[At least they agree about one thing. For making so much goddamn money off of his boys, Caesar sure hates spending any, keeping them fed with rice and spinach and cup noodles, giving them hand-me-downs to wear if he has to give them anything at all, and booking the cheapest, dingiest motel rooms in the state if the johns can't be assed to spring for a place themselves.
It's in this gross, cold, disgusting motel room Kurt is expected to undress and have sex with this man. He stiffens, even as Corrigan's touch falls away. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want this man to see him naked. He doesn't want any part of his body exposed for anyone to see—too pale, too pink, too freckled, too bony, too wide in places he doesn't want to be, too narrow in others—least of all the man who paid for it.
But the coward in him wins out again, as Kurt's cold hands start tugging at the t-shirt, wrenching it up and over his head, baring his torso. Flat and a little hollow-looking from the visible ribs, from how he hunches in on himself, clavicle hollowing out. He distracts himself from the horror of his situation by quietly folding the shirt and laying it on the bed, before undoing his belt and letting his ratty jeans drop past his bony hips, down legs that feel too long for his body. The jeans get folded too, slowly, so he won't get to the boxer briefs as fast. The very last layer keeping him covered.
His fingers hesitate on the elastic. Bitten fingernails fidget with the fraying edge. He can't do it.]
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Date: 2022-10-02 03:51 pm (UTC)It's in this gross, cold, disgusting motel room Kurt is expected to undress and have sex with this man. He stiffens, even as Corrigan's touch falls away. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want this man to see him naked. He doesn't want any part of his body exposed for anyone to see—too pale, too pink, too freckled, too bony, too wide in places he doesn't want to be, too narrow in others—least of all the man who paid for it.
But the coward in him wins out again, as Kurt's cold hands start tugging at the t-shirt, wrenching it up and over his head, baring his torso. Flat and a little hollow-looking from the visible ribs, from how he hunches in on himself, clavicle hollowing out. He distracts himself from the horror of his situation by quietly folding the shirt and laying it on the bed, before undoing his belt and letting his ratty jeans drop past his bony hips, down legs that feel too long for his body. The jeans get folded too, slowly, so he won't get to the boxer briefs as fast. The very last layer keeping him covered.
His fingers hesitate on the elastic. Bitten fingernails fidget with the fraying edge. He can't do it.]