There's a knife at their throat, their chest, their shoulders, their face, peeling the skin from their still living flesh while he ruthlessly violates their mouth, as he has for what seems like time began. It doesn't end. It won't ever end, their body coming apart in layers until there shouldn't be anything left of them. Pain is all there is. Ceaseless, calamitous agony. That's all they are. A tortured wretch defined by their ruin.
And yet worse than that, somehow, is that he's bored in the face of their suffering. He speaks, they think, as his hips crash against their mutilated face again and again, and while they can't pick out what he says over the sound of their own choked, gurgled screams, they can tell he's grown tired of this. Of them. If they can't please him anymore, he'll seek his pleasure somewhere else. Even though the cabin is pitch black all around them, cold, cavernous, howling, their screams ringing discordant and wet through air left heavy with their blood, Kurt can feel eyes on them. Surrounding them. Watching. Judging. Condemning. Encouraging.
Pleading, a tiny presence underneath it all, a tiny voice crying their harrowing fear, don't touch me, don't see me, protect me, mommy, please—
Kurt is jolted from their nightmare with a sharp whimpering gasp—breathe, they can breathe, it wasn't real—hands weakly pushing against Corrigan's chest in a sleepy panicked scramble. They don't mean to. They never do. It's pure instinct, their body irrevocably primed to fight, to escape at all costs. But as consciousness slowly returns, as they realize where they are, who they're with, their struggles wane into tremors, fingers shaking as they instead cling to their Alpha's form. Kurt has apologized so many times for fighting him in their sleep. They'll keep apologizing forever.
"S-Sorry," they whisper into Corrigan's shoulder, voice tiny and trembling on his skin. They're already crying. They do this a lot now, almost every single night, never truly free of the nightmares. "So s-sorry, Alpha, I— sorry." It's all they can choke out before dissolving into quiet, terrified sobs, curling up tight in their beloved's embrace.
"Shhh, shh, it's all right," Corrigan murmurs against Kurt's ear, feeling that moment when they jolt from the nightmare to the waking world, feeling the way the hellish visions cling to them for a moment before they recognize his scent, his voice, his touch. The first few days Kurt had been home were without any sort of flashback or terror lingering from their long captivity, seemingly miraculously chased away by the pack's warmth and love. They'd slept a lot, waking to eat or feed Holly or bask in the safe embrace of one of the wolves, before drifting off again. Naseer had bandaged their wounds (mutely, keeping focused on his task, not shivering apart until he was well out of Kurt's earshot) and the others had hunted with renewed vigor for enough food to last their little family through the winter. Kurt had been awash in pain and discomfort, so any touch was kept soft, gentle, not too strenuous.
And then -- they'd suddenly awoken sobbing and screaming, sending Holly into a feverish wail in response and alerting the entire pack to snarling ferocity. Since then, the dreams had been nightly, and while Kurt apologizes and tries to put on a brave face during the day, every time the sun goes down, Corrigan can see the tight fear in their eyes as they prepare to return to that place again.
He doesn't begrudge them it, of course -- it's not their fault, they don't want to keep going back again and again. But their fractured, tormented mind, finally allowed to rest, keeps summoning the images over and over, in stunning clarity. So Kurt awakens and sobs and apologizes and clutches at Corrigan as they cry. And he strokes their shorn hair -- neatened by Leo's careful hands, curling slightly at the ends, falling around their face in soft waves, now that they're clean and warm and fed -- and he murmurs his apologies and he asks, then as every night, steeling himself for the answer: "Do you want to talk about it?"
Because sometimes the answer is "no", and Corrigan must sit with his fervent need to find and identify every threat to his beloved, unsatisfied. And sometimes the answer is "yes", and Corrigan must sit with the knowledge that even knowing the threat does nothing. He can't hunt down a memory. He can't tear the throat out of a ghost.
Even barely conscious and scared out of their mind, Kurt tries to keep their sobs down so as to not wake the rest of the pack. They've learned that the wolves had barely gotten any rest after Miles took them, eating and sleeping only sporadically, intent instead on finding their lost mate no matter the cost. The last thing they want now is for their return to hurt the pack further. They deserve to finally recover from this ordeal. They all do.
Kurt just wishes they could stop the nightmares. It feels like they get worse every night, clearer and darker and more twisted, like the memories weren't already awful enough. Miles is cold and dead in the ground, now only mulch to feed the woods come spring, but his ghost still haunts them. A part of them is terrified they'll never be free of him.
At least Corrigan remains steadfast and true, easing them through it, his hands so gentle around their trembling form, in their short hair. The Alpha is patient with them, forgiving and understanding, never pushing them past their brittle limits. It frustrates them, feeling so small and broken in his arms, when once they were so strong. Courageous and fearless. Now, despite their freedom, despite the safety they'd secured themself and their child, Kurt feels like a shell, unable to fully enjoy the affections of their beloved pack.
"Just want them t-to stop," they whimper, snuggling tightly against him. "I'm so tired, Alpha. E-Every time I close my eyes, I see him, I f-feel him all over me, h-he..." A shudder, violent revulsion at the memories. "I thought k-killing him would be enough. But the dreams j-just get worse... I dunno how to stop."
Corrigan lets out a soft sigh, slowly walking through the chill night, careful to keep Kurt fully covered by the furs so they don't get too cold. The snow is mostly gone, the year pivoting slowly towards spring, the earth beginning to thaw, but at night it's still cold. He reaches out instinctively for the rest of the pack, for Holly, feeling each of them safe and warm and resting, Leo a bit lighter than the rest, keeping watch.
That satisfied, he turns his attention back to Kurt, resting his chin in their hair. He's been thinking the same thing, wishing so desperately that he could reach out the way he used to, overpower the horrific nightmares with his presence. He can feel the fractured bits of their link, sometimes, reaching out for his in the darkness, but wincing in pain whenever he gets too close. Corrigan knows he should give it time, should allow Kurt's mind and soul to heal.
But they're so unhappy. Corrigan doesn't need a link to see that, see the way his mate's slim shoulders are constantly bowed with the weight of their own memories, the way their smile doesn't always reach those big, beautiful eyes, the way they sometimes have to stop and take a deep breath and push away the pain and terror they still carry. He doesn't want to be patient, he wants to make it better now.
"I've been...thinking about...how to help," Corrigan begins slowly, pausing out by the woodshed, looking up at the clear night sky -- the moon, the stars. "And we can go slow. We can be as slow as you need, my love. You still need to heal. But what if...we tried to replace the memories. So the last one who touched you is me, instead." He doesn't know if it'll work, if it won't simply make Kurt even more frightened by being touched. But his whole body aches for them, for the touch of his mate, their body pressed to his, warm and beautiful and joined with his own. Corrigan misses that.
Kurt, when they reach out through the shattered remnants of their link, barely feels anything. Some days that feeling is infinitely worse than the nightmares. Their link with Holly is the only one that remains, strong and true and unbreakable even by insidious parasites like Miles, flooding their whole body with unconditional love. But they don't feel the pack the way they used to. Even when surrounded by their mates, all five wolves embracing their slight form, they only feel them physically.
It's crushingly, unspeakably lonely. They'd thought just being around the pack every single day would knit the bonds back together, would aid in their healing, but it hasn't. It's like the monstrous ghost of the wolf who'd taken them, now dead and thawing by their father's side up in the mountains far, far away, is the only one who remains within them. Like they're still linked to his spirit in hell.
Corrigan's suggestion gives them pause, but they still look up at him from within the bundle of furs, breath escaping them in puffs of smoke outside in the cold. In truth, they have been...hesitant to be touched since returning. The thought that letting their guard down and being intimate with the pack could trigger memories of Miles' abuse had terrified them—and, as if sensing that, the pack hadn't pushed for it even once. Everything in due time. It'd be easier once Kurt had time to heal.
But time had proven fruitless. And Kurt, as impatient now as before they'd been taken, is sick of waiting. "W-Will it help?" they ask softly, sniffling and wiping their cheeks, chest still shuddering with lingering sobs. "I— I don't want to remember his touch, Alpha. I don't want to f-feel him in my mind anymore, what he did to me, what...what he made me do." They've told Corrigan some things, left out others. Kurt doubts they'll ever tell him everything. It's better for him to remain ignorant.
A small hand reaches out into the cold, pressing into Corrigan's chest—hesitant at first, then firmly, possessively—the contrast of their skin against his making their stomach swoop with heated longing. "Please, Alpha... Make me forget."
Corrigan knows they should be cautious, but at this point all his instincts are screaming to touch Kurt, to drown out their dreams, their horrific memories with his touch. He doesn't know everything -- it's Kurt's to tell, and while the pack knows some things from simply looking at them, there are others that may never be voiced again. Corrigan can see the smooth, clear, scar-free skin of Kurt's neck and shoulders, knows that such marks couldn't have been removed without flaying them alive.
When he realized that, he decided to stop wondering or imagining what Kurt had endured. Miles was already dead, nothing but thawing meat on a hillside, bones for the ravens and foxes to carry away. Corrigan couldn't bring him back and kill him again, much as he wanted to. He had seen Kurt tense slightly whenever the door opened, like their body's prepared for pain and violence and violation. He knows that Miles had forced them to service him, had used their body for his own sadistic pleasure in a thousand ways, and had been cautious about touching them in any way other than comforting or protective.
But Kurt's his mate. His beloved, his heart and soul, their body matched to his perfectly. Corrigan aches for them, now as he had every day when they were gone. And when they look upwards, teary eyes and parted lips and small hand resting on his chest as they plead for him to help them forget -- well. Corrigan would have to be unfeeling, senseless not to be effected by that.
So he leans in, one hand finding it's way to cradle the back of Kurt's neck, kissing them gently, sweetly on their trembling lips. "Tell me if you need to stop, beloved," he murmurs, kissing along their jawline, their neck, over the smooth flesh where his mark had once rested. "Even for a little. Tell me and I'll stop."
At least Miles never took this from them. A simple kiss may seem banal, compared to everything they've endured, everything their body has been conditioned to take—both willingly and not—but the touch of his lips to theirs make shivers race up and down their spine, their heart pounding against their ribs. Miles never kissed them. It's just about the only touch not tainted with his memory.
"Y-Yes, Alpha," they sigh softly, knowing in their heart they won't want him to stop. Corrigan is so gentle with them, his lips pillowy soft and so warm against their skin, felt even over the flayed patch circling their neck. Numbed to touch, shiny the way fresh scars are, darker than the rest of their pale freckled body. Even there, over the most obvious sign of Miles' abuse, Corrigan is gentle.
Small fingers tremble as they tangle into his hair, their body heating up under touch, his soft mouth. They're already stirring between their legs, growing hard. A part of them always remembered. How could their body ever forget what true pleasure felt like? True surrender, true love? Even out here by the woodshed in the dead of night, only warmed by a layer of fur and Corrigan's body against theirs, Kurt slowly relaxes under his touch, clinging to him as the last of their sobs leave them.
They truly want to forget. They want Alpha's hands and mouth and cock to chase away the memories. "P-Please..."
"I'm here, I'm here." It's murmured soft into the hollow of Kurt's neck, pressed to the scars there, ones from another's hand, another's whim and will imposed upon his mate. Still, Corrigan is soft, he's careful and reverent, he's nearly worshipful -- because it's still part of Kurt, their body, brave and wounded and crawling on bloodied hands and knees back to him. Nothing about them could possibly make him recoil or turn away in repulsion. Nothing.
The woodshed is chilly, dark, but there are a few smoldering coals in the fire pit there, a place for the wolves to gather on clear nights, to bundle up in furs and sip hot beverages and tell stories and legends. Or -- it should've been, in that first winter with Kurt. They should've had those snowy nights, bundled in new furs, sharing roasted meat and bright citrus fruits purchased from the village, hearing their pack's songs and myths. There should've been dozens of nights like that, mulled wine and mead and the furs spread out by the fire, the pack's bodies joining and tangling in the dark, thrilled by the crisp air and the stories and the wild beauty of the moon.
Now the year pivots slowly toward spring and it's too late. Corrigan puts the thought aside, though, tells himself to grieve the lost time later, clears his mind of everything but Kurt, cradled against him as he stokes the coals into a crackling frame, spread out carefully on the furs, kissed again and again. "Here all right?" Corrigan murmurs against their mouth, kneeling over his little mate, ensuring the warmth of the furs and the fire and his own body keep the chill away. One warm hand slips down Kurt's chest, their stomach, strokes his thumb over where he'd gotten so used to feeling a bump. Wolf gestation is so swift for a reason -- so the pack can easily satisfy the urge to have their mate carry a pup from each of them, one after another. The fact that Kurt is there beneath him and not currently pregnant feels -- wrong.
Still, that's a bit of a jump, even though Corrigan desperately longs for it -- longs for one of his brothers, his pack to have a turn breeding Kurt, seeing them grow heavy and full with their pup. He craves the frenzied nights of the wolves taking their turn, one after the other, until Kurt's carrying, until that urgent need is satisfied. Everything in good time, though. He can be patient.
"Yes," they murmur, letting Corrigan spread them out gently on the furs, naked skin prickly with goosebumps in the dark outdoor air. The growing flame and Alpha's body covering their own quickly chase away the chill, but that doesn't stop them from shivering as Corrigan's hand trails down their body, so big and warm and gentle, swallowing them up. In truth, Kurt had been worried that any touch would prove too much, would prompt memories of the horrors they'd endured, the things they'd been made to do. But as Corrigan kneels over them, his big hand pressing against their flat stomach, the only memories conjured are of their very first time.
Kurt had been frightened then too. Needlessly, as they would quickly learn, for there was nothing to be frightened of. Not the wolves, nor the pleasure they offered. One by one they'd helped themselves to Kurt's body, and they'd surrendered without fear, without hesitation, letting themself get carried away on endless waves of it. Corrigan, kneeling above them then as he does now, had eased their mind of misconceptions with his amazing cock, his talented mouth, and his big, warm, gentle hands.
That's the thing about surrender Miles never understood. He thought of submission as defeat, as the ultimate prize claimed by vicious conquest, the weak falling to the strong. But surrender is a gift. Surrender is facing what terrifies you and trusting that, no matter what happens, you'll be safe. Kurt's legs fall open underneath Corrigan, their body shakily pressing up into his hands, their own hands resting on either side of their head, palms open, facing him. Kurt trusts, submits, and surrenders.
"I l-love you, Corrigan." Their voice is brittle and wet, and yet achingly warm around the words, filling the heated air between them. Had their link still been intact, Corrigan would have felt the pulse of adoration and trust and love from them in that moment, gazing up at him from the soft furs. Until such a time they can knit it back together, Kurt will just have to tell him outright.
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."
And Kurt has never doubted it. Not for a moment. Corrigan's boundless love for them, even when they couldn't feel it, was the one thing they kept returning to when everything else felt hopeless. That, at least, they could count on. That Corrigan's love for them would remain, unchanged, no matter what happened.
They kiss him back, shivering all over from the force of their emotions, blanketing them under the starry sky. Part of them wants to stay like this forever. Just them and him, his gentle hands, his soft lips, his adoring words, his body covering their own. But another part of them—one the pack had delighted in fondly teasing them about, the impatient, insatiable, greedy part of them—is eager to move things along. They don't want to be frightened anymore, curled in on themself, haunted by ghosts.
They're the pack's treasured mate, after all. This is their duty, their privilege, their purpose. Just like their Alpha, Kurt feels strange about them being empty again, no longer pregnant, ready and eager but not carrying. Like they know in their bones one pup isn't enough. Every day, they thank whoever might be listening that Miles never got the chance to change that.
"Please," they murmur, taking Corrigan's hand and guiding it between their legs. "I d-don't wanna wait anymore..."
Every sound Kurt makes -- all of them soft, slightly suppressed, like they don't quite trust that they're allowed to make noise -- is absolutely dizzying to Corrigan. He swallows them up between his mouth pressed to theirs, his tongue slipping along the perfect shape of their lips, then slipping inside, drowning in their taste, the soft sighs and barely audible whimpers. He strokes over their flat, empty stomach, remembers what it felt like to press his palm there and feel his pup moving, growing, alive and vibrant and perfect.
They pull his hand lower, and Corrigan's fingers curl around their cock with ease, familiarity. Kurt's body is even more familiar than his own by now, and much more beloved. He knows exactly how to stroke them, slow and firm, pausing to circle his thumb over the head, teasing them, wanting to hear that shudder in their breath, feel the hitch in their slender hips. The words come automatically, without thinking, soft and rich and just like they had been every long, warm summer night: "My sweet, greedy little mate."
There's a pause, almost imperceptible, waiting to see if Kurt will tense or freeze at the teasing. When they don't -- Miles had never called them names, never done anything except use their throat or hands or ass brutally and quickly and without comment -- he presses forward. "I know you know how to ask better than that, my beloved. I know how sweet you sound when you beg us to enjoy you, when you offer yourself to us. You're so good with your words, Kurt." Corrigan moves his fingers lower, sliding the pads of one over Kurt's yielding, hungry hole, circling with light, teasing touches. "Tell me what you need. Ask for it, and you'll have it, love. But ask."
Rather than the teasing giving them pause, making them balk or recoil in horror, Kurt seems to melt under it. It takes them back to those long, warm summer nights, body and soul, when they were teased and used by all of their mates, one by one, leaving them heaving for breath and sticky with sweat and come within the mass of bodies tangled in each other's pleasure. It takes them far, far from the cold rotten cabin, the cold rotten man who had shackled them to its walls, and brings them back where they've always belonged:
Spread out in surrender beneath their beloved, offering themself to him.
"Alpha—" They gasp, arching off the furs and up into his body, needing to feel him. Corrigan's fingers tease at their hole, and they whine, legs opening further, hips bucking up to meet his touch. "P-Please, I— I need you i-inside. Need to feel you, Alpha, all of you, I..."
Finally having their voice back after so long without it, Kurt is rendered almost shy by their own words, cheeks reddening in the crackling firelight, their whole body hot and liquid from within. They really are as if back in that warm summer grass, embarrassed and stilted but making themself speak regardless, enjoying the challenge, the freedom, enjoying how their own lewd, filthy words made them feel. How they made their mates feel. Corrigan is right, after all: they're very good at it.
"I need you to f-fuck me, Alpha. Please, fuck me hard and deep, beloved, breed me, leave me d-dripping with you." That shyness may remain in the hitch of their breath, the crack in their voice, the flush spreading down their neck, but when Kurt's eyes lock with Corrigan's, there's no trace of it. Their gaze is aflame with desire. "P-Put another baby in me, Alpha."
Corrigan kneels over Kurt, careful and methodical and cautious and -- he laughs, because there they are. His beloved, his mate, his sweet, perfect, beautiful, bright Kurt, the way they'd been when he first fell in love with them, mouth fumbling a bit around the filthy words they aren't quite used to yet. It's like that first day, in the bright sunshine, their eyes locked with his, heated and hungry. It's like every time since, each as wonderful as the last.
God, he'd missed it.
"Anything for you, my greedy, needy mate," the wolf purrs, shifting backwards to grip his own cock, slide it up alongside Kurt's and wrapping his hand around both. He thrusts through the firm, snug grip, groaning at the slide of Kurt's cock alongside his own, silky and hot and hard. "I'll need something to ease my way, though. I didn't bring anything from inside." Nevermind that Corrigan's more than prepped Kurt with just his tongue before -- he has something else in mind.
Rolling his hips in slow, even movements, Corrigan leans down to catch Kurt's mouth with his own, murmuring: "I think your come will do the trick, love. Get me nice and wet so I can bury my cock inside that sweet ass of yours, hm?"
Oh, that feels good. Corrigan, laughing so freely, teasing them with his words, his hands, his body, relishing in their pleasure. There hasn't been as much laughter within the pack lately. They've all been so careful, gingerly handling Kurt and the baby both, wrangling with their own guilt and grief and rage even as they cling to the relief of their return. Corrigan especially has been careful, withdrawn and stoic at times, clearly haunted by regrets and what-ifs.
But not now. He wraps his hand around both of their cocks and languidly rocks his hips down against them, teasing them, his words tinged with soft, warm laughter between kisses and groans of pleasure. Kurt can't help themself but laugh too, even as their thighs shake, as their hips buck up into the tight tunnel of his fist, even as they delight at the length and girth and weight of Alpha's cock against their own. He's nothing like Miles. Not a single part of him.
"O-Oh yeah? You think so? Hah— mmmmm, y-you're ridiculous, Alpha," they moan, beaming, finding the courage to tease him back. Their body remembers, hot and pliant under his touch, hips already stuttering as they chase their climax against him. It doesn't take long for their little body to seize up, tummy shaking, toes curling, their voice breaking as they cry their pleasure into the night, painting their chest and Alpha's hand with their come.
The few times Miles made them come were completely by accident, and never left them feeling good for very long, the shame crushing them in seconds. This feels like coming home, going boneless and shivery underneath Corrigan, feeling so safe in his gentle, caring hands. "W-Well?" they manage, still catching their breath. "Th-Think that'll be enough?"
Gods above, their laugh. They smile, bright in the dark, moonlit night, warmed by the fire, sweet against Corrigan's mouth when he kisses and kisses them. Their voice goes high and sweet when they come at his hand, and Corrigan can feel the soft hopeful warmth of the rest of the pack, hearing their mate's voice rising in pleasure, instead of fear. It's like rediscovering them all over again, the wonder of it making Corrigan's heart ache, one hand smoothing back the loose strands of Kurt's hair and thumbing away their hazy, blissful tears.
"Ridiculous, hm?" he teases lightly, sliding his hand up and down their pressed-together lengths a couple more times, then dragging his fingers through the mess of come across their soft chest. "How very rude. I think I am eminently logical and serious." All jokes, all teasing, a dozen more kisses scattered across their cheeks and nose and lips as Corrigan slicks up his cock, then moves his slippery fingers to press at Kurt's entrance, feeling their body still shivering and shuddering with their climax.
But there's no resistance, no tension or fear, just Kurt's body welcoming him inside, thew ay they have a thousand times before. Corrigan rests on his elbow, watches their beautiful, firelit face as he slowly plunges his fingers inside them, two, then three, reacquainting himself with the beautiful clutch of their muscles, how hot and slick and tight they are inside. "What do you think, beloved?" he murmurs, kissing the corner of their mouth, crooking his fingers. "Are you ready for my cock inside you yet?"
Kurt relishes in the shower of kisses, the moment of respite while Corrigan teases and caresses them, so they can catch their breath. It's been so long since they've felt like this, hot and liquid inside and out, skin beading with sweat, sticky with come, their body fully splayed out beneath someone, intimate and willingly vulnerable. For a moment, they almost feel...guilty. Like this should be more harrowing, more frightening and distressing than it is, like it shouldn't be this easy. Did none of the pain and horror they suffered actually leave a mark? Irrevocably change them?
But then Corrigan's fingers are inside them, and they know that's not true. Of course they're changed. As their legs spread wider and their spine arches off the furs, hungry moans leaving their lips to fill the quiet night air, Kurt knows they're braver now. Fearless. They know they're changed because his touch has never felt so perfect, so welcome, so needed the way it does now. Their body eagerly takes him inside, urges him deeper, already burning for more—and part of them wonders if just taking Corrigan tonight will even be enough to quell that roaring flame.
They might not be truly sated until each of their beloved mates have gotten a chance to leave their mark on them, in them, all over them once more. Until someone's seed finally takes.
"Y-Yes! I'm ready, Alpha, I'm ready for you, please," they gasp, bucking their hips into his hand. Kurt's hands grasp uselessly at the air for a moment before they find Corrigan's frame, grasping him tightly, pulling him closer. "Need you, n-need your cock inside me, Alpha, please, hurry— aah—! Fuck me, Corrigan, right now, d-don't make me wait anymore."
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.
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And yet worse than that, somehow, is that he's bored in the face of their suffering. He speaks, they think, as his hips crash against their mutilated face again and again, and while they can't pick out what he says over the sound of their own choked, gurgled screams, they can tell he's grown tired of this. Of them. If they can't please him anymore, he'll seek his pleasure somewhere else. Even though the cabin is pitch black all around them, cold, cavernous, howling, their screams ringing discordant and wet through air left heavy with their blood, Kurt can feel eyes on them. Surrounding them. Watching. Judging. Condemning. Encouraging.
Pleading, a tiny presence underneath it all, a tiny voice crying their harrowing fear, don't touch me, don't see me, protect me, mommy, please—
Kurt is jolted from their nightmare with a sharp whimpering gasp—breathe, they can breathe, it wasn't real—hands weakly pushing against Corrigan's chest in a sleepy panicked scramble. They don't mean to. They never do. It's pure instinct, their body irrevocably primed to fight, to escape at all costs. But as consciousness slowly returns, as they realize where they are, who they're with, their struggles wane into tremors, fingers shaking as they instead cling to their Alpha's form. Kurt has apologized so many times for fighting him in their sleep. They'll keep apologizing forever.
"S-Sorry," they whisper into Corrigan's shoulder, voice tiny and trembling on his skin. They're already crying. They do this a lot now, almost every single night, never truly free of the nightmares. "So s-sorry, Alpha, I— sorry." It's all they can choke out before dissolving into quiet, terrified sobs, curling up tight in their beloved's embrace.
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And then -- they'd suddenly awoken sobbing and screaming, sending Holly into a feverish wail in response and alerting the entire pack to snarling ferocity. Since then, the dreams had been nightly, and while Kurt apologizes and tries to put on a brave face during the day, every time the sun goes down, Corrigan can see the tight fear in their eyes as they prepare to return to that place again.
He doesn't begrudge them it, of course -- it's not their fault, they don't want to keep going back again and again. But their fractured, tormented mind, finally allowed to rest, keeps summoning the images over and over, in stunning clarity. So Kurt awakens and sobs and apologizes and clutches at Corrigan as they cry. And he strokes their shorn hair -- neatened by Leo's careful hands, curling slightly at the ends, falling around their face in soft waves, now that they're clean and warm and fed -- and he murmurs his apologies and he asks, then as every night, steeling himself for the answer: "Do you want to talk about it?"
Because sometimes the answer is "no", and Corrigan must sit with his fervent need to find and identify every threat to his beloved, unsatisfied. And sometimes the answer is "yes", and Corrigan must sit with the knowledge that even knowing the threat does nothing. He can't hunt down a memory. He can't tear the throat out of a ghost.
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Kurt just wishes they could stop the nightmares. It feels like they get worse every night, clearer and darker and more twisted, like the memories weren't already awful enough. Miles is cold and dead in the ground, now only mulch to feed the woods come spring, but his ghost still haunts them. A part of them is terrified they'll never be free of him.
At least Corrigan remains steadfast and true, easing them through it, his hands so gentle around their trembling form, in their short hair. The Alpha is patient with them, forgiving and understanding, never pushing them past their brittle limits. It frustrates them, feeling so small and broken in his arms, when once they were so strong. Courageous and fearless. Now, despite their freedom, despite the safety they'd secured themself and their child, Kurt feels like a shell, unable to fully enjoy the affections of their beloved pack.
"Just want them t-to stop," they whimper, snuggling tightly against him. "I'm so tired, Alpha. E-Every time I close my eyes, I see him, I f-feel him all over me, h-he..." A shudder, violent revulsion at the memories. "I thought k-killing him would be enough. But the dreams j-just get worse... I dunno how to stop."
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That satisfied, he turns his attention back to Kurt, resting his chin in their hair. He's been thinking the same thing, wishing so desperately that he could reach out the way he used to, overpower the horrific nightmares with his presence. He can feel the fractured bits of their link, sometimes, reaching out for his in the darkness, but wincing in pain whenever he gets too close. Corrigan knows he should give it time, should allow Kurt's mind and soul to heal.
But they're so unhappy. Corrigan doesn't need a link to see that, see the way his mate's slim shoulders are constantly bowed with the weight of their own memories, the way their smile doesn't always reach those big, beautiful eyes, the way they sometimes have to stop and take a deep breath and push away the pain and terror they still carry. He doesn't want to be patient, he wants to make it better now.
"I've been...thinking about...how to help," Corrigan begins slowly, pausing out by the woodshed, looking up at the clear night sky -- the moon, the stars. "And we can go slow. We can be as slow as you need, my love. You still need to heal. But what if...we tried to replace the memories. So the last one who touched you is me, instead." He doesn't know if it'll work, if it won't simply make Kurt even more frightened by being touched. But his whole body aches for them, for the touch of his mate, their body pressed to his, warm and beautiful and joined with his own. Corrigan misses that.
"Would you...want that, Kurt?"
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It's crushingly, unspeakably lonely. They'd thought just being around the pack every single day would knit the bonds back together, would aid in their healing, but it hasn't. It's like the monstrous ghost of the wolf who'd taken them, now dead and thawing by their father's side up in the mountains far, far away, is the only one who remains within them. Like they're still linked to his spirit in hell.
Corrigan's suggestion gives them pause, but they still look up at him from within the bundle of furs, breath escaping them in puffs of smoke outside in the cold. In truth, they have been...hesitant to be touched since returning. The thought that letting their guard down and being intimate with the pack could trigger memories of Miles' abuse had terrified them—and, as if sensing that, the pack hadn't pushed for it even once. Everything in due time. It'd be easier once Kurt had time to heal.
But time had proven fruitless. And Kurt, as impatient now as before they'd been taken, is sick of waiting. "W-Will it help?" they ask softly, sniffling and wiping their cheeks, chest still shuddering with lingering sobs. "I— I don't want to remember his touch, Alpha. I don't want to f-feel him in my mind anymore, what he did to me, what...what he made me do." They've told Corrigan some things, left out others. Kurt doubts they'll ever tell him everything. It's better for him to remain ignorant.
A small hand reaches out into the cold, pressing into Corrigan's chest—hesitant at first, then firmly, possessively—the contrast of their skin against his making their stomach swoop with heated longing. "Please, Alpha... Make me forget."
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When he realized that, he decided to stop wondering or imagining what Kurt had endured. Miles was already dead, nothing but thawing meat on a hillside, bones for the ravens and foxes to carry away. Corrigan couldn't bring him back and kill him again, much as he wanted to. He had seen Kurt tense slightly whenever the door opened, like their body's prepared for pain and violence and violation. He knows that Miles had forced them to service him, had used their body for his own sadistic pleasure in a thousand ways, and had been cautious about touching them in any way other than comforting or protective.
But Kurt's his mate. His beloved, his heart and soul, their body matched to his perfectly. Corrigan aches for them, now as he had every day when they were gone. And when they look upwards, teary eyes and parted lips and small hand resting on his chest as they plead for him to help them forget -- well. Corrigan would have to be unfeeling, senseless not to be effected by that.
So he leans in, one hand finding it's way to cradle the back of Kurt's neck, kissing them gently, sweetly on their trembling lips. "Tell me if you need to stop, beloved," he murmurs, kissing along their jawline, their neck, over the smooth flesh where his mark had once rested. "Even for a little. Tell me and I'll stop."
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"Y-Yes, Alpha," they sigh softly, knowing in their heart they won't want him to stop. Corrigan is so gentle with them, his lips pillowy soft and so warm against their skin, felt even over the flayed patch circling their neck. Numbed to touch, shiny the way fresh scars are, darker than the rest of their pale freckled body. Even there, over the most obvious sign of Miles' abuse, Corrigan is gentle.
Small fingers tremble as they tangle into his hair, their body heating up under touch, his soft mouth. They're already stirring between their legs, growing hard. A part of them always remembered. How could their body ever forget what true pleasure felt like? True surrender, true love? Even out here by the woodshed in the dead of night, only warmed by a layer of fur and Corrigan's body against theirs, Kurt slowly relaxes under his touch, clinging to him as the last of their sobs leave them.
They truly want to forget. They want Alpha's hands and mouth and cock to chase away the memories. "P-Please..."
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The woodshed is chilly, dark, but there are a few smoldering coals in the fire pit there, a place for the wolves to gather on clear nights, to bundle up in furs and sip hot beverages and tell stories and legends. Or -- it should've been, in that first winter with Kurt. They should've had those snowy nights, bundled in new furs, sharing roasted meat and bright citrus fruits purchased from the village, hearing their pack's songs and myths. There should've been dozens of nights like that, mulled wine and mead and the furs spread out by the fire, the pack's bodies joining and tangling in the dark, thrilled by the crisp air and the stories and the wild beauty of the moon.
Now the year pivots slowly toward spring and it's too late. Corrigan puts the thought aside, though, tells himself to grieve the lost time later, clears his mind of everything but Kurt, cradled against him as he stokes the coals into a crackling frame, spread out carefully on the furs, kissed again and again. "Here all right?" Corrigan murmurs against their mouth, kneeling over his little mate, ensuring the warmth of the furs and the fire and his own body keep the chill away. One warm hand slips down Kurt's chest, their stomach, strokes his thumb over where he'd gotten so used to feeling a bump. Wolf gestation is so swift for a reason -- so the pack can easily satisfy the urge to have their mate carry a pup from each of them, one after another. The fact that Kurt is there beneath him and not currently pregnant feels -- wrong.
Still, that's a bit of a jump, even though Corrigan desperately longs for it -- longs for one of his brothers, his pack to have a turn breeding Kurt, seeing them grow heavy and full with their pup. He craves the frenzied nights of the wolves taking their turn, one after the other, until Kurt's carrying, until that urgent need is satisfied. Everything in good time, though. He can be patient.
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Kurt had been frightened then too. Needlessly, as they would quickly learn, for there was nothing to be frightened of. Not the wolves, nor the pleasure they offered. One by one they'd helped themselves to Kurt's body, and they'd surrendered without fear, without hesitation, letting themself get carried away on endless waves of it. Corrigan, kneeling above them then as he does now, had eased their mind of misconceptions with his amazing cock, his talented mouth, and his big, warm, gentle hands.
That's the thing about surrender Miles never understood. He thought of submission as defeat, as the ultimate prize claimed by vicious conquest, the weak falling to the strong. But surrender is a gift. Surrender is facing what terrifies you and trusting that, no matter what happens, you'll be safe. Kurt's legs fall open underneath Corrigan, their body shakily pressing up into his hands, their own hands resting on either side of their head, palms open, facing him. Kurt trusts, submits, and surrenders.
"I l-love you, Corrigan." Their voice is brittle and wet, and yet achingly warm around the words, filling the heated air between them. Had their link still been intact, Corrigan would have felt the pulse of adoration and trust and love from them in that moment, gazing up at him from the soft furs. Until such a time they can knit it back together, Kurt will just have to tell him outright.
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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."
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They kiss him back, shivering all over from the force of their emotions, blanketing them under the starry sky. Part of them wants to stay like this forever. Just them and him, his gentle hands, his soft lips, his adoring words, his body covering their own. But another part of them—one the pack had delighted in fondly teasing them about, the impatient, insatiable, greedy part of them—is eager to move things along. They don't want to be frightened anymore, curled in on themself, haunted by ghosts.
They're the pack's treasured mate, after all. This is their duty, their privilege, their purpose. Just like their Alpha, Kurt feels strange about them being empty again, no longer pregnant, ready and eager but not carrying. Like they know in their bones one pup isn't enough. Every day, they thank whoever might be listening that Miles never got the chance to change that.
"Please," they murmur, taking Corrigan's hand and guiding it between their legs. "I d-don't wanna wait anymore..."
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They pull his hand lower, and Corrigan's fingers curl around their cock with ease, familiarity. Kurt's body is even more familiar than his own by now, and much more beloved. He knows exactly how to stroke them, slow and firm, pausing to circle his thumb over the head, teasing them, wanting to hear that shudder in their breath, feel the hitch in their slender hips. The words come automatically, without thinking, soft and rich and just like they had been every long, warm summer night: "My sweet, greedy little mate."
There's a pause, almost imperceptible, waiting to see if Kurt will tense or freeze at the teasing. When they don't -- Miles had never called them names, never done anything except use their throat or hands or ass brutally and quickly and without comment -- he presses forward. "I know you know how to ask better than that, my beloved. I know how sweet you sound when you beg us to enjoy you, when you offer yourself to us. You're so good with your words, Kurt." Corrigan moves his fingers lower, sliding the pads of one over Kurt's yielding, hungry hole, circling with light, teasing touches. "Tell me what you need. Ask for it, and you'll have it, love. But ask."
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Spread out in surrender beneath their beloved, offering themself to him.
"Alpha—" They gasp, arching off the furs and up into his body, needing to feel him. Corrigan's fingers tease at their hole, and they whine, legs opening further, hips bucking up to meet his touch. "P-Please, I— I need you i-inside. Need to feel you, Alpha, all of you, I..."
Finally having their voice back after so long without it, Kurt is rendered almost shy by their own words, cheeks reddening in the crackling firelight, their whole body hot and liquid from within. They really are as if back in that warm summer grass, embarrassed and stilted but making themself speak regardless, enjoying the challenge, the freedom, enjoying how their own lewd, filthy words made them feel. How they made their mates feel. Corrigan is right, after all: they're very good at it.
"I need you to f-fuck me, Alpha. Please, fuck me hard and deep, beloved, breed me, leave me d-dripping with you." That shyness may remain in the hitch of their breath, the crack in their voice, the flush spreading down their neck, but when Kurt's eyes lock with Corrigan's, there's no trace of it. Their gaze is aflame with desire. "P-Put another baby in me, Alpha."
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God, he'd missed it.
"Anything for you, my greedy, needy mate," the wolf purrs, shifting backwards to grip his own cock, slide it up alongside Kurt's and wrapping his hand around both. He thrusts through the firm, snug grip, groaning at the slide of Kurt's cock alongside his own, silky and hot and hard. "I'll need something to ease my way, though. I didn't bring anything from inside." Nevermind that Corrigan's more than prepped Kurt with just his tongue before -- he has something else in mind.
Rolling his hips in slow, even movements, Corrigan leans down to catch Kurt's mouth with his own, murmuring: "I think your come will do the trick, love. Get me nice and wet so I can bury my cock inside that sweet ass of yours, hm?"
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But not now. He wraps his hand around both of their cocks and languidly rocks his hips down against them, teasing them, his words tinged with soft, warm laughter between kisses and groans of pleasure. Kurt can't help themself but laugh too, even as their thighs shake, as their hips buck up into the tight tunnel of his fist, even as they delight at the length and girth and weight of Alpha's cock against their own. He's nothing like Miles. Not a single part of him.
"O-Oh yeah? You think so? Hah— mmmmm, y-you're ridiculous, Alpha," they moan, beaming, finding the courage to tease him back. Their body remembers, hot and pliant under his touch, hips already stuttering as they chase their climax against him. It doesn't take long for their little body to seize up, tummy shaking, toes curling, their voice breaking as they cry their pleasure into the night, painting their chest and Alpha's hand with their come.
The few times Miles made them come were completely by accident, and never left them feeling good for very long, the shame crushing them in seconds. This feels like coming home, going boneless and shivery underneath Corrigan, feeling so safe in his gentle, caring hands. "W-Well?" they manage, still catching their breath. "Th-Think that'll be enough?"
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"Ridiculous, hm?" he teases lightly, sliding his hand up and down their pressed-together lengths a couple more times, then dragging his fingers through the mess of come across their soft chest. "How very rude. I think I am eminently logical and serious." All jokes, all teasing, a dozen more kisses scattered across their cheeks and nose and lips as Corrigan slicks up his cock, then moves his slippery fingers to press at Kurt's entrance, feeling their body still shivering and shuddering with their climax.
But there's no resistance, no tension or fear, just Kurt's body welcoming him inside, thew ay they have a thousand times before. Corrigan rests on his elbow, watches their beautiful, firelit face as he slowly plunges his fingers inside them, two, then three, reacquainting himself with the beautiful clutch of their muscles, how hot and slick and tight they are inside. "What do you think, beloved?" he murmurs, kissing the corner of their mouth, crooking his fingers. "Are you ready for my cock inside you yet?"
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But then Corrigan's fingers are inside them, and they know that's not true. Of course they're changed. As their legs spread wider and their spine arches off the furs, hungry moans leaving their lips to fill the quiet night air, Kurt knows they're braver now. Fearless. They know they're changed because his touch has never felt so perfect, so welcome, so needed the way it does now. Their body eagerly takes him inside, urges him deeper, already burning for more—and part of them wonders if just taking Corrigan tonight will even be enough to quell that roaring flame.
They might not be truly sated until each of their beloved mates have gotten a chance to leave their mark on them, in them, all over them once more. Until someone's seed finally takes.
"Y-Yes! I'm ready, Alpha, I'm ready for you, please," they gasp, bucking their hips into his hand. Kurt's hands grasp uselessly at the air for a moment before they find Corrigan's frame, grasping him tightly, pulling him closer. "Need you, n-need your cock inside me, Alpha, please, hurry— aah—! Fuck me, Corrigan, right now, d-don't make me wait anymore."
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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.