[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.]
[He must be dreaming. The heat of the bathroom envelops him so completely, heavy steam filling his lungs, dampening his skin, making Kurt feel dazed and unfocused, but simultaneously safe. Cradled, like he’s suspended in water, floating but not. There’s a bath already drawn for him. Corrigan’s touch is very gentle.
It must be a dream, because this isn’t what pimps do. This isn’t how people who buy human beings as pets treat their property. So either this isn’t real, or Corrigan really is different. The exception. Kurt allows himself to dream for a while longer.] Th-Thank you, sir.
[Shedding the blanket and suit jacket, Kurt sinks into the tub with a pitiful shiver, a thin sigh of blissful relief. It’s the best bath he’s ever fucking taken. The whole time he sits there, slowly washing every inch of his body—still not wholly convinced he’s awake—he shoots little glances at the door. A bath, a hot meal, a gentle doting touch… is all of this really part of Kurt’s reality now? No tricks? No manipulation? No last-minute catch..?]
[There's always a catch, Kurt. Though Corrigan is much more subtle and strategic about everything he's doing. Every bit of kindness binds Kurt closer to him, every gentle touch and thoughtful gesture stronger than any restraints could be. Fear is quicker, but adoration is much more powerful.
And he has time. He wants to take Kurt apart and put him back together, bit by bit, and the only way that'll be possible is if his pet doesn't question a single thing he does. If the need to obey, to keep being cared for and protected is stronger than the need for dignity or autonomy.
So, right when the water starts to turn cool, Corrigan’s there with a towel, motioning for Kurt to stand and wrapping it several times around his skinny, shivering frame.] Feel better, baby? [This is murmured into Kurt's silky, wet hair, accompanied with a kiss to his forehead.]
[It's amazing how he does it, stepping into the room right on time, towel in hand, wrapping him all up in it as soon as he rises to stand. For being so intimidating and morally reprehensible, Corrigan sure is doing all the right things to win Kurt's trust. The big gentle hands, the soft kiss, the petname... Kurt knows he should hate this, should be frightened and repulsed by all the attention, but the shameful part of him hidden so deep inside—the one that's slowly rising to the surface the longer he spends with the man—so badly craves it.
Kurt hasn't known much affection in his life. Certainly nothing as tender as this. It's no wonder he unconsciously leans into Corrigan's frame, seeking his warmth, closing his eyes at the sweet kiss.]
Y-Yes, sir. Thank you. I mean it, it r-really... a-all of this, I... [Look at him. Jerk him off and give him a hot bath, and that's enough to reduce Kurt to tears, his throat closing up around the words, eyes burning. He ducks his head, shivering, towel-clad shoulders shaking as he tries to choke down the sobs. It's pitiful. Disgraceful. Shameful.] S-Sorry, sir, I— I don't mean to...
Shhh, shh, don't apologize, sweetheart. [Corrigan’s big, strong arms come up to wrap around Kurt, warm and protective and all-encompassing. He holds the shivering, sniffling young man close, rocking slightly back and forth.] You've been through hell, baby, go ahead and cry. It's all right. You can cry.
[His voice is sweet, soft, endlessly comforting as he murmurs:] You're safe now, Kurt. Nothing and nobody's going to hurt you. Caesar won't ever touch you or any other boy again.
[And, in the exact same tone, sweet and soothing:] Because the fucker's dead in the trunk of my car.
[He has been through hell, hasn’t he? Not just with Caesar, but for years and years before that, his short life seemingly nothing but struggle. Corrigan gives him permission to cry, to let all that pain and grief out, and being all soft and warm and pliant from the bath, Kurt does. There’s no one here to admonish him for crying. Only Corrigan and his solid, unyielding presence, his tender voice, his gentle words.
It’s when he’s in this soft, trusting, vulnerable state that Corrigan confesses to killing Caesar.
Kurt can’t breathe. His blood runs cold. There’s shock and horror in his red-rimmed eyes when he looks up at Corrigan, fear unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Not for Caesar’s sake—there’s a nauseating sense of joyous relief at the news—but for his own. The man holding him and comforting him, the only person who’s shown him any tenderness for as long as he can remember, the man who now owns him, is capable of murder.
And yet, Kurt doesn’t pull away. He’s overcome with terror, ashen and so so vulnerable, and he doesn’t pull away.] He’s… No, th-that’s not… D-Did you really..?
Mmmm-hm. [Corrigan kisses Kurt's forehead once more, then steers him to sit on the bed, like he hadn't just confessed to murder. He seems very calm, grabbing one of the extra blankets and wrapping it around the shivering, tearful boy's shoulders, before meticulously fingercombing Kurt's damp hair back.]
I used a ligature, so it'd be less messy. But I should go dispose of the body and pick up dinner. [There's a beat, then Corrigan’s fingers curl tight into Kurt's hair, forcing his gaze upwards.] If you leave this hotel room, I will know. And I will find you. Understand me?
[Fear isn't as strong as love, but sometimes it's a necessary tool.]
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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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It must be a dream, because this isn’t what pimps do. This isn’t how people who buy human beings as pets treat their property. So either this isn’t real, or Corrigan really is different. The exception. Kurt allows himself to dream for a while longer.] Th-Thank you, sir.
[Shedding the blanket and suit jacket, Kurt sinks into the tub with a pitiful shiver, a thin sigh of blissful relief. It’s the best bath he’s ever fucking taken. The whole time he sits there, slowly washing every inch of his body—still not wholly convinced he’s awake—he shoots little glances at the door. A bath, a hot meal, a gentle doting touch… is all of this really part of Kurt’s reality now? No tricks? No manipulation? No last-minute catch..?]
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And he has time. He wants to take Kurt apart and put him back together, bit by bit, and the only way that'll be possible is if his pet doesn't question a single thing he does. If the need to obey, to keep being cared for and protected is stronger than the need for dignity or autonomy.
So, right when the water starts to turn cool, Corrigan’s there with a towel, motioning for Kurt to stand and wrapping it several times around his skinny, shivering frame.] Feel better, baby? [This is murmured into Kurt's silky, wet hair, accompanied with a kiss to his forehead.]
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Kurt hasn't known much affection in his life. Certainly nothing as tender as this. It's no wonder he unconsciously leans into Corrigan's frame, seeking his warmth, closing his eyes at the sweet kiss.]
Y-Yes, sir. Thank you. I mean it, it r-really... a-all of this, I... [Look at him. Jerk him off and give him a hot bath, and that's enough to reduce Kurt to tears, his throat closing up around the words, eyes burning. He ducks his head, shivering, towel-clad shoulders shaking as he tries to choke down the sobs. It's pitiful. Disgraceful. Shameful.] S-Sorry, sir, I— I don't mean to...
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[His voice is sweet, soft, endlessly comforting as he murmurs:] You're safe now, Kurt. Nothing and nobody's going to hurt you. Caesar won't ever touch you or any other boy again.
[And, in the exact same tone, sweet and soothing:] Because the fucker's dead in the trunk of my car.
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It’s when he’s in this soft, trusting, vulnerable state that Corrigan confesses to killing Caesar.
Kurt can’t breathe. His blood runs cold. There’s shock and horror in his red-rimmed eyes when he looks up at Corrigan, fear unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Not for Caesar’s sake—there’s a nauseating sense of joyous relief at the news—but for his own. The man holding him and comforting him, the only person who’s shown him any tenderness for as long as he can remember, the man who now owns him, is capable of murder.
And yet, Kurt doesn’t pull away. He’s overcome with terror, ashen and so so vulnerable, and he doesn’t pull away.] He’s… No, th-that’s not… D-Did you really..?
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I used a ligature, so it'd be less messy. But I should go dispose of the body and pick up dinner. [There's a beat, then Corrigan’s fingers curl tight into Kurt's hair, forcing his gaze upwards.] If you leave this hotel room, I will know. And I will find you. Understand me?
[Fear isn't as strong as love, but sometimes it's a necessary tool.]