The blushing is -- sweet. Considering that less than 12 hours ago, Kurt had been shamelessly begging to be fucked harder and deeper and more, the fact that they're red-faced about the topic is amusing. Or it would be, if Corrigan weren't distracted by the frenetic pounding of their heart, the thrum of blood in their veins. Their voice is soft, respectful, they aren't flinching away from his touch, but their whole body is on high alert. The Alpha can't make sense of it -- there's no threat he can sense, nowhere in the cabin or the woods surrounding. Everything is safe, calm.
So why is his mate acting like a cornered rabbit, seconds from having their throat torn out? More than that, why are they trying to hide that fear from him? Had something made them afraid of being honest? Had one of the pups said something careless? It doesn't make sense to Corrigan, with his admittedly limited experience with humans. What is Kurt so scared of?
Wolves aren't subtle creatures -- every emotion is telegraphed through a myriad of body language cues, annoyance and delight as evident as if it were spelled out. Even now, puzzling over the cause of Kurt's fear, Corrigan’s expression is stormy, a low rumble of annoyance building in his chest. If there were a cause, he could solve the problem -- he'd chase it away, beat it into submission. But he doesn't understand.
Still, the admittance of where they hurt gives him enough to work with. Corrigan carefully moves away, though he pushes the furs into a secure lump for Kurt to lean against, and ensures their shaky hands have a firm grip on the water. "That makes sense," he offers -- because it does, they're very small, the wolves are very big. Of course there's some discomfort. A thought occurs to him as he's digging out powdered something-or-other from the messy cupboards, and he tilts his head at Kurt. "Had you never...was that your first time?"
Now that he looks back, it's blatantly obvious what the answer is, but at the time Corrigan had been...a little distracted, to say the least.
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So why is his mate acting like a cornered rabbit, seconds from having their throat torn out? More than that, why are they trying to hide that fear from him? Had something made them afraid of being honest? Had one of the pups said something careless? It doesn't make sense to Corrigan, with his admittedly limited experience with humans. What is Kurt so scared of?
Wolves aren't subtle creatures -- every emotion is telegraphed through a myriad of body language cues, annoyance and delight as evident as if it were spelled out. Even now, puzzling over the cause of Kurt's fear, Corrigan’s expression is stormy, a low rumble of annoyance building in his chest. If there were a cause, he could solve the problem -- he'd chase it away, beat it into submission. But he doesn't understand.
Still, the admittance of where they hurt gives him enough to work with. Corrigan carefully moves away, though he pushes the furs into a secure lump for Kurt to lean against, and ensures their shaky hands have a firm grip on the water. "That makes sense," he offers -- because it does, they're very small, the wolves are very big. Of course there's some discomfort. A thought occurs to him as he's digging out powdered something-or-other from the messy cupboards, and he tilts his head at Kurt. "Had you never...was that your first time?"
Now that he looks back, it's blatantly obvious what the answer is, but at the time Corrigan had been...a little distracted, to say the least.