Whatever's in that salve must be potent stuff, because Kurt has forgotten they were hurting. They only feel good between their legs now, their muscles are softening, relaxing from ingesting the powder, their bruises barely a whisper. And their collar of bite marks, with wounds so deep and feral and frightening, now just feels exquisite. They can feel their bond to Corrigan, to the pack, like a real tangible thing, like strings extending from their heart and reaching out in all directions, finding each wolf where they're hunting, playing, lazing in the sun.

Part of them knows it's impossible. The pack is scattered, too far from the cabin to ever hear their cries, to feel the shudders of pleasure rocking their body from Alpha's gentle fingers. But that's not the part of them that starts rocking their hips down against his big hand. That's not the part of them that does what they're told, crying their pleasure louder into the dusty little cabin.

"Alphaaa—!" He's not even inside them properly, and they already feel this good, just from being played with. Kurt whimpers tightly, keening with pleasure as they roll their hips to meet his fingers, long and thick and slick with tingling salve. He's going to make them come from this, all over themself. Maybe they'll get to take his cock, his knot again, maybe they'll get to take all of them again if they're good enough. "Please, p-please, Alpha, oh, please! W-Wanna please you, p-pleeease, I— please, w-want you inside!"