The one thing Corrigan did keep track of on the tour -- in between mentally undressing Kurt and daydreaming about pinning them against the wall -- was the laundry room. So he knows there's a place for those nice silky blankets to be thoroughly cleaned, and no reason at all to worry about making a mess of them.

So he takes his time working Kurt through that first pleasurable peak, never slowing or stopping the movements of his fingers inside them, his hand around their cock, his tongue sliding messy and slick around and between the scissoring digits. Even when they're twitching with overstimulation, when the moans are laced with pleading desperation, he doesn't stop.

Corrigan just reaches around, sliding his come-covered fingers into Kurt's moaning mouth, prompting them to clean him up. "You can tap out if it's too much," he teases, adding a third finger inside them, focusing his attention on that oversensitive spot, enjoying how their thighs shake uncontrollably at the intense stimulation. "I know it's much more than you're used to. It's fine if you can't take it."

He's deliberately goading them on, knowing their stubborn pride won't let them give up, not now. Even when their body starts screaming for it, for just a moment of rest, to catch their breath, to recover. Corrigan has no intention of giving that without them pleading for it.