There's a soft chuckle, more of a tangible rumble than a sound, and Corrigan’s mouth against the mark on Kurt's neck -- his mark, his protection and claim, irreversible, unchanging. What has changed is his pace, so slow and unhurried, a sharp contrast to the previous days frenetic revelry. There's no rush this time, just the almost-gentle movements of his long fingers inside Kurt, coaxing and curling and spreading, over and over.

"So good," he breathes out, tongue hot on their salve-slick skin. "So needy and sweet and good for me." Corrigan mouths at the other marks, tracing the slight differences -- the jagged line of Leo's sharper canines, the perfect circle of Naseer's. His pack, their presence felt even when they're away, all of them tethered to this one magnificent, perfect, beautiful person. Time will tell just how deeply Kurt's been changed by these marks -- it's different every time.

But for now, Corrigan can feel the forming bonds, the invisible strings between each of the wolves and their mate, like a tug at the back of his heart. He gently pulls Kurt's hands away from their face, not wanting to muffle their sweet cries. "Louder, my little bird. Show me how good I make you feel. Call your pack home with that pretty voice, singing your pleasure."