[There we go. Part of Corrigan is busily noting the completely bare expanse of Kurt’s body with interest, each jut of bone and patch of freckles, making a mental note for later. But another part sees the shivering, the cowering and dislikes it. He doesn't know if it's due to Caesar or something else, that flinching, fearful air, but it won't do at all.
Reaching out again, he cups Kurt's chin in his big hand, pushes it upwards sharply.] Look at me. Tell me what you're afraid of. Tell me what you think is going to happen.
[Verbalizing everything leaves zero room to hide, no mental safe place to retreat to. Kurt's thoughts aren't his own anymore.]
[What is he afraid of? What does he think is going to happen?
Meeting Corrigan's eyes and having to put words to what he's feeling makes Kurt realize that his fears are more amorphous than he thought. What is he supposed to say? That he's afraid he's a queer? That he's afraid he'll like having sex with Corrigan, and that he'll get found out? Just being naked in front of the man is completely mortifying. Is he afraid because his body is exposed, every ill-fitting and badly made inch of it? Is he afraid Corrigan will hurt him for not being good enough? Or that not being good enough will get him tossed aside? How does he even begin to verbalize that?
His lips quiver as he tries to do what he's told. As painful and humiliating as this is, the thought of being disciplined dwarfs everything else.] I... I don't like this. I d-don't like this, I— I'm no good at it, I don't wanna be like this. I'm n-not... [Kurt's jaw stiffens in Corrigan's grip. His throat starts closing up.]
[Interesting. Corrigan’s hand moves, sliding long warm fingers up into Kurt’s hair, cradling the back of his head. The fear certainly is less about the immediate and more about the overall. There's some reading between the lines required, but Corrigan’s always been good at that.
He steps closer, fully clothed and huge and warm, free hand reaching out to rest on Kurt’s hip and pull him closer.] You don't like it -- or you're afraid to like it? You don't want it or you're scared that you're meant for it?
[Corrigan ducks his head, almost close enough to kiss, eyes dark, voice darker.] Does my touching you terrify or delight you, Kurt? Tell me the truth. I don't like to be lied to.
[It's impossible to miss the way Kurt stiffens as soon as Corrigan starts speaking. Of course, he'd tensed up as soon as the man invaded his space, as those big hands pulled him closer and his breath grazed his lips, but that's to be expected. His words, however, are not. They're Kurt's exact fears spoken back to him, ones even he can't articulate, purred by that silky baritone like Corrigan had known all along. Kurt's eyes widen, breath escaping him in a wheeze.
How... could he possibly know that? Is Kurt really that easy to read? Or is this man just that good, just that experienced, that he can suss out someone's deepest fears within minutes of meeting them?
Without thinking, Kurt's hands find purchase against Corrigan's chest, fingers curling weakly into his expensive suit jacket. This frightening, gorgeous, forbidden man is right there, barely a breath away, close enough that he could seal his lips to Kurt's without even having to move. Devastating shivers rock his body, so small against Corrigan's.] S-Sir, I dunno, I... [He swallows around the lump in his throat. It feels like Corrigan will know that he's lying before even Kurt knows. So why even bother trying to?] ...I-I'm scared that I l-like it, sir. I like it, a-and I'm terrified. What's wrong with m-me?
[Corrigan would probably like to insist that his intuition is responsible for how thoroughly he's dissected Kurt's innermost thoughts, but the truth is much simpler -- he was a scared, trembling, lost kid once, terrified of his own desires, hating and craving them all at once, thrust cruelly into a world he couldn't possibly begin to navigate. And there had been no older, wiser, protective force to keep him safe. If there had been, Corrigan has no doubt he would've worshipped them without question, for the rest of his life.
So, even if there's some level of kindness in him selecting Kurt, taking him away from the seedy violence of Caesar's world, there's also inherent selfishness. No amount of money can buy that level of loyalty.
Besides, Kurt's beautiful, in a fragile, trembling, fearful way. The notches of his spine are sharp beneath Corrigan's fingertips as he drags them slowly down the boy's back, one by one, and each shiver speaks of how very much Kurt wants this. He doesn't have to say anything for Corrigan to see that.]
Would I have chosen you if there was something wrong with you? [This time it doesn't matter what Kurt truly believes, there's obviously a correct answer: no. Corrigan wouldn't have spent an obscene amount of money on something irrevocably damaged.]
[Chosen, he says. Like he wasn't purchased for sex. Like he isn't another man's property. Like he's special, taken in by this man for some special purpose.
Kurt is thinking too much about it, isn't he? Corrigan is obviously talking about buying a product. An acquisition, a business transaction. He's weighed the pros and cons, considered any sunk cost, and is satisfied that his purchase of another human being is worth the risk. Kurt isn't too broken to own, to play with, to fuck.
If Kurt is to weigh the pros and cons for himself, at least Corrigan's touch feels better than Caesar's, or any of his johns. His hands are huge but gentle, his touch firm but kind, his fingertips slowly chasing goosebumps down the length of his spine. He can't know what horrors Corrigan will subject him to, can't know what his life will look like from now on—is he violent? is he Kurt's new pimp? will he sell him on, like some perverted asset flipper?—but at least in the moment, he's gentle and kind despite his stern warnings. Kurt closes his eyes, trembling, bizarrely feeling the fear and repulsion starting to drain away. The man is right, isn't he? Kurt does want this. He must.]
That's right. [Whatever kindness there is in Corrigan keeping Kurt away from men like Caesar, not letting anyone else sink their claws into him, there's just as much shelfish cruelty. Good intentions or no, there's a bill of sale, there's a check and there's someone's life that now belongs to him, and that's inherently reprehensible.
But Corrigan doesn't think of that now. Not when his big warm hand is sliding down and squeezing possessively at Kurt's ass, tight enough to leave bruises with his fingerprints.] That's exactly right. You're a fast learner.
[Corrigan closes the gap, then, ducks down and presses his mouth to Kurt's, firm and deep and hot, tongue sliding past the parted lips, taking in his pet's taste, the way he shivers at the kiss.]
[Kurt gasps and flinches, both at the touch to his bare ass and at the sheer force of Corrigan’s grip. It feels like it’s going to bruise. So much for his touch being kinder than Caesar’s.
But somehow, even still, he doesn’t manhandle his frightened new pet. His touch feels good, a natural escalation from the slow, gentle touches down the length of Kurt’s trembling spine, his hand so big and warm as it grips his flesh. His words are soft and silky too, insidious like poison, creeping under Kurt’s freckled skin and twisting his senses.
All of it, his touch and words and enormous presence, makes the young man sink into the kiss, lips parting before he has the good sense to clamp his mouth shut. It’s wet and hot and hard, possessive in a way he’s never felt before. Like he’s deeply, badly wanted. Kurt shivers, clinging to Corrigan’s suit jacket and letting himself be kissed, claimed, timidly kissing him back.
He can’t be sure if it’s because of the bruising squeeze of his ass or the intensity of the kiss or Corrigan’s silky praise or if it’s that feeling, that urge to be wanted, to be important. Whatever the cause, Kurt can feel his body reacting, cock stirring between his trembling legs. That… never happens.]
There you go, sweetheart, that's it. [Afyer murmuring this against those soft lips, Corrigan squeezes once more st Kurt’s pert, plush ass, then lets his hand slide around, over his pet's hip, down between his legs. There's no awkwardness or discomfort in the smooth, practiced way he curls his fingers around that stirring cock, feeling it twitch, fill slowly.]
Feels good, doesn't it? [This is murmured as Corrigan’s free arm hooks around Kurt's waist to prevent any startled recoiling, to keep him from escaping. He strokes along Kurt’s half-hard cock slowly, just beginning to coax those dull pulses of pleasure, fan the flame of arousal higher and higher.] Just relax for me, let me make you feel good. It'll be so, so good if you let it.
[The answer he wants to give is immediate, reflexive: it doesn’t feel good, it feels wrong. It’s dirty and shameful and abhorrent. Men aren’t supposed to touch each other like this. This isn’t supposed to feel good.
But it does.
Corrigan’s hand is big and warm and gentle, slowly stroking him into full hardness. The rest of Kurt’s body is starting to feel it too, breathing getting heavier, heart pounding in his chest, skin flushing with heat and color, knees getting weaker, toes curling into the filthy carpet. He can feel his thoughts getting muddy and unfocused, unable to think of anything but how good Corrigan’s hand feels around his cock.
He struggles a little against Corrigan’s arm, but it’s a weak, token effort. Even the way he hides his blushing face against the man’s chest is more token than anything, as every labored breath and strangled moan can be felt through the fabric. Kurt isn’t fooling anyone but himself.]
[Corrigan keeps his atm around Kurt, almost protectively, fingers absently stroking at his shivering side, like he might for a skittish animal. The hand methodically jerking Kurt off never stops, never slows, just keeps stroking in long, rhythmic pulls, taking note of what movements have the young man’s knees buckling, his breath catching in wordless need.
After a few silent moments, Corrigan murmurs almost tenderly against Kurt's hair:] Are you going to come for me? It's all right, you can let go, just let it feel good, baby. Just let go.
[It’s never felt like this before. Neither Caesar nor his johns have ever cared much about Kurt’s pleasure, never stopping long enough to make sure he feels good too, let alone bring him to climax. They don’t care if the little boy they’re fucking is enjoying himself. All that matters is their own needs.
But Corrigan doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t even move to undress so he can join in. He’s seemingly completely focused on Kurt’s pleasure, gently but firmly jerking him off, telling him it’s all right to feel like this, encouraging him to let go, to let it feel good.
Kurt finally lets go. He comes with a choked keening whine all over Corrigan’s fingers, knees buckling with the force of his pleasure, his mind going completely blank for as long as his climax lasts. A few seconds of mindless bliss. The fear and shame and embarrassment only comes after.] F-Fuck… Sorry, sir, s-sorry, I didn’t…
[Corrigan isn't unaffected, of course -- his cock twitches hungrily in his sleek slacks at the tantalizing sound of Kurt's sweet little voice, choked and soft as it is. He can almost imagine how perfect the boy would sound if he truly let himself go, how pretty he'd be, moaning and begging to be touched, teased, fucked. Soon, he promises himself. He'll teach this angelic young thing to be a true shameless slut for him.
For now, though, he settles for slowing the intent, expert strokes, hand slick and sticky with Kurt's come, continuing at a slow, but unceasing caress. The boy's still shuddering through his climax and Corrigan’s already greedy, already wants to see more.]
It's all right, baby, darlin', you're fuckin' gorgeous when you come for Daddy like that. [Corrigan barely thinks, lost in the heat of the moment, the intoxicating feeling of Kurt's shivering body against his own.] You have no idea how bad I wanna bend you over and fuck you good and deep.
[The shiver that runs through Kurt’s whole body then is devastating, earth-shattering, completely knocking the air out of his lungs. The pet names are bad enough, making Kurt’s insides feel molten and hot, twisting up inside him. Somehow, when Corrigan calls him baby and darlin’, he doesn’t recoil in abject horror the way he does with other men.
But it’s what Corrigan calls himself that hits the hardest. Daddy. It should completely disgust him. Any allusion to his own father, to any position of parental authority—the very reason Kurt ran away from home to begin with—should be absolutely repulsive. But it isn’t. When Corrigan calls himself Daddy, praising him for coming so hard, telling him how badly he wants to fuck him deep, Kurt can barely hold himself up, overcome with a pleasure so primordial and senseless it makes him dizzy.
What is wrong with him?]
D— fuck! S-Sir— [He just barely stops himself short of calling the man Daddy, terrified of what hearing it in his own voice will do to him. The fingers slick with his own come never stop stroking him, prolonging the trembling bone-deep pleasure that makes his eyes burn with tears.] P-Please, sir, I— I can’t—!
[Almost. Almost, but not quite. Understandable and what Corrigan had expected -- he doesn't want to push too hard too fast, doesn't want to take that spark of slavish dedication and stifle it. So he lets it go, takes a slow, deep breath and finally moves his slick hand away from Kurt's spent cock.]
Good, baby, that's good. You did so good. I've got you, you're safe. [He moves to slide off his jacket, but surprisingly it's only to wrap it around Kurt's shivering shoulders, hiding his flushed, trembling body.] C'mon, we're leaving. Did you bring anything with you? [He can't imagine Caesar had allowed the boy much, but maybe some sentimental item or another had survived, tucked into a pocket or something.]
[The young man is left shuddering and breathless in the wake of Corrigan’s touch, completely reeling with sensation. This doesn’t happen. Usually the loss of touch is a good thing, a moment of relief, respite before the sore muscles and crushing shame sets in. Losing Corrigan’s touch feels like torture. He can’t understand why.
The jacket draped over his shoulders is another surprise—a shock, more like it, he’d halfway expected Corrigan to make good on his words and bend him over any minute now—but one he clings to with both hands. He wraps the jacket tightly around himself, hiding his nudity, stunned into complete silence for a moment.
Then he slowly moves to obey, clumsily gathering his clothes in his arms. It’s all Caesar let him keep. He had nothing from home worth bringing either, aside from his ID cards and birth certificate—kept in a manila envelope which Corrigan should now be in possession of.] Um… C-Can I get dressed first? [The thought of leaving the motel room dressed only in his owner’s jacket makes Kurt sick with nerves.]
No. [It's very matter-of-fact, almost distracted, as Corrigan is busy crossing to the small bathroom and washing his hands, grimacing at the stiff, grimy towels. The clothes get the same expression, and his tone remains blunt and detached, a far cry from the tender sweetness of minutes before.]
Leave those. Clothes are replaceable. [Corrigan reaches out, setting a hand on Kurt's back and propelling him towards the door, clearly heedless of how the suit jacket gapes open in the front. If Kurt wants to cover himself, he'll need to drop the clothes to hold the jacket closed.]
[Kurt goes stiff with confusion and fear, nearly tripping over his own feet as Corrigan pushes him towards the door. For a blindly terrified moment, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s all but naked, clutching clothes he’s not allowed to wear nor keep tightly to his chest, feeling the suit jacket parting around him as they walk. What if there are families out there? What if Corrigan has an entourage the way Caesar does, and they’re all waiting outside?
They’re all going to see, every inch of him naked and covered in sweat, flecks of his own drying spend spattered all down his legs. They’re all going to know his shame, every last one of them, they’ll all—
The door to the motel room opens, and Kurt stumbles out into the parking lot, Corrigan’s suit jacket wrapped tightly around his slight frame. A ratty pair of jeans and a plain white tee lies abandoned in a heap on the floor inside, inches away from the door. The young man doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up, staring at his bare feet against the pavement as he walks where his owner leads him, the enormous suit jacket held securely shut by trembling hands.]
[Fortunately for Kurt, the parking lot is mostly deserted -- Corrigan had come alone, and there are only a couple dead-eyed, grimy truckers trying to get a room at such a dismal hotel. Still, it's the principle of the thing, the silent lesson being taught -- if you obey me, you'll be safe. If you don't, you'll be humiliated and terrified.
There's a sleek black car parked close by, and Corrigan steers Kurt to it, skirting a puddle of grime on the pavement.] Here, careful, don't step in that. [He's back to gentle and attentive, helping Kurt into the passenger seat and grabbing a blanket from the backseat to drape over his bare legs.
Corrigan moves to the drivers side, locking the doors and letting out a slow exhale.] There. Better. You should try to sleep, it'll be a bit of a drive.
[The lesson is sinking in. Corrigan’s demeanor changes the moment Kurt obeys him, his touch and voice gentle once more, shielding him with his body as he leads him to the beautiful car parked nearby. If he’s a good boy, if he obeys him, Kurt will be taken care of.
He doesn’t need to be told that with words. He feels the lesson on his skin, flushed and prickly with goosebumps, but covered by blanket and suit jacket.]
O-Okay. [Kurt gets the distinct impression he’s not allowed to ask where they’re going. Not that it matters. He has nowhere else to go. The boy is stiff where he sits, still trembling, but he buckles his seatbelt and tries to relax into the plush passenger seat, getting comfortable enough to sleep.] …thank you, s-sir.
Mmmm. [Corrigan starts the car, turning up the heat and making sure it's aimed towards the still-shivering young man. It's early October, the chill of the midwest frigid, even for him, and the last thing he wants is for Kurt to get sick. The radio kicks on as well, soft classical jazz filling the warm, dark car.
Easily navigating out of the dingy parking lot and onto the highway, Corrigan reaches out and sets one big warm hand on the back of Kurt's neck. It's possessive, but gentle, thumb stroking in soothing circles.] Go ahead and sleep. We're headed to Chicago, so it'll be three or four hours. You need to rest, understand me? You look exhausted.
[He's right. Kurt is exhausted. Not just after today, but after weeks and months and years of this crap. His mom, his dad, his community, his own fucking body. Caesar and his goons, his string of nameless johns. And now this. Now Corrigan. Sometimes it feels like the whole universe wants him to be something he just can’t be.
At least Corrigan can be kind. Corrigan drapes him in blankets and turns on the heat for him, Corrigan fills the car with soft music, Corrigan urges him to rest on the long drive to Chicago—he actually volunteered where they're going, unexpected but a pleasant surprise. Unlike everyone and everything else in his life, Corrigan seems to want what's best for him. If all Kurt has to do to be treated so kindly is obey his commands when they come, it can't be all bad... right?]
Yessir... [With the heat and the darkness and the gentle rumble of the car speeding down the highway, Kurt is out like a light within minutes. He stays like that the whole drive, curled up in the seat, his body facing Corrigan, soft and pale and trusting.]
[Corrigan lets the music play, lets Kurt sleep as they drive through the flat fields of the Midwest, farther and farther from the dingy motel rooms that had been Kurt's life for god knows how long. They stop on the edge of Chicago proper, before the corn fields have fully given way to brownstones and buildings, at another hotel. This one is significantly cleaner, though it's still understated and anonymous, rooms facing a center parking lot. Corrigan tends to prefer a hotel with a lobby and elevator, but he'll take the lack of scrutiny over luxury this time.
He lets Kurt sleep as he checks in and unloads the two large designer suitcases. Then he opens the passenger side door and easily scoops Kurt into his arms, blanket and all.] Time to wake up, baby.
[He doesn’t realize he’s been sleeping until strong arms lift him out of the passenger seat, carrying him like he weighs nothing, further roused by the cool early morning breeze. Blinking heavily, Kurt groans, looking around for any clue as to where he is and what’s happening. He sure doesn’t recognize anything around him.]
Mnngh… w-we’re there already? [He yawns softly, shivering, cuddling closer against Corrigan’s broad frame. It’s just that he’s sleepy, okay? And Corrigan is warm and strong and holds him so securely as he carries him to their room. Not for any other reason.] ‘S so quiet out here…
Middle of nowhere, sugar. [This is murmured against Kurt's temple as Corrigan steps into the pleasantly warm motel room -- small, clean and humble, with the suitcases set to one side of the single king-sized bed. He doesn't stop there, though, carrying Kurt into the bathroom, which is hot and steamy from the bath Corrigan’s already drawn.
He sets Kurt to sit on the edge of the tub, smoothing the stringy, lank hair back from his face.] Go ahead and clean up, I'm going to order dinner. Call if you need anything, hm? [Then he steps out, leaving the door open a crack, in case Kurt calls out.]
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Reaching out again, he cups Kurt's chin in his big hand, pushes it upwards sharply.] Look at me. Tell me what you're afraid of. Tell me what you think is going to happen.
[Verbalizing everything leaves zero room to hide, no mental safe place to retreat to. Kurt's thoughts aren't his own anymore.]
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Meeting Corrigan's eyes and having to put words to what he's feeling makes Kurt realize that his fears are more amorphous than he thought. What is he supposed to say? That he's afraid he's a queer? That he's afraid he'll like having sex with Corrigan, and that he'll get found out? Just being naked in front of the man is completely mortifying. Is he afraid because his body is exposed, every ill-fitting and badly made inch of it? Is he afraid Corrigan will hurt him for not being good enough? Or that not being good enough will get him tossed aside? How does he even begin to verbalize that?
His lips quiver as he tries to do what he's told. As painful and humiliating as this is, the thought of being disciplined dwarfs everything else.] I... I don't like this. I d-don't like this, I— I'm no good at it, I don't wanna be like this. I'm n-not... [Kurt's jaw stiffens in Corrigan's grip. His throat starts closing up.]
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He steps closer, fully clothed and huge and warm, free hand reaching out to rest on Kurt’s hip and pull him closer.] You don't like it -- or you're afraid to like it? You don't want it or you're scared that you're meant for it?
[Corrigan ducks his head, almost close enough to kiss, eyes dark, voice darker.] Does my touching you terrify or delight you, Kurt? Tell me the truth. I don't like to be lied to.
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How... could he possibly know that? Is Kurt really that easy to read? Or is this man just that good, just that experienced, that he can suss out someone's deepest fears within minutes of meeting them?
Without thinking, Kurt's hands find purchase against Corrigan's chest, fingers curling weakly into his expensive suit jacket. This frightening, gorgeous, forbidden man is right there, barely a breath away, close enough that he could seal his lips to Kurt's without even having to move. Devastating shivers rock his body, so small against Corrigan's.] S-Sir, I dunno, I... [He swallows around the lump in his throat. It feels like Corrigan will know that he's lying before even Kurt knows. So why even bother trying to?] ...I-I'm scared that I l-like it, sir. I like it, a-and I'm terrified. What's wrong with m-me?
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So, even if there's some level of kindness in him selecting Kurt, taking him away from the seedy violence of Caesar's world, there's also inherent selfishness. No amount of money can buy that level of loyalty.
Besides, Kurt's beautiful, in a fragile, trembling, fearful way. The notches of his spine are sharp beneath Corrigan's fingertips as he drags them slowly down the boy's back, one by one, and each shiver speaks of how very much Kurt wants this. He doesn't have to say anything for Corrigan to see that.]
Would I have chosen you if there was something wrong with you? [This time it doesn't matter what Kurt truly believes, there's obviously a correct answer: no. Corrigan wouldn't have spent an obscene amount of money on something irrevocably damaged.]
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Kurt is thinking too much about it, isn't he? Corrigan is obviously talking about buying a product. An acquisition, a business transaction. He's weighed the pros and cons, considered any sunk cost, and is satisfied that his purchase of another human being is worth the risk. Kurt isn't too broken to own, to play with, to fuck.
If Kurt is to weigh the pros and cons for himself, at least Corrigan's touch feels better than Caesar's, or any of his johns. His hands are huge but gentle, his touch firm but kind, his fingertips slowly chasing goosebumps down the length of his spine. He can't know what horrors Corrigan will subject him to, can't know what his life will look like from now on—is he violent? is he Kurt's new pimp? will he sell him on, like some perverted asset flipper?—but at least in the moment, he's gentle and kind despite his stern warnings. Kurt closes his eyes, trembling, bizarrely feeling the fear and repulsion starting to drain away. The man is right, isn't he? Kurt does want this. He must.]
N-No, sir...
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But Corrigan doesn't think of that now. Not when his big warm hand is sliding down and squeezing possessively at Kurt's ass, tight enough to leave bruises with his fingerprints.] That's exactly right. You're a fast learner.
[Corrigan closes the gap, then, ducks down and presses his mouth to Kurt's, firm and deep and hot, tongue sliding past the parted lips, taking in his pet's taste, the way he shivers at the kiss.]
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But somehow, even still, he doesn’t manhandle his frightened new pet. His touch feels good, a natural escalation from the slow, gentle touches down the length of Kurt’s trembling spine, his hand so big and warm as it grips his flesh. His words are soft and silky too, insidious like poison, creeping under Kurt’s freckled skin and twisting his senses.
All of it, his touch and words and enormous presence, makes the young man sink into the kiss, lips parting before he has the good sense to clamp his mouth shut. It’s wet and hot and hard, possessive in a way he’s never felt before. Like he’s deeply, badly wanted. Kurt shivers, clinging to Corrigan’s suit jacket and letting himself be kissed, claimed, timidly kissing him back.
He can’t be sure if it’s because of the bruising squeeze of his ass or the intensity of the kiss or Corrigan’s silky praise or if it’s that feeling, that urge to be wanted, to be important. Whatever the cause, Kurt can feel his body reacting, cock stirring between his trembling legs. That… never happens.]
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Feels good, doesn't it? [This is murmured as Corrigan’s free arm hooks around Kurt's waist to prevent any startled recoiling, to keep him from escaping. He strokes along Kurt’s half-hard cock slowly, just beginning to coax those dull pulses of pleasure, fan the flame of arousal higher and higher.] Just relax for me, let me make you feel good. It'll be so, so good if you let it.
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But it does.
Corrigan’s hand is big and warm and gentle, slowly stroking him into full hardness. The rest of Kurt’s body is starting to feel it too, breathing getting heavier, heart pounding in his chest, skin flushing with heat and color, knees getting weaker, toes curling into the filthy carpet. He can feel his thoughts getting muddy and unfocused, unable to think of anything but how good Corrigan’s hand feels around his cock.
He struggles a little against Corrigan’s arm, but it’s a weak, token effort. Even the way he hides his blushing face against the man’s chest is more token than anything, as every labored breath and strangled moan can be felt through the fabric. Kurt isn’t fooling anyone but himself.]
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After a few silent moments, Corrigan murmurs almost tenderly against Kurt's hair:] Are you going to come for me? It's all right, you can let go, just let it feel good, baby. Just let go.
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But Corrigan doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t even move to undress so he can join in. He’s seemingly completely focused on Kurt’s pleasure, gently but firmly jerking him off, telling him it’s all right to feel like this, encouraging him to let go, to let it feel good.
Kurt finally lets go. He comes with a choked keening whine all over Corrigan’s fingers, knees buckling with the force of his pleasure, his mind going completely blank for as long as his climax lasts. A few seconds of mindless bliss. The fear and shame and embarrassment only comes after.] F-Fuck… Sorry, sir, s-sorry, I didn’t…
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For now, though, he settles for slowing the intent, expert strokes, hand slick and sticky with Kurt's come, continuing at a slow, but unceasing caress. The boy's still shuddering through his climax and Corrigan’s already greedy, already wants to see more.]
It's all right, baby, darlin', you're fuckin' gorgeous when you come for Daddy like that. [Corrigan barely thinks, lost in the heat of the moment, the intoxicating feeling of Kurt's shivering body against his own.] You have no idea how bad I wanna bend you over and fuck you good and deep.
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But it’s what Corrigan calls himself that hits the hardest. Daddy. It should completely disgust him. Any allusion to his own father, to any position of parental authority—the very reason Kurt ran away from home to begin with—should be absolutely repulsive. But it isn’t. When Corrigan calls himself Daddy, praising him for coming so hard, telling him how badly he wants to fuck him deep, Kurt can barely hold himself up, overcome with a pleasure so primordial and senseless it makes him dizzy.
What is wrong with him?]
D— fuck! S-Sir— [He just barely stops himself short of calling the man Daddy, terrified of what hearing it in his own voice will do to him. The fingers slick with his own come never stop stroking him, prolonging the trembling bone-deep pleasure that makes his eyes burn with tears.] P-Please, sir, I— I can’t—!
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Good, baby, that's good. You did so good. I've got you, you're safe. [He moves to slide off his jacket, but surprisingly it's only to wrap it around Kurt's shivering shoulders, hiding his flushed, trembling body.] C'mon, we're leaving. Did you bring anything with you? [He can't imagine Caesar had allowed the boy much, but maybe some sentimental item or another had survived, tucked into a pocket or something.]
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The jacket draped over his shoulders is another surprise—a shock, more like it, he’d halfway expected Corrigan to make good on his words and bend him over any minute now—but one he clings to with both hands. He wraps the jacket tightly around himself, hiding his nudity, stunned into complete silence for a moment.
Then he slowly moves to obey, clumsily gathering his clothes in his arms. It’s all Caesar let him keep. He had nothing from home worth bringing either, aside from his ID cards and birth certificate—kept in a manila envelope which Corrigan should now be in possession of.] Um… C-Can I get dressed first? [The thought of leaving the motel room dressed only in his owner’s jacket makes Kurt sick with nerves.]
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Leave those. Clothes are replaceable. [Corrigan reaches out, setting a hand on Kurt's back and propelling him towards the door, clearly heedless of how the suit jacket gapes open in the front. If Kurt wants to cover himself, he'll need to drop the clothes to hold the jacket closed.]
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They’re all going to see, every inch of him naked and covered in sweat, flecks of his own drying spend spattered all down his legs. They’re all going to know his shame, every last one of them, they’ll all—
The door to the motel room opens, and Kurt stumbles out into the parking lot, Corrigan’s suit jacket wrapped tightly around his slight frame. A ratty pair of jeans and a plain white tee lies abandoned in a heap on the floor inside, inches away from the door. The young man doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up, staring at his bare feet against the pavement as he walks where his owner leads him, the enormous suit jacket held securely shut by trembling hands.]
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There's a sleek black car parked close by, and Corrigan steers Kurt to it, skirting a puddle of grime on the pavement.] Here, careful, don't step in that. [He's back to gentle and attentive, helping Kurt into the passenger seat and grabbing a blanket from the backseat to drape over his bare legs.
Corrigan moves to the drivers side, locking the doors and letting out a slow exhale.] There. Better. You should try to sleep, it'll be a bit of a drive.
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He doesn’t need to be told that with words. He feels the lesson on his skin, flushed and prickly with goosebumps, but covered by blanket and suit jacket.]
O-Okay. [Kurt gets the distinct impression he’s not allowed to ask where they’re going. Not that it matters. He has nowhere else to go. The boy is stiff where he sits, still trembling, but he buckles his seatbelt and tries to relax into the plush passenger seat, getting comfortable enough to sleep.] …thank you, s-sir.
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Easily navigating out of the dingy parking lot and onto the highway, Corrigan reaches out and sets one big warm hand on the back of Kurt's neck. It's possessive, but gentle, thumb stroking in soothing circles.] Go ahead and sleep. We're headed to Chicago, so it'll be three or four hours. You need to rest, understand me? You look exhausted.
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At least Corrigan can be kind. Corrigan drapes him in blankets and turns on the heat for him, Corrigan fills the car with soft music, Corrigan urges him to rest on the long drive to Chicago—he actually volunteered where they're going, unexpected but a pleasant surprise. Unlike everyone and everything else in his life, Corrigan seems to want what's best for him. If all Kurt has to do to be treated so kindly is obey his commands when they come, it can't be all bad... right?]
Yessir... [With the heat and the darkness and the gentle rumble of the car speeding down the highway, Kurt is out like a light within minutes. He stays like that the whole drive, curled up in the seat, his body facing Corrigan, soft and pale and trusting.]
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He lets Kurt sleep as he checks in and unloads the two large designer suitcases. Then he opens the passenger side door and easily scoops Kurt into his arms, blanket and all.] Time to wake up, baby.
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Mnngh… w-we’re there already? [He yawns softly, shivering, cuddling closer against Corrigan’s broad frame. It’s just that he’s sleepy, okay? And Corrigan is warm and strong and holds him so securely as he carries him to their room. Not for any other reason.] ‘S so quiet out here…
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He sets Kurt to sit on the edge of the tub, smoothing the stringy, lank hair back from his face.] Go ahead and clean up, I'm going to order dinner. Call if you need anything, hm? [Then he steps out, leaving the door open a crack, in case Kurt calls out.]
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