Corrigan's thinking of the same thing -- the furs on the bright green grass of an early summer, Kurt trembling and fearful beneath his hands, taught through cruel words and harsh hands to obey so many rules about themselves, their own body, their own existence. The way all that unease had melted away as soon as the pack's gentle, adoring hands were all over their soft freckled body, as soon as Corrigan's tongue was working them open, his hands gripping their thighs. It had been everything he'd hoped, beyond that, even, so far beyond even his wildest dreaming. It had been bliss.

That's the sort of memory he wants to leave here, in the chilly night, him and Kurt and the moon and the fire. The kind that blots out anything dark or terrifying or monstrous. The kind that banishes those thoughts to the abyss where they belong.

Kurt speaks, and Corrigan's whole body warms with softness, with love. He smooths Kurt's hair away from their face, leaning down to kiss their forehead, their freckled nose, their hollow cheeks, their mouth. This last is soft, but firm, the sort of blissfully claiming kiss he's given them a thousand times. A greeting, a declaration -- you're here and you're mine, mine, mine.

"I love you, Kurt," he murmurs into the breathless space between them. "I adore you. Now, forever, always."