Kurt yelps and cries out with pain, forced up on their knees by Miles' firm, cruel hand. This— They're not used to this. The pack always played rough with them, pulling and twisting their hair, heedlessly using them like a pretty little toy, leaving them breathless and broken and strung out with pleasure. The wolves liberally teased them with pain, with demeaning words, but it was with an understanding that Kurt liked it, was enthusiastically playing along. They always encouraged the human's words, their noises, delighting in their choked moans while fucking their tight, wet throat.

Not Miles. Miles barely wants to know they're there. Their fingers stiffen against his hips, his slick cock, they whimper with fright, but they don't fight him. He tells them not to make a sound, and they obey. He tells them to open their mouth, and they do just that, tongue out, wetting their chin, just as they're told. He doesn't tell them to relax their throat yet, but they still do, shivering, waiting for him.

Kurt's eyes well with tears as they hold his gaze, trying to wordlessly communicate their intent. They'll do better. They'll do everything he says. They're his, free to use, free to play with whenever he wants. They're so, so good at this. Let them prove it.