It doesn't even matter if it's a trick at this point. If there's even a sliver of a chance that Miles is telling the truth, that he'll reconsider bloodshed if they can just prove their loyalty, Kurt has to take it. They don't have a choice. "Y-Y-Yes, sir, I underst-stand," they manage through terrified tears, nodding fervently, meeting his stern gaze with a pleading one of their own. "I'll be good, sir, I won't f-fight you, I promise. I'll be g-good."

The time it takes for Miles to get a fire going is just enough time for Kurt to compose themself, wipe their tears, calm their breathing. They have to do a good job at this. As much as they hate the thought of being intimate with Miles in any way—most of all willingly—it's a small price to pay for the pack's safety. If all it takes is to play the part of a loyal, obedient, dutiful wife, Kurt will give the performance of a lifetime.

Besides, they're very good at this. As soon as Miles is seated again, Kurt is curling up next to him, tucked against his side, trembling fingers undoing the buttons holding his trousers closed. They're admittedly a little clumsy, not used to dealing with clothes anymore, but it doesn't stop them from touching him all over, hands smoothing over his thighs and hips and stomach, palming encouragingly at his swelling sheath. "How— H-How do you like to be serviced, sir?" they ask from where they're resting their head on his lap, lips shakily parted less than an inch from where Miles' cock emerges. "Slowly? O-Or all at once?"