"Does it really?" Corrigan grins for a moment, boyish and genuine, squeezing once more at Kurt's ass, before his hand slides slowly back up their spine, inch by inch. There's another of those long, lingering kisses, heady and dizzying, as his fingers slide into the loose tangles of their hair --

-- and then, suddenly, Corrigan’s fishing his hand, yanking their hair back hard, wrenching their face up to meet him. The soft eagerness has melted away, replaced with the commanding presence of moments before -- but stronger, more secure, because he's playing with Freyja and he knows what they like.

"I distinctly remember telling you to ask me nicely, sweetheart. I know you're able." He keeps his hand firm in their hair, eyebrows arching. He knows their safewords, their likes, their kinks. If it's too much, he knows they'll tell him.

It's almost never too much.