[Corrigan could handle the small changes -- he can slide his tongue over where the metal stud used to be, can imagine the metallic taste from the braces. But the hesitancy, the near-awkwardness, the unsure way they kiss makes him enraged.
So he doesn't respond to the words, doesn't say anything. Kurt doesn't want his words. Instead Corrigan slides his hand up into their loose hair, wrenches their head back and kisses them again, this time without holding back, with teeth and tongue and all the ferocity he feels.
With his free hand, Corrigan tears at the layers of fabric, not bothering with the buttons, just wrenching the vest, the tie, the shirt open. The clothes aren't nearly high enough quality to resist his near-violent movements, and the fabric gives way, tears loudly.]
[They don’t know what they did to trigger Corrigan’s sudden ferocity, but whatever it was it sure did the trick. One hand suddenly fists into their hair, while the other starts ripping their suit apart, layer by stifling layer, the feeling of fabric violently splitting and tearing against their skin utterly intoxicating. Their flushed, naked chest both writhes and arches against Corrigan’s punishing touch.
Kurt knows how fucked up this is. Greg is waiting for them to meet him at the venue, probably nervous and excited for their big day, for the rest of their lives together. Meanwhile Kurt has their ex-sugar daddy’s tongue in their mouth, his hand ripping their wedding suit to ribbons, and they’ve never been more turned on in their life. They don’t know if it’s the betrayal that does it, or the bride-snatching fantasy, but it’s leaps and bounds more than Greg has ever done for them in the bedroom.]
S-Stop— Please, you c-can’t, we can’t, you have to stop— [It’s not their safe word. They know that. Corrigan knows that. It’s muffled and teary and sobbed desperately against the man’s lips, and they don’t mean a single word of it. It’s all for the fantasy.] P-Please, it hurts—!
Liar. [It's purred, feline and smug and triumphant, against Kurt's sobbing mouth as Corrigan’s hands slide inside the shreds of their suit, finding their bared skin, reacquainting himself with their shape. The vest and jacket are shoved to the floor, leaving Kurt in their torn-open shirt, as Corrigan’s hands move down to unbundled their belt, tear open their pants.]
You love it. You love this, don't you? You love being treated rough, getting your hair pulled, your clothes torn. [He slides a big hand inside Kurt's pants, palm warm and familiar as it closes firmly around their cock, squeezes and gropes. His voice is sweet, poisonous as he bites at their lips, their jawline, their throat.] All this time and you're still a greedy little slut.
[As much as they’ve missed this, being this many years removed has actually made the fantasy so much better. It was always a little hard to give in completely, to feel the wealth of emotion from being roughed up and demeaned and humiliated, back when they shared a bed with their imaginary attacker.
But after years of Greg’s tender if rather matter-of-fact sweet talk, careful kisses, and mechanical lovemaking, this hits exactly where it’s supposed to. Now, when Corrigan squeezes their hard cock and calls them a greedy little slut, Kurt almost comes right on the spot, sobs of pleasure and pain and utter humiliation filling their bridal suite.]
Stop it! Sh-Shut up! That’s not true, y-you’re wrong! [They squirm and struggle against him, shoving at his muscled chest, putting up a very convincing fight for someone who went a little crosseyed when their hair was pulled.] I’m not—!
[Corrigan clicks his tongue in gentle, condescending disapproval, hand still down the front of Kurt’s pants. He can feel each shudder and squirm of pleasure, can see how their words stand in stark contrast to what their body's begging for.]
Is that so? You're a sweet, demure little thing now, is that right? Having fifteen-minute missionary with Greg with the lights out so he can't see how goddamn bored you are?
[He's backing towards the bed now, grabbing Kurt’s arms and dragging them along, pressing them close to his chest so he can purr the next words against their tangled hair, so his hands can freely squeeze and grope their shivering body.] Does he fuck you like I did, baby? Does he make you scream on his cock and sob for more? Has he ever made you feel even a fraction as good as I do?
[Kurt makes a wounded noise at Corrigan’s distressingly accurate words, blushing so bright it hurts, frustrated tears streaking their cheeks. It’s like he’s been there to see every single night of boring, unfulfilling sex they had to put up with, faking their pleasure, making excuses for why Greg couldn’t make them come yet again.
Corrigan knows, and nothing Kurt can say will disprove his words. As they’re pulled bodily towards the bed, stumbling along while pretending to fight him, knowing they’re about to get fucked within an inch of their life almost make the lonely boring nights worth it.]
Sh-Shuddup. He… [they can’t even pretend for a moment that Greg makes them feel good] He doesn’t hurt me. He doesn’t c-call me names. Greg respects me! [They can’t tell which is the bigger lie: Greg respecting them, or that they’re turned off by name-calling and pain.]
[Corrigan doesn't verbally respond, but he does arch both eyebrows as high as they can go, with his most skeptical expression. He knows damn well what that translates to -- Greg treats them like they're fragile, breakable, like something he can put on a shelf when he doesn't want to deal with them anymore.
In all the years he's known Kurt, Corrigan’s never once seen them enjoy being handled with kid gloves. They've always demanded more, harder, faster. They're the strongest, most ferocious person he knows, and they insist on being treated like that.
So he sits on the edge of the bed, tugs Kurt to stand in between his spread legs and looks up at them calmly.] So go. Go find him and tell him all about me. Have me thrown out of here and never worry about being disrespected again. [He releases Kurt's wrists, settles his hands on their hips, starting to ease down their rumpled pants.]
If that's what you really want... [Then he pauses, lifting his chin.] But if you stay, I'm not letting you go again. This is your last chance, baby.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
So he doesn't respond to the words, doesn't say anything. Kurt doesn't want his words. Instead Corrigan slides his hand up into their loose hair, wrenches their head back and kisses them again, this time without holding back, with teeth and tongue and all the ferocity he feels.
With his free hand, Corrigan tears at the layers of fabric, not bothering with the buttons, just wrenching the vest, the tie, the shirt open. The clothes aren't nearly high enough quality to resist his near-violent movements, and the fabric gives way, tears loudly.]
no subject
Kurt knows how fucked up this is. Greg is waiting for them to meet him at the venue, probably nervous and excited for their big day, for the rest of their lives together. Meanwhile Kurt has their ex-sugar daddy’s tongue in their mouth, his hand ripping their wedding suit to ribbons, and they’ve never been more turned on in their life. They don’t know if it’s the betrayal that does it, or the bride-snatching fantasy, but it’s leaps and bounds more than Greg has ever done for them in the bedroom.]
S-Stop— Please, you c-can’t, we can’t, you have to stop— [It’s not their safe word. They know that. Corrigan knows that. It’s muffled and teary and sobbed desperately against the man’s lips, and they don’t mean a single word of it. It’s all for the fantasy.] P-Please, it hurts—!
no subject
You love it. You love this, don't you? You love being treated rough, getting your hair pulled, your clothes torn. [He slides a big hand inside Kurt's pants, palm warm and familiar as it closes firmly around their cock, squeezes and gropes. His voice is sweet, poisonous as he bites at their lips, their jawline, their throat.] All this time and you're still a greedy little slut.
no subject
But after years of Greg’s tender if rather matter-of-fact sweet talk, careful kisses, and mechanical lovemaking, this hits exactly where it’s supposed to. Now, when Corrigan squeezes their hard cock and calls them a greedy little slut, Kurt almost comes right on the spot, sobs of pleasure and pain and utter humiliation filling their bridal suite.]
Stop it! Sh-Shut up! That’s not true, y-you’re wrong! [They squirm and struggle against him, shoving at his muscled chest, putting up a very convincing fight for someone who went a little crosseyed when their hair was pulled.] I’m not—!
no subject
Is that so? You're a sweet, demure little thing now, is that right? Having fifteen-minute missionary with Greg with the lights out so he can't see how goddamn bored you are?
[He's backing towards the bed now, grabbing Kurt’s arms and dragging them along, pressing them close to his chest so he can purr the next words against their tangled hair, so his hands can freely squeeze and grope their shivering body.] Does he fuck you like I did, baby? Does he make you scream on his cock and sob for more? Has he ever made you feel even a fraction as good as I do?
no subject
Corrigan knows, and nothing Kurt can say will disprove his words. As they’re pulled bodily towards the bed, stumbling along while pretending to fight him, knowing they’re about to get fucked within an inch of their life almost make the lonely boring nights worth it.]
Sh-Shuddup. He… [they can’t even pretend for a moment that Greg makes them feel good] He doesn’t hurt me. He doesn’t c-call me names. Greg respects me! [They can’t tell which is the bigger lie: Greg respecting them, or that they’re turned off by name-calling and pain.]
no subject
In all the years he's known Kurt, Corrigan’s never once seen them enjoy being handled with kid gloves. They've always demanded more, harder, faster. They're the strongest, most ferocious person he knows, and they insist on being treated like that.
So he sits on the edge of the bed, tugs Kurt to stand in between his spread legs and looks up at them calmly.] So go. Go find him and tell him all about me. Have me thrown out of here and never worry about being disrespected again. [He releases Kurt's wrists, settles his hands on their hips, starting to ease down their rumpled pants.]
If that's what you really want... [Then he pauses, lifting his chin.] But if you stay, I'm not letting you go again. This is your last chance, baby.