Yeah, you will. [Corrigan almost moans it as he tears more of Kurt's hair free of the restrictive updo, fists his hand in it and yanks their head back, mouth hot against their throat.] I always could make you scream, baby...
[The protest has him pulling back slightly, eyebrow arched, thigh pressing harder between Kurt's legs. There aren't enough layers of fabric to hide that they're turned on, that their body reacted immediately to his familiar touch. But the defense of their fiance has some of the smugness evaporating.] I don't need to know him to see what he's done to you. How he's made you change for him, keep yourself tame and controlled and small.
[Another searing press of his lips against where Kurt's pulse beat wildly, and Corrigan straightens up, meeting their eyes with his dark, intense ones.] Nobody in the world knows you like I do, Kurt. I can see you stifling yourself to keep him happy. And it makes me want to fucking kill him.
[There’s no disguising the moan that spills from Kurt’s lips as anything else. As soon as Corrigan’s fingers wrench their head back by the hair, they shudder and arch and cry with pleasure that they have no hope of denying. It’s a pain they’ve sorely missed.
The pain of his words, however, is one they’d rather be without. It’s an ache more than anything, a dull throbbing in their chest they’ve just learned to live with. Because Corrigan is right. They’ve had to change for Greg.
Kurt meets his eyes, their face flushed and their breath labored, lip curling with the force of their internal conflict. Although he’s right—and they hate how right he is—it’s too hard to outright admit in the face of years spent lying to themself. Even as their hips rock against Corrigan’s thick muscled thigh.] I— I had to grow up. You can’t just ignore your responsibilities a-and do whatever your whole f-fucking life. I’m an adult now, Corrigan, what I do is none of your b-business!
Bullshit. [It comes out in a low, almost-snarl, as Corrigan releases Kurt's hair in favor of cradling their face between his palms. There's a tenderness to his touch, even as he presses them between him and the door, so close he can feel their heart racing beneath the layers of silk.] That's fucking bullshit, Kurt and you know it.
I'm not here because I'm trying to get you to take me back. [A lie, sort of, of course he wants that, craves it, missed them so much it aches. He wants to say that he fucked it up, by not being around as much, by taking them for granted. But more than that, he's here because the hollow-eyed, laced-up, miserable person Kurt has become is so reminiscent of their stories about their youth that it kills him.
He loves them. In his own fucked up, messy, imperfect way, Corrigan loves Kurt, and he can't watch them ruin their life.] I'm here because if you go through with this, you'll regret it forever. Growing up doesn't mean killing everything inside yourself, Kurt. It doesn't need to, at least.
[Softer, meeting their eyes, leaning so far in his forehead touches theirs:] Don’t do this. Don't marry him.
[The fierceness of his response is such a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch that it takes Kurt's breath away—even more so than his imposing frame crowding them against the door, the feel and sound and sight and smell of him after all these years completely enveloping them. He doesn't sound smug or mad, the way they expected he would. If anything, he sounds almost hurt.
Part of them wants to ask who the fuck he thinks he is, who gave him the goddamn right to come back like this and start asking things of them again. Part of them wants to get down on their knees and beg to be taken back. To be taken away from all of this. To go back to how things were before. And yet another part wants him to get to the point where he fucks them already.
Corrigan's hands cradling their cheeks catch the tears as they start falling. They still look frustrated and angry with him, but the edges soften now. He pleads with them not to marry Greg, and Kurt feels their heart ache with relief. Like they'd been waiting for his command, his permission to turn their back on the mess they've made of their life.]
... a-and then what? You— Y-You show back up after all this time with your dick and your sad eyes and tell me t-to upend my whole life on my fucking wedding day, and then what? Where do I go, Corrigan? What— What am I supposed to do? [They both know the answer to that. All he has to do is say the word.]
[Corrigan half-smiles, reaching up one hand to start tugging the pins free from Kurt's hair, one by one, letting it tumble loose and silky over their shoulders, breathing in the scent. They use the same shampoo, after all these years. He remembers kissing the back of their shoulder when they crawl back into bed after an early shower for five more minutes of cuddling, remembers their damp hair leaving his pillowcase wet.]
You're supposed to let me make up for lost time, baby. [He cups their chin in his hand, cradles their teary face, leaning in.] You're supposed to let me remind you who you are.
[Corrigan kisses Kurt like coming home, like waking up, like the last five years never happened. Like nothing changed. Like they never left his bed.]
[They don't fight it. Not the tears, not Corrigan freeing their hair, not the kiss when it finally comes. They close their eyes, trembling, sinking into the kiss like no time at all has passed, like the last time he kissed them was this morning instead of five years ago. Like nothing changed.
Kissing Kurt now feels different only in small ways. They don't have their braces anymore, nor the tongue ring, and for the first few moments there's an unfamiliar timidness to how they kiss, like Greg doesn't like to be kissed too hard and they've had to adjust over the years. But it only takes that little moment for Kurt to loop their arms around Corrigan's neck and pull him in close, close, so close, kissing him like their life depends on it.
Because it does. If this doesn't work, then nothing will.] Th-Then show me. Show me who I am.
[Corrigan could handle the small changes -- he can slide his tongue over where the metal stud used to be, can imagine the metallic taste from the braces. But the hesitancy, the near-awkwardness, the unsure way they kiss makes him enraged.
So he doesn't respond to the words, doesn't say anything. Kurt doesn't want his words. Instead Corrigan slides his hand up into their loose hair, wrenches their head back and kisses them again, this time without holding back, with teeth and tongue and all the ferocity he feels.
With his free hand, Corrigan tears at the layers of fabric, not bothering with the buttons, just wrenching the vest, the tie, the shirt open. The clothes aren't nearly high enough quality to resist his near-violent movements, and the fabric gives way, tears loudly.]
[They don’t know what they did to trigger Corrigan’s sudden ferocity, but whatever it was it sure did the trick. One hand suddenly fists into their hair, while the other starts ripping their suit apart, layer by stifling layer, the feeling of fabric violently splitting and tearing against their skin utterly intoxicating. Their flushed, naked chest both writhes and arches against Corrigan’s punishing touch.
Kurt knows how fucked up this is. Greg is waiting for them to meet him at the venue, probably nervous and excited for their big day, for the rest of their lives together. Meanwhile Kurt has their ex-sugar daddy’s tongue in their mouth, his hand ripping their wedding suit to ribbons, and they’ve never been more turned on in their life. They don’t know if it’s the betrayal that does it, or the bride-snatching fantasy, but it’s leaps and bounds more than Greg has ever done for them in the bedroom.]
S-Stop— Please, you c-can’t, we can’t, you have to stop— [It’s not their safe word. They know that. Corrigan knows that. It’s muffled and teary and sobbed desperately against the man’s lips, and they don’t mean a single word of it. It’s all for the fantasy.] P-Please, it hurts—!
Liar. [It's purred, feline and smug and triumphant, against Kurt's sobbing mouth as Corrigan’s hands slide inside the shreds of their suit, finding their bared skin, reacquainting himself with their shape. The vest and jacket are shoved to the floor, leaving Kurt in their torn-open shirt, as Corrigan’s hands move down to unbundled their belt, tear open their pants.]
You love it. You love this, don't you? You love being treated rough, getting your hair pulled, your clothes torn. [He slides a big hand inside Kurt's pants, palm warm and familiar as it closes firmly around their cock, squeezes and gropes. His voice is sweet, poisonous as he bites at their lips, their jawline, their throat.] All this time and you're still a greedy little slut.
[As much as they’ve missed this, being this many years removed has actually made the fantasy so much better. It was always a little hard to give in completely, to feel the wealth of emotion from being roughed up and demeaned and humiliated, back when they shared a bed with their imaginary attacker.
But after years of Greg’s tender if rather matter-of-fact sweet talk, careful kisses, and mechanical lovemaking, this hits exactly where it’s supposed to. Now, when Corrigan squeezes their hard cock and calls them a greedy little slut, Kurt almost comes right on the spot, sobs of pleasure and pain and utter humiliation filling their bridal suite.]
Stop it! Sh-Shut up! That’s not true, y-you’re wrong! [They squirm and struggle against him, shoving at his muscled chest, putting up a very convincing fight for someone who went a little crosseyed when their hair was pulled.] I’m not—!
[Corrigan clicks his tongue in gentle, condescending disapproval, hand still down the front of Kurt’s pants. He can feel each shudder and squirm of pleasure, can see how their words stand in stark contrast to what their body's begging for.]
Is that so? You're a sweet, demure little thing now, is that right? Having fifteen-minute missionary with Greg with the lights out so he can't see how goddamn bored you are?
[He's backing towards the bed now, grabbing Kurt’s arms and dragging them along, pressing them close to his chest so he can purr the next words against their tangled hair, so his hands can freely squeeze and grope their shivering body.] Does he fuck you like I did, baby? Does he make you scream on his cock and sob for more? Has he ever made you feel even a fraction as good as I do?
[Kurt makes a wounded noise at Corrigan’s distressingly accurate words, blushing so bright it hurts, frustrated tears streaking their cheeks. It’s like he’s been there to see every single night of boring, unfulfilling sex they had to put up with, faking their pleasure, making excuses for why Greg couldn’t make them come yet again.
Corrigan knows, and nothing Kurt can say will disprove his words. As they’re pulled bodily towards the bed, stumbling along while pretending to fight him, knowing they’re about to get fucked within an inch of their life almost make the lonely boring nights worth it.]
Sh-Shuddup. He… [they can’t even pretend for a moment that Greg makes them feel good] He doesn’t hurt me. He doesn’t c-call me names. Greg respects me! [They can’t tell which is the bigger lie: Greg respecting them, or that they’re turned off by name-calling and pain.]
[Corrigan doesn't verbally respond, but he does arch both eyebrows as high as they can go, with his most skeptical expression. He knows damn well what that translates to -- Greg treats them like they're fragile, breakable, like something he can put on a shelf when he doesn't want to deal with them anymore.
In all the years he's known Kurt, Corrigan’s never once seen them enjoy being handled with kid gloves. They've always demanded more, harder, faster. They're the strongest, most ferocious person he knows, and they insist on being treated like that.
So he sits on the edge of the bed, tugs Kurt to stand in between his spread legs and looks up at them calmly.] So go. Go find him and tell him all about me. Have me thrown out of here and never worry about being disrespected again. [He releases Kurt's wrists, settles his hands on their hips, starting to ease down their rumpled pants.]
If that's what you really want... [Then he pauses, lifting his chin.] But if you stay, I'm not letting you go again. This is your last chance, baby.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[The protest has him pulling back slightly, eyebrow arched, thigh pressing harder between Kurt's legs. There aren't enough layers of fabric to hide that they're turned on, that their body reacted immediately to his familiar touch. But the defense of their fiance has some of the smugness evaporating.] I don't need to know him to see what he's done to you. How he's made you change for him, keep yourself tame and controlled and small.
[Another searing press of his lips against where Kurt's pulse beat wildly, and Corrigan straightens up, meeting their eyes with his dark, intense ones.] Nobody in the world knows you like I do, Kurt. I can see you stifling yourself to keep him happy. And it makes me want to fucking kill him.
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The pain of his words, however, is one they’d rather be without. It’s an ache more than anything, a dull throbbing in their chest they’ve just learned to live with. Because Corrigan is right. They’ve had to change for Greg.
Kurt meets his eyes, their face flushed and their breath labored, lip curling with the force of their internal conflict. Although he’s right—and they hate how right he is—it’s too hard to outright admit in the face of years spent lying to themself. Even as their hips rock against Corrigan’s thick muscled thigh.] I— I had to grow up. You can’t just ignore your responsibilities a-and do whatever your whole f-fucking life. I’m an adult now, Corrigan, what I do is none of your b-business!
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I'm not here because I'm trying to get you to take me back. [A lie, sort of, of course he wants that, craves it, missed them so much it aches. He wants to say that he fucked it up, by not being around as much, by taking them for granted. But more than that, he's here because the hollow-eyed, laced-up, miserable person Kurt has become is so reminiscent of their stories about their youth that it kills him.
He loves them. In his own fucked up, messy, imperfect way, Corrigan loves Kurt, and he can't watch them ruin their life.] I'm here because if you go through with this, you'll regret it forever. Growing up doesn't mean killing everything inside yourself, Kurt. It doesn't need to, at least.
[Softer, meeting their eyes, leaning so far in his forehead touches theirs:] Don’t do this. Don't marry him.
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Part of them wants to ask who the fuck he thinks he is, who gave him the goddamn right to come back like this and start asking things of them again. Part of them wants to get down on their knees and beg to be taken back. To be taken away from all of this. To go back to how things were before. And yet another part wants him to get to the point where he fucks them already.
Corrigan's hands cradling their cheeks catch the tears as they start falling. They still look frustrated and angry with him, but the edges soften now. He pleads with them not to marry Greg, and Kurt feels their heart ache with relief. Like they'd been waiting for his command, his permission to turn their back on the mess they've made of their life.]
... a-and then what? You— Y-You show back up after all this time with your dick and your sad eyes and tell me t-to upend my whole life on my fucking wedding day, and then what? Where do I go, Corrigan? What— What am I supposed to do? [They both know the answer to that. All he has to do is say the word.]
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You're supposed to let me make up for lost time, baby. [He cups their chin in his hand, cradles their teary face, leaning in.] You're supposed to let me remind you who you are.
[Corrigan kisses Kurt like coming home, like waking up, like the last five years never happened. Like nothing changed. Like they never left his bed.]
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Kissing Kurt now feels different only in small ways. They don't have their braces anymore, nor the tongue ring, and for the first few moments there's an unfamiliar timidness to how they kiss, like Greg doesn't like to be kissed too hard and they've had to adjust over the years. But it only takes that little moment for Kurt to loop their arms around Corrigan's neck and pull him in close, close, so close, kissing him like their life depends on it.
Because it does. If this doesn't work, then nothing will.] Th-Then show me. Show me who I am.
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So he doesn't respond to the words, doesn't say anything. Kurt doesn't want his words. Instead Corrigan slides his hand up into their loose hair, wrenches their head back and kisses them again, this time without holding back, with teeth and tongue and all the ferocity he feels.
With his free hand, Corrigan tears at the layers of fabric, not bothering with the buttons, just wrenching the vest, the tie, the shirt open. The clothes aren't nearly high enough quality to resist his near-violent movements, and the fabric gives way, tears loudly.]
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Kurt knows how fucked up this is. Greg is waiting for them to meet him at the venue, probably nervous and excited for their big day, for the rest of their lives together. Meanwhile Kurt has their ex-sugar daddy’s tongue in their mouth, his hand ripping their wedding suit to ribbons, and they’ve never been more turned on in their life. They don’t know if it’s the betrayal that does it, or the bride-snatching fantasy, but it’s leaps and bounds more than Greg has ever done for them in the bedroom.]
S-Stop— Please, you c-can’t, we can’t, you have to stop— [It’s not their safe word. They know that. Corrigan knows that. It’s muffled and teary and sobbed desperately against the man’s lips, and they don’t mean a single word of it. It’s all for the fantasy.] P-Please, it hurts—!
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You love it. You love this, don't you? You love being treated rough, getting your hair pulled, your clothes torn. [He slides a big hand inside Kurt's pants, palm warm and familiar as it closes firmly around their cock, squeezes and gropes. His voice is sweet, poisonous as he bites at their lips, their jawline, their throat.] All this time and you're still a greedy little slut.
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But after years of Greg’s tender if rather matter-of-fact sweet talk, careful kisses, and mechanical lovemaking, this hits exactly where it’s supposed to. Now, when Corrigan squeezes their hard cock and calls them a greedy little slut, Kurt almost comes right on the spot, sobs of pleasure and pain and utter humiliation filling their bridal suite.]
Stop it! Sh-Shut up! That’s not true, y-you’re wrong! [They squirm and struggle against him, shoving at his muscled chest, putting up a very convincing fight for someone who went a little crosseyed when their hair was pulled.] I’m not—!
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Is that so? You're a sweet, demure little thing now, is that right? Having fifteen-minute missionary with Greg with the lights out so he can't see how goddamn bored you are?
[He's backing towards the bed now, grabbing Kurt’s arms and dragging them along, pressing them close to his chest so he can purr the next words against their tangled hair, so his hands can freely squeeze and grope their shivering body.] Does he fuck you like I did, baby? Does he make you scream on his cock and sob for more? Has he ever made you feel even a fraction as good as I do?
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Corrigan knows, and nothing Kurt can say will disprove his words. As they’re pulled bodily towards the bed, stumbling along while pretending to fight him, knowing they’re about to get fucked within an inch of their life almost make the lonely boring nights worth it.]
Sh-Shuddup. He… [they can’t even pretend for a moment that Greg makes them feel good] He doesn’t hurt me. He doesn’t c-call me names. Greg respects me! [They can’t tell which is the bigger lie: Greg respecting them, or that they’re turned off by name-calling and pain.]
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In all the years he's known Kurt, Corrigan’s never once seen them enjoy being handled with kid gloves. They've always demanded more, harder, faster. They're the strongest, most ferocious person he knows, and they insist on being treated like that.
So he sits on the edge of the bed, tugs Kurt to stand in between his spread legs and looks up at them calmly.] So go. Go find him and tell him all about me. Have me thrown out of here and never worry about being disrespected again. [He releases Kurt's wrists, settles his hands on their hips, starting to ease down their rumpled pants.]
If that's what you really want... [Then he pauses, lifting his chin.] But if you stay, I'm not letting you go again. This is your last chance, baby.