Usually Corrigan does make them wait -- he has before, he's made Kurt squirm and writhe and scream on his fingers or his tongue for hours before he lets them have his cock. That's how they usually play, that sweet overstimulating insanity that builds and builds until his sweet mate is a sobbing mess. But now is different, a reunion, a new beginning. He hasn't touched Kurt like this in months, and at his heart Corrigan is nothing if not a shameless hedonist.

So he lets them pull him close, kisses their scarred throat, their teary face, pulls his fingers free and grasps at their hips instead. Kurt opens up to him perfectly, without hesitation, without fear, legs spreading, body arching up to meet his as Corrigan guides his cock inside them. It's indescribable, the feeling, the slick, tight heat of Kurt's body joining with his, a near-spiritual experience. Corrigan shudders a little, drops his forehead to his mate's shoulder as he comes to rest fully inside them, their legs bracketing his hips, their body pressed to his.

And then there, like a spark at first, like a flicker in the dark -- love you, I love you, I love you so much, I love, love, love you like a melody from somewhere in the empty, endless depths that had been left when their link had shattered. Corrigan had assumed it would take time, would take him marking and claiming Kurt again to even begin to repair that connection. But he can feel it now, knitting back together, effortless as drops of water coursing down a riverbank, twining and reforming and channeling his endlessly adoring inner litany directly into Kurt's soul.

Corrigan's expression is wondering, a little baffled, almost comically so as he leans back a bit, meets Kurt's eyes, his own wide and hopeful. "Can you -- feel that? Feel me?" It's breathless, hardly daring to hope.