Of course Kurt obeys. Even as they cringe and shudder with revulsion at the press of his body against their back, his lips on their bare skin, they hold out their arm exactly as told and let themself be cut. It hurts, but they only let out a gasp, a sharp inhale through their nose, too terrified of making noise to even care about the pain.
Theirs and the pack's both. Picturing the wolves frantically searching for them, tricked by the scent marks they're forced to leave behind, makes their heart twist into a painful knot. But they can't care. Miles will hurt the baby. That's all they can care about.
Miles. Even though it's been months, even though they can't see him, they know it's him. They recognize his voice, the gross feeling he leaves them with inside as his body presses flush to theirs. Kurt only met him once, and they still feel like he's branded them, left a mark on them that's unmistakably his, a painful groove inside where he fits perfectly. Not even humanity, in all its cruelty, made Kurt feel this filthy and frightened and small.
But they have to push past it. As they're shoved and kicked onto their pale knees by the pile of clothes laid out for them, they know they can't let fear's grip on them get too tight. They have someone important to protect. So they hurry to get dressed, pulling the dress down over their head and shoulders, lacing up the shoes, fastening the cloak with trembling, unpracticed hands. It all covers them head to toe, concealing the shape and look and smell of them. Miles can take them into a human village and pass them off as his pregnant little wife, and no one would bat an eye.
Don't think about it. Still quiet, still not looking behind them, Kurt supports themself against the tree as they rise to stand once more, a protective hand on their stomach. They'll go wherever he tells them to. No tricks. Even as tears stream uninterrupted down their face, they'll do exactly as Miles tells them do. They don't have a choice.
no subject
Theirs and the pack's both. Picturing the wolves frantically searching for them, tricked by the scent marks they're forced to leave behind, makes their heart twist into a painful knot. But they can't care. Miles will hurt the baby. That's all they can care about.
Miles. Even though it's been months, even though they can't see him, they know it's him. They recognize his voice, the gross feeling he leaves them with inside as his body presses flush to theirs. Kurt only met him once, and they still feel like he's branded them, left a mark on them that's unmistakably his, a painful groove inside where he fits perfectly. Not even humanity, in all its cruelty, made Kurt feel this filthy and frightened and small.
But they have to push past it. As they're shoved and kicked onto their pale knees by the pile of clothes laid out for them, they know they can't let fear's grip on them get too tight. They have someone important to protect. So they hurry to get dressed, pulling the dress down over their head and shoulders, lacing up the shoes, fastening the cloak with trembling, unpracticed hands. It all covers them head to toe, concealing the shape and look and smell of them. Miles can take them into a human village and pass them off as his pregnant little wife, and no one would bat an eye.
Don't think about it. Still quiet, still not looking behind them, Kurt supports themself against the tree as they rise to stand once more, a protective hand on their stomach. They'll go wherever he tells them to. No tricks. Even as tears stream uninterrupted down their face, they'll do exactly as Miles tells them do. They don't have a choice.