They try to hold on to the little things. The shackles that Miles installed in the far corner to bind their wrists, so they won't shove and scratch at him in a blind panic like they had the first time. The floor that's already so discolored from rot and old dirt, you hardly even notice the blood stains. The fact that, despite the nauseating bloodlust that sometimes strikes him, Miles hasn't hurt the baby yet.
The fact that Corrigan's mark still remains. The fact that the pack can't feel them anymore. The knowledge that their agony and terror and devastation won't touch any of their lives.
Little things. Anything that keeps them anchored, keeps them from slipping into total ruinous insanity. Kurt has no other choice but to hold on to them like their life depends on it.
Even Miles' brisk, impatient scolding is a blessing. As frightened and tense as they are, it's so much better than his fist in their hair, his knife to their flesh, the sudden flood of sick excitement they feel through the link as he peels them open and tastes their blood. Kurt is more than happy to set the branch aside and rise up on their knees to face him, pressing in close, so close, slotting right into place between his legs, cold fingers deftly undoing his pants.
The pain left in the wake of removing Naseer's mark is unbearable even when they're stationary. Craning their neck and bobbing their head makes Kurt feel like they're truly dying, white hot flashes of pain shooting through their whole body, making their stomach churn. But they can take it. They have to. They lick their Alpha's unsheathing cock into their mouth, as they have done so many times before, and crane their neck and bob their head and service him as they're told.
no subject
The fact that Corrigan's mark still remains. The fact that the pack can't feel them anymore. The knowledge that their agony and terror and devastation won't touch any of their lives.
Little things. Anything that keeps them anchored, keeps them from slipping into total ruinous insanity. Kurt has no other choice but to hold on to them like their life depends on it.
Even Miles' brisk, impatient scolding is a blessing. As frightened and tense as they are, it's so much better than his fist in their hair, his knife to their flesh, the sudden flood of sick excitement they feel through the link as he peels them open and tastes their blood. Kurt is more than happy to set the branch aside and rise up on their knees to face him, pressing in close, so close, slotting right into place between his legs, cold fingers deftly undoing his pants.
The pain left in the wake of removing Naseer's mark is unbearable even when they're stationary. Craning their neck and bobbing their head makes Kurt feel like they're truly dying, white hot flashes of pain shooting through their whole body, making their stomach churn. But they can take it. They have to. They lick their Alpha's unsheathing cock into their mouth, as they have done so many times before, and crane their neck and bob their head and service him as they're told.