "Very good. Hold out your arm. I need some of your scent to linger here, while we get a head start." Miles nuzzled his face against the hollow of their neck, pressing his lips to their shoulder, adding softly: "And don't scream. I only want you, I have no qualms about slicing you open and leaving your pup here, before I take you."
When Kurt obeys -- because of course they will -- Miles draws the tip of the knife over the soft skin of their lower arm, from wrist to elbow. It's just enough to cut, just enough to prompt drops of blood to well up, dripping onto the brush and grass. Not enough to be immediately identifiable as blood itself, but enough to leave Kurt's scent there, at the treeline.
Satisfied, Miles moved his hand away from the trembling human's mouth, then nudged them forward, hard. "By the tree, on the ground." Folded there were baggy, shapeless garments -- a dress, a cloak, shoes. Too big for Kurt, all of them drenched in the scent of the woods, grime and sap and pitch rubbed into the fabric. Even their familiar, beloved scent would be smothered, impossible to detect as Miles dragged them farther and farther away from Corrigan's territory.
Miles kneed Kurt hard in the back of their legs, hissing out impatiently, "Put them on. Quietly. We need to move."
Of course Kurt obeys. Even as they cringe and shudder with revulsion at the press of his body against their back, his lips on their bare skin, they hold out their arm exactly as told and let themself be cut. It hurts, but they only let out a gasp, a sharp inhale through their nose, too terrified of making noise to even care about the pain.
Theirs and the pack's both. Picturing the wolves frantically searching for them, tricked by the scent marks they're forced to leave behind, makes their heart twist into a painful knot. But they can't care. Miles will hurt the baby. That's all they can care about.
Miles. Even though it's been months, even though they can't see him, they know it's him. They recognize his voice, the gross feeling he leaves them with inside as his body presses flush to theirs. Kurt only met him once, and they still feel like he's branded them, left a mark on them that's unmistakably his, a painful groove inside where he fits perfectly. Not even humanity, in all its cruelty, made Kurt feel this filthy and frightened and small.
But they have to push past it. As they're shoved and kicked onto their pale knees by the pile of clothes laid out for them, they know they can't let fear's grip on them get too tight. They have someone important to protect. So they hurry to get dressed, pulling the dress down over their head and shoulders, lacing up the shoes, fastening the cloak with trembling, unpracticed hands. It all covers them head to toe, concealing the shape and look and smell of them. Miles can take them into a human village and pass them off as his pregnant little wife, and no one would bat an eye.
Don't think about it. Still quiet, still not looking behind them, Kurt supports themself against the tree as they rise to stand once more, a protective hand on their stomach. They'll go wherever he tells them to. No tricks. Even as tears stream uninterrupted down their face, they'll do exactly as Miles tells them do. They don't have a choice.
Theirs and the pack's both. Picturing the wolves frantically searching for them, tricked by the scent marks they're forced to leave behind, makes their heart twist into a painful knot. But they can't care. Miles will hurt the baby. That's all they can care about.
Miles. Even though it's been months, even though they can't see him, they know it's him. They recognize his voice, the gross feeling he leaves them with inside as his body presses flush to theirs. Kurt only met him once, and they still feel like he's branded them, left a mark on them that's unmistakably his, a painful groove inside where he fits perfectly. Not even humanity, in all its cruelty, made Kurt feel this filthy and frightened and small.
But they have to push past it. As they're shoved and kicked onto their pale knees by the pile of clothes laid out for them, they know they can't let fear's grip on them get too tight. They have someone important to protect. So they hurry to get dressed, pulling the dress down over their head and shoulders, lacing up the shoes, fastening the cloak with trembling, unpracticed hands. It all covers them head to toe, concealing the shape and look and smell of them. Miles can take them into a human village and pass them off as his pregnant little wife, and no one would bat an eye.
Don't think about it. Still quiet, still not looking behind them, Kurt supports themself against the tree as they rise to stand once more, a protective hand on their stomach. They'll go wherever he tells them to. No tricks. Even as tears stream uninterrupted down their face, they'll do exactly as Miles tells them do. They don't have a choice.
Miles is confident enough in Kurt's obedience that he keeps a closer eye on the clearing, waiting to see if any of the wolves will wander by, looking for their mate. He's confident in his ability to ward off one at a time, but that's a risk he'd rather not take.
Luck -- or fate -- is on his side, it seems, because nobody comes around the corner of the house, calling for Kurt. Nobody even notices as Miles slides the knife back into it's sheath at his side, stepping forward and grabbing the human's arm hard, just above their elbow, right where the knife had dug in. "Walk," he murmurs against their ear. "Slowly, don't make a lot of noise. I'll tell you when it's time to run."
Blood soaks through the fabric, but Miles's tight grip means that no drops escape, nothing to make a scent trail that can be followed. They walk quietly, through an afternoon that seems almost peaceful -- the sun is shining, the birds singing, a soft breeze at their back. It's nearly idyllic, actually.
After several minutes, though, the peace is shattered by a sound from behind them -- far enough behind that Miles is secure in their head start, but close enough that the agony of it shakes the trees: a howl. Then another, and another, a chorus of primal grief and rage that sends the birds into silence, that seems to darken the sky itself.
Miles huffs out a laugh, stepping out of the forest, onto a path, where a cart waits, hitched to two horses. He shoves Kurt towards it, grabbing a filthy, stained blanket and throwing it at them, movements quick, impatient. "Sit, cover your head. If you try jumping out, you'll be killed -- either by the fall, or me. Understand?"
Then he's up, grabbing the reins and slapping them hard against the smooth, wide backs of the two powerful horses, urging them into a brisk trot, then higher, into a gallop that soon becomes a dead run. No horse could outrun Corrigan’s pack in a fair race, but with their head start? They'll be halfway to the coast before the wolves ever find a trail.
Luck -- or fate -- is on his side, it seems, because nobody comes around the corner of the house, calling for Kurt. Nobody even notices as Miles slides the knife back into it's sheath at his side, stepping forward and grabbing the human's arm hard, just above their elbow, right where the knife had dug in. "Walk," he murmurs against their ear. "Slowly, don't make a lot of noise. I'll tell you when it's time to run."
Blood soaks through the fabric, but Miles's tight grip means that no drops escape, nothing to make a scent trail that can be followed. They walk quietly, through an afternoon that seems almost peaceful -- the sun is shining, the birds singing, a soft breeze at their back. It's nearly idyllic, actually.
After several minutes, though, the peace is shattered by a sound from behind them -- far enough behind that Miles is secure in their head start, but close enough that the agony of it shakes the trees: a howl. Then another, and another, a chorus of primal grief and rage that sends the birds into silence, that seems to darken the sky itself.
Miles huffs out a laugh, stepping out of the forest, onto a path, where a cart waits, hitched to two horses. He shoves Kurt towards it, grabbing a filthy, stained blanket and throwing it at them, movements quick, impatient. "Sit, cover your head. If you try jumping out, you'll be killed -- either by the fall, or me. Understand?"
Then he's up, grabbing the reins and slapping them hard against the smooth, wide backs of the two powerful horses, urging them into a brisk trot, then higher, into a gallop that soon becomes a dead run. No horse could outrun Corrigan’s pack in a fair race, but with their head start? They'll be halfway to the coast before the wolves ever find a trail.
The chorus of howling agony shatters them to pieces. For a moment, as Miles laughs in the face of the pack's grief, Kurt doesn't think they'll be able to move through it. How could they? How could they possibly go on living, knowing the horror in those ghostly howls is there because of them?
Of course, they must go on, whether consciously or not. Miles' grip on them is much too strong, vice-tight around their arm as much as their heart. The consequences of disobeying are much too dire.
But even as they scramble into the waiting carriage and cover themself as instructed, Kurt isn't here because they're willing. Miles knows that as well as they do. They know where they belong. They know, as the stricken howls grow fainter and fainter with the thunder of hooves underneath them, that their family will never stop looking for them. The pack will tear itself asunder searching for them, they will turn the woods and mountains inside out for any sign of their lost mate, of the beloved child they'd all been waiting for, the missing piece that would make their family whole at last.
Kurt screams.
They're only human, so their voice doesn't carry the same, doesn't pierce through the trees and make the earth fall still around them. Their agony will never reach far enough. But they still scream, wailing with terror and grief as they're taken away, curled up on themself in the back of the racing carriage. They scream into the rushing wind until their lungs ache, until their insides feel scraped out, and then they scream some more.
Maybe the pack, by some miracle, will hear them. Maybe Miles will punish them the moment he brings the horses to a stop, making them regret ever being born. It doesn't matter, any of it. Kurt screams and screams and screams, but they still stay.
Of course, they must go on, whether consciously or not. Miles' grip on them is much too strong, vice-tight around their arm as much as their heart. The consequences of disobeying are much too dire.
But even as they scramble into the waiting carriage and cover themself as instructed, Kurt isn't here because they're willing. Miles knows that as well as they do. They know where they belong. They know, as the stricken howls grow fainter and fainter with the thunder of hooves underneath them, that their family will never stop looking for them. The pack will tear itself asunder searching for them, they will turn the woods and mountains inside out for any sign of their lost mate, of the beloved child they'd all been waiting for, the missing piece that would make their family whole at last.
Kurt screams.
They're only human, so their voice doesn't carry the same, doesn't pierce through the trees and make the earth fall still around them. Their agony will never reach far enough. But they still scream, wailing with terror and grief as they're taken away, curled up on themself in the back of the racing carriage. They scream into the rushing wind until their lungs ache, until their insides feel scraped out, and then they scream some more.
Maybe the pack, by some miracle, will hear them. Maybe Miles will punish them the moment he brings the horses to a stop, making them regret ever being born. It doesn't matter, any of it. Kurt screams and screams and screams, but they still stay.
Miles hears the sobbing screaming, but only just barely over the rush of the wind, the thunder of the horse's hooves. He can feel an echo of it through the strained and broken pack link, though, along with the resonating horror and confusion and fury from the other wolves. He can sense their disorganization, their frantic, frenetic searching of the cabin, the clearing, the river, all the places that Kurt would usually be. In their urge to be present in the moment, to search the familiar, they don't think to look too far, not yet. They can sense Kurt's terror and loss, but they can't pinpoint where it's coming from.
And then Miles steps in, through that link, forcing his way in and closing Kurt off from the others, a brutal almost-spiritual invasion, grabbing those threads of connection and wrenching them apart. This is the other reason he hadn't reappeared, the reason he'd waited and bided his time, creeping closer and closer to the pack's home, to their silent, inexplicable link to one another. So they wouldn't sense him, weaving his own will into the link Kurt has -- Kurt had -- to their family. So they can't stop him when he abruptly cuts that off.
It's a painful, violent, unthinkable thing, a member of the pack forcefully ousting another from that link. Miles is only able to do it because of the hours and days he'd spent waiting and building up his strength. The violation of it will be a physical pain for Kurt, for the rest of the pack, but it'll confirm that there'll be no way to track them. That they can truly disappear.
Satisfied, Miles urges the horses faster, their galloping hooves consuming the long, long road beneath, through the forest, into a field, then a different, darker wood. The weather changes, growing colder, the faint scent of the sea on the air. Miles pushes the horses until they're stumbling, panting, breathing heavily, covered in sweat.
Then he pulls them to a halt, letting them shudder and wheeze, as he turns and alights in the wagon, reaching out to pull the blanket off Kurt. His expression is cold, neutrally curious. "Are you done?"
And then Miles steps in, through that link, forcing his way in and closing Kurt off from the others, a brutal almost-spiritual invasion, grabbing those threads of connection and wrenching them apart. This is the other reason he hadn't reappeared, the reason he'd waited and bided his time, creeping closer and closer to the pack's home, to their silent, inexplicable link to one another. So they wouldn't sense him, weaving his own will into the link Kurt has -- Kurt had -- to their family. So they can't stop him when he abruptly cuts that off.
It's a painful, violent, unthinkable thing, a member of the pack forcefully ousting another from that link. Miles is only able to do it because of the hours and days he'd spent waiting and building up his strength. The violation of it will be a physical pain for Kurt, for the rest of the pack, but it'll confirm that there'll be no way to track them. That they can truly disappear.
Satisfied, Miles urges the horses faster, their galloping hooves consuming the long, long road beneath, through the forest, into a field, then a different, darker wood. The weather changes, growing colder, the faint scent of the sea on the air. Miles pushes the horses until they're stumbling, panting, breathing heavily, covered in sweat.
Then he pulls them to a halt, letting them shudder and wheeze, as he turns and alights in the wagon, reaching out to pull the blanket off Kurt. His expression is cold, neutrally curious. "Are you done?"
When their link is severed—unthinkably, impossibly—Kurt goes dead silent, their tortured wails abruptly cut off by all the air evaporating from their lungs.
The pain is immediate. Devastating. All-consuming. They can't feel the pack anymore, at all. In all the time they've spent with the wolves, Kurt had gotten so used to always feeling them, their emotions becoming part of them, their place in the world always clear, even when they were separated. Benji's excitement, Leo's warmth, Kai's protection, Naseer's fondness, Corrigan's love, it was all always there, a comforting blanket of safety and belonging that nothing could break.
But now it's all gone. Now, instead of comfort and safety and belonging, Kurt only feels the shadow of a looming stranger. A malevolent presence unbonded to them, uninvited, invading the link and staking its claim. Frantic, disbelieving, they rip at the cloak and the collar of their filthy dress to run their trembling fingers over the claiming bites around their neck. Nothing more than scars now.
They find their voice again somewhere along the long road, their screams panicked and shrill, interspersed with desperate howling sobs of terror and agony. It doesn't last long. By the time the horses are permitted to rest, Kurt is quiet, curled up on the floor, arms around their stomach, eyes staring blankly into nothing. They shiver at the sudden cold when Miles tears the blanket off them, but they don't react otherwise.
They are done.
The pain is immediate. Devastating. All-consuming. They can't feel the pack anymore, at all. In all the time they've spent with the wolves, Kurt had gotten so used to always feeling them, their emotions becoming part of them, their place in the world always clear, even when they were separated. Benji's excitement, Leo's warmth, Kai's protection, Naseer's fondness, Corrigan's love, it was all always there, a comforting blanket of safety and belonging that nothing could break.
But now it's all gone. Now, instead of comfort and safety and belonging, Kurt only feels the shadow of a looming stranger. A malevolent presence unbonded to them, uninvited, invading the link and staking its claim. Frantic, disbelieving, they rip at the cloak and the collar of their filthy dress to run their trembling fingers over the claiming bites around their neck. Nothing more than scars now.
They find their voice again somewhere along the long road, their screams panicked and shrill, interspersed with desperate howling sobs of terror and agony. It doesn't last long. By the time the horses are permitted to rest, Kurt is quiet, curled up on the floor, arms around their stomach, eyes staring blankly into nothing. They shiver at the sudden cold when Miles tears the blanket off them, but they don't react otherwise.
They are done.
Edited 2023-11-11 12:45 (UTC)
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