[He has been through hell, hasn’t he? Not just with Caesar, but for years and years before that, his short life seemingly nothing but struggle. Corrigan gives him permission to cry, to let all that pain and grief out, and being all soft and warm and pliant from the bath, Kurt does. There’s no one here to admonish him for crying. Only Corrigan and his solid, unyielding presence, his tender voice, his gentle words.
It’s when he’s in this soft, trusting, vulnerable state that Corrigan confesses to killing Caesar.
Kurt can’t breathe. His blood runs cold. There’s shock and horror in his red-rimmed eyes when he looks up at Corrigan, fear unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Not for Caesar’s sake—there’s a nauseating sense of joyous relief at the news—but for his own. The man holding him and comforting him, the only person who’s shown him any tenderness for as long as he can remember, the man who now owns him, is capable of murder.
And yet, Kurt doesn’t pull away. He’s overcome with terror, ashen and so so vulnerable, and he doesn’t pull away.] He’s… No, th-that’s not… D-Did you really..?
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It’s when he’s in this soft, trusting, vulnerable state that Corrigan confesses to killing Caesar.
Kurt can’t breathe. His blood runs cold. There’s shock and horror in his red-rimmed eyes when he looks up at Corrigan, fear unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Not for Caesar’s sake—there’s a nauseating sense of joyous relief at the news—but for his own. The man holding him and comforting him, the only person who’s shown him any tenderness for as long as he can remember, the man who now owns him, is capable of murder.
And yet, Kurt doesn’t pull away. He’s overcome with terror, ashen and so so vulnerable, and he doesn’t pull away.] He’s… No, th-that’s not… D-Did you really..?