Corrigan knows they should be cautious, but at this point all his instincts are screaming to touch Kurt, to drown out their dreams, their horrific memories with his touch. He doesn't know everything -- it's Kurt's to tell, and while the pack knows some things from simply looking at them, there are others that may never be voiced again. Corrigan can see the smooth, clear, scar-free skin of Kurt's neck and shoulders, knows that such marks couldn't have been removed without flaying them alive.
When he realized that, he decided to stop wondering or imagining what Kurt had endured. Miles was already dead, nothing but thawing meat on a hillside, bones for the ravens and foxes to carry away. Corrigan couldn't bring him back and kill him again, much as he wanted to. He had seen Kurt tense slightly whenever the door opened, like their body's prepared for pain and violence and violation. He knows that Miles had forced them to service him, had used their body for his own sadistic pleasure in a thousand ways, and had been cautious about touching them in any way other than comforting or protective.
But Kurt's his mate. His beloved, his heart and soul, their body matched to his perfectly. Corrigan aches for them, now as he had every day when they were gone. And when they look upwards, teary eyes and parted lips and small hand resting on his chest as they plead for him to help them forget -- well. Corrigan would have to be unfeeling, senseless not to be effected by that.
So he leans in, one hand finding it's way to cradle the back of Kurt's neck, kissing them gently, sweetly on their trembling lips. "Tell me if you need to stop, beloved," he murmurs, kissing along their jawline, their neck, over the smooth flesh where his mark had once rested. "Even for a little. Tell me and I'll stop."
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When he realized that, he decided to stop wondering or imagining what Kurt had endured. Miles was already dead, nothing but thawing meat on a hillside, bones for the ravens and foxes to carry away. Corrigan couldn't bring him back and kill him again, much as he wanted to. He had seen Kurt tense slightly whenever the door opened, like their body's prepared for pain and violence and violation. He knows that Miles had forced them to service him, had used their body for his own sadistic pleasure in a thousand ways, and had been cautious about touching them in any way other than comforting or protective.
But Kurt's his mate. His beloved, his heart and soul, their body matched to his perfectly. Corrigan aches for them, now as he had every day when they were gone. And when they look upwards, teary eyes and parted lips and small hand resting on his chest as they plead for him to help them forget -- well. Corrigan would have to be unfeeling, senseless not to be effected by that.
So he leans in, one hand finding it's way to cradle the back of Kurt's neck, kissing them gently, sweetly on their trembling lips. "Tell me if you need to stop, beloved," he murmurs, kissing along their jawline, their neck, over the smooth flesh where his mark had once rested. "Even for a little. Tell me and I'll stop."