"Ah, yes." Miles drops his hand away from Kurt's stomach, fingers curling into a fist at the mention of Naseer. Perhaps for the best -- though he keeps the other hand firmly on the little human's back, only sliding slightly up from their ass, to propel them forward. "Naseer doubtless has all the accurate information, as per usual. He's never been wrong once, in his entire life." There's obvious venom in his words -- Corrigan might be his biggest enemy, but Naseer is clearly loathed almost as much.
Another shove forward, towards a small lean-to by the side of the road, one of many built for passing travelers to spend an hour or a night while their horses rest. It's little more than a smudgy firepit with a holey roof over top, but it'll do for the night. Miles gives Kurt one last rough push, this time to sit down in the ashes by the fireplace. "Hold still," he commands, pulling a length of rope from his belt and beginning to loop it around Kurt's ankles.
"A month's time, hm? That's not very far away." He lifts his eyes, cold and pale blue and immediately locking with Kurt's. "Can you feel them yet? Your link with the pup?" His hand is back on Kurt's rounded belly, smoothing back and forth. "It'll be there, already. They can feel you too, your fear, your joy. But they won't understand who their father is until they're born. Until they link with him."
Miles thankfully doesn't punish them for slipping up—this time. They're certain he won't be so understanding the next time they mention their former pack. Although they note his particular vitriol towards Naseer, of all people, with baffled confusion. Calm, wise, gentle Naseer, the doting and dutiful Beta, only ever watchful and fair. What could he possibly have done to earn Miles' scornful loathing?
They offer no resistance as he ties their ankles together, only gathering their cloak tighter around their shoulder to ward off the cold. His words do give them pause though. Kurt does feel the baby. They're so small still, a far-away presence very close by, unable to signal thoughts of hopes or desires on their own yet, but Kurt knows deep in their core that they're there. They depend on them. They love them.
They will never know their real father. They will never know how wanted they were, how loved they were, long before they were ever born. Corrigan, beloved Corrigan, won't be there to witness the birth of his first child, to lock eyes with them for the first time and know, just as surely as Kurt does, that they love him.
The realization crushes them. "P-Please," they whimper, devastated, fighting through another wave of sobs rocking their little body. Their hands join Miles' on their stomach, fingers trembling over where the baby rests. They can't even delude themself that the pup is peacefully oblivious within them. While they can't comprehend the peril they're in, Kurt knows they can feel the sheer depth of their grief. That's not fair to them. None of this is. "Please... P-Promise me you'll take care of them. Miles, please, promise you'll treat them like your own," they beg, seeking the wolf's cruel gaze. The baby may never know the love of their real father, but they should at least be safe with the one who's pretending to be.
"They didn't do anything to d-deserve this. Please..."
The conditioning isn't just physical, isn't just Miles reaching up to stroke back Kurt's hair, cradle the cheek that he'd bruised only moments before. Each time Kurt submits, each time they surrender to what Miles wants, he reaches through the fractured link that only they share, soothes them from inside out with waves of comfort, warmth, affection. It isn't just the loss of their pack that'll hurt, it'll be the absence of them, the hollows they've left behind. Eventually Kurt will seek out Miles, seek to obey and please him, if only to fill up that terrible emptiness for a moment.
"Of course, of course," he soothes, stroking his thumb over their cheekbone, brushing away their tears. "That's what a true Alpha would do, hm? They'll be as good as mine once we meet. Even Corrigan would have to respect that." Miles reaches out with his free hand, the one he'd set on Kurt's stomach, reaching around to tug them forward, into his lap.
"Though I think he'll respect you carrying my pup even more so, don't you?" He nuzzles against their ear, whispers softly: "If you do everything I say, if you obey me without question, I'll take you with me when I conquer the pack." Miles lets this linger, a potential of reunion, of return to Corrigan and the others, even as the first prisoner of a usurper, an invader.
But then: "I'll let you choose what order I kill them in."
The worst part is that it's working. Miles put them in this terrible situation, severed those cherished links they'd built with the pack, and successfuly weasled his way inside without ever claiming them for himself. His presence is overwhelming, as threatening as it is soothing, oppressive and comforting all at once. It's not the presence they want, not the link they desire, but it's something. And compared to the awful, howling emptiness, Kurt will cling to that comfort every time they're offered it.
Even now, knowing full well what he's done and what his plans are—taking them and their child, impregnating them, building a family only to use it against their old one—Kurt doesn't resist him as he pulls them close. Miles is repugnant and dangerous and so, so cruel, but he's there. He's a soothing hand and a warm breath and a soft voice, a strong firm body against their own. They shiver at the closeness, and they cannot pretend that none of it is with delight, however reluctant.
Except when his final suggestion is spoken. His final threat. The sob that escapes them shakes the walls of the flimsy lean-to. "P-Please, no," they cry, burying their face into his shoulder. Part of them is screaming to get away from him, push away and run, to somehow warn the others of what Miles is preparing to do. But even if their legs weren't tied at the ankles, they'd never make it anywhere. If he's already intent on killing his former pack, his family, surely the only thing stopping him from killing Kurt too is their continued compliance and obedience. Still, this... they can't accept this. "Sir, please, don't— d-don't hurt them, we don't have to hurt them, p-please— please..."
"Shhh, shh, none of that," Miles murmurs, still petting at Kurt's hair, tucking them close against him, their shivering, sobbing body in his lap. He's the picture of indulgence, sighing heavily and sliding his hand to rub in slow circles on their back. "I suppose I could consider a different plan. It depends on how well you prove your loyalty, of course."
Pulling back, he cradles Kurt's chin in one hand, giving them a gently stern, almost paternal look. "That's a lot of responsibility. Do you think you can show me how good you can be? How you'll listen to what I say and not fight me?" He doesn't mean a word of it, he's going to do damn well whatever he pleases, but Kurt doesn't need to know that. They need that flicker of hope, that shred of possibility that Miles might not kill the others. Fear is a powerful motivator, but so is love.
So, leaning forward and kissing their forehead gently, Miles seemingly relents: "If you think you can, you need to show me. I'll build a fire, then you can begin proving it to me. I left your hands and mouth untied for a reason. Use them. Understand me?"
It doesn't even matter if it's a trick at this point. If there's even a sliver of a chance that Miles is telling the truth, that he'll reconsider bloodshed if they can just prove their loyalty, Kurt has to take it. They don't have a choice. "Y-Y-Yes, sir, I underst-stand," they manage through terrified tears, nodding fervently, meeting his stern gaze with a pleading one of their own. "I'll be good, sir, I won't f-fight you, I promise. I'll be g-good."
The time it takes for Miles to get a fire going is just enough time for Kurt to compose themself, wipe their tears, calm their breathing. They have to do a good job at this. As much as they hate the thought of being intimate with Miles in any way—most of all willingly—it's a small price to pay for the pack's safety. If all it takes is to play the part of a loyal, obedient, dutiful wife, Kurt will give the performance of a lifetime.
Besides, they're very good at this. As soon as Miles is seated again, Kurt is curling up next to him, tucked against his side, trembling fingers undoing the buttons holding his trousers closed. They're admittedly a little clumsy, not used to dealing with clothes anymore, but it doesn't stop them from touching him all over, hands smoothing over his thighs and hips and stomach, palming encouragingly at his swelling sheath. "How— H-How do you like to be serviced, sir?" they ask from where they're resting their head on his lap, lips shakily parted less than an inch from where Miles' cock emerges. "Slowly? O-Or all at once?"
Miles seems almost -- unaware of Kurt's shaky hands unbuttoning his pants, settling with his back against one of the more sturdy posts holding the lean-to up. His cock reacts, sliding free into Kurt's hand, the same tapered, slick shape they must be so used to by now -- more familiar with werewolf cock than human, likely. The thought has his expression darkening minutely, hand reaching out to slide through Kurt's long hair, loose from the braid they'd worn when he'd taken them.
"I prefer," he began softly, almost tenderly, voice remaining just as gentle as he abruptly twisting his hand in their hair, yanking their head back hard, wrenching them up onto their knees. "If you keep that pretty mouth shut if I'm not fucking it. Understand?" Miles meets Kurt's eyes evenly, calmly, twisting his hand tighter and tighter, then shaking them a little to punctuate his final word.
Then: "Open, tongue out. Hold still. If I want you to talk, I'll ask you a question. If not, don't make a sound. Nod if you understand."
Kurt yelps and cries out with pain, forced up on their knees by Miles' firm, cruel hand. This— They're not used to this. The pack always played rough with them, pulling and twisting their hair, heedlessly using them like a pretty little toy, leaving them breathless and broken and strung out with pleasure. The wolves liberally teased them with pain, with demeaning words, but it was with an understanding that Kurt liked it, was enthusiastically playing along. They always encouraged the human's words, their noises, delighting in their choked moans while fucking their tight, wet throat.
Not Miles. Miles barely wants to know they're there. Their fingers stiffen against his hips, his slick cock, they whimper with fright, but they don't fight him. He tells them not to make a sound, and they obey. He tells them to open their mouth, and they do just that, tongue out, wetting their chin, just as they're told. He doesn't tell them to relax their throat yet, but they still do, shivering, waiting for him.
Kurt's eyes well with tears as they hold his gaze, trying to wordlessly communicate their intent. They'll do better. They'll do everything he says. They're his, free to use, free to play with whenever he wants. They're so, so good at this. Let them prove it.
The difference, of course, is that Kurt was a toy -- but they were the packs toy, their cherished, beloved slut, their needy spoiled brat. Every rough hand in their hair, every big hand swatting their upturned ass or sliding around their slender throat and squeezing was given amidst such pride, such love flowing through the link. The pack shared pleasure whenever, however they could, each member's enjoyment bleeding into the next. Even if it were just Corrigan tangled up with Kurt, taking his lazy time (as an Alpha should) in their bed, or by the riverside, his pleasure would be felt by the others, no matter where they were.
Corrigan's link had been the hardest to break, straining even now in the back of Miles's mind, strong enough to flare even through the shattered link they had once shared. It was horror, it was rage, it was confusion, still. But the real reason Miles had stopped, had allowed the exhausted horses and his exhausted captive some rest, was because Corrigan had realized, at last. The wolves had found the blood, had searched beyond the spot and found Miles's secret, hidden camp. They'd caught his scent at last, mixed with that of their terrified, bleeding mate, and they had understood -- Kurt had been taken, stolen, and Miles was responsible.
Miles had known it would happen, of course. It was an important part of the plan, realizing that he was the one to blame, and that he was willing to harm Kurt -- or their baby. They'd underestimated him once before, and would be more cautious in retaliating. They may not even search at all, fearful that Miles would sense them coming closer and punish their mate for it.
Corrigan was no fool. He'd be cautious, strategic. He'd deliberately close off whatever remained of their link. And he had. But not before sending through, in a silent, devastating force of emotion -- I'm going to fucking kill you.
The force of the mental message had rattled Miles, leaving him shaken, exhausted. They had enough of a head start that he felt find taking a momentary break. Not sleeping, but relieving tension some other way. He still had very specific plans for how he would fully enjoy Kurt's body -- like his former pack had for months now -- but there was no shame in using what he had to pass the time. The journey would be very boring if he didn't take full advantage of their well-trained mouth.
Like before, Miles's cool, neutral expression gives nothing away. He simply gathers Kurt's hair back in a tight, cold fist, knotted at the back of their skull, and pulls them forward, filling their mouth with his cock. There's a soft, pleased groan at the soft, slick heat, the way the human's throat tenses, then submits, lets him slide down it. "Look at me," he commands softly, forcing Kurt to gulp down his entire length. He's -- honestly he's by far the smallest of the pack, even more so than Benji, the youngest. Of course size isn't everything, but even when he was accepted by the others, he'd never been great at technique. He tended to be rough, businesslike, mindless, only wanting to get his cock sucked or top one of the others.
But he forces Kurt to hold it, to stay with his cock plunged down their throat, to look up at him and swallow around him and prove how good they could be.
Poor little Kurt is completely oblivious to Corrigan's lingering link with Miles, strained and brittle though it had been, and the message that Alpha had sent before breaking the link once and for all. Had they known, had they even had an inkling that Corrigan knew, that he was coming for them, maybe they wouldn't be submitting so easily. But the intruder, the usurper, doesn't give anything away with his expression. He just wears that same cold, detached look, watching them with something they can only describe as unwavering disinterest as he pushes their open mouth onto his cock.
The human can't hide their feelings as well as he can. Being with the wolves has only made them more expressive, easier to read, seeing as they no longer had anything to fear from showing their emotions. So there's no hiding the pitiful shiver of delight as Miles' cock breaches their throat. It goes all the way down their spine to their twitching toes, fingers curling against his hips, their eyes reflexively growing hazy.
It doesn't matter that his cock is thoroughly unimpressive compared to what they're used to, nor that he lacks in any flair or technique. Kurt has done this so many times, their mouth so well-trained by now, that just the act of servicing him triggers a full-body pleasure response. Being pregnant and flooded with hormones doesn't exactly help. It's so unfair.
But they can still follow orders, uncrossing their eyes to look up at him when he commands it, those big devastating eyes welling with tears fixed on Miles' face through long eyelashes. They shudder, held firmly in place against his pelvis, throat working around his cock, fluttering, clenching, squeezing. As their lips and tongue twitch against him, Kurt can feel themself getting hard too, unfairly at the mercy of their oversensitive, well-conditioned body, so finely tuned to pleasure and pain.
Kurt never once fights him. Even as their lungs start to ache for air, they don't resist his grip or try to pull away. If what Miles wants is a quiet, submissive, obedient little breeding slave, that's what they'll be for him. Their own pathetic reflexive pleasure might even help sell the performance...
Miles should probably know better -- he knows intimately what it feels like to have the warmth and love of the pack wrenched away, without mercy, without thought. Corrigan had been surgically precise when banishing him, a far cry from how he'd brutally torn any emotions or connections to the pack out of Kurt's subconscious, but it had still hurt like an open wound for weeks. It's not possible that Kurt isn't acting now, not when they're enduring the psychic equivalent of a knife to the chest.
Still, he doesn't care. Their throat works around him, their tongue fluttering slightly, their big teary eyes fixed upwards. So obedient, so good. Miles doesn't give them any praise, but his hand softens minutely where it's knotted in their long, tangled hair. He even pulls them far enough off his cock that breathing is easier. His version of a reward.
But then he yanks them back, thrusting up hard enough that even his comparatively small length hits the back of Kurt's throat, slides back to block their air for another long, painful moment. He wants to taunt them about doing this for Corrigan, choking on his cock every night, but that silent threat is echoing still in his mind. So Miles stays silent, immovable, just focusing on fucking Kurt's throat hard and deep and punishing.
They're powerless to stop him as he starts manhandling them in earnest, fucking their throat without any regard for their comfort or enjoyment. He doesn't even say anything. The only way they can tell he even likes this is by how tightly his fingers grip their hair, how hard his cock feels against their tongue, how badly it hurts every time it pushes into their slick throat.
It feels awful. Kurt can't stop the choked whimpers and sobs of pain every time they're yanked back down on his cock, can't stop the tears from pouring down their face as he helps himself to their mouth, forcefully taking what he imagines he's earned. But it's nothing compared to the molten hot stab of shame at how their body reacts to being taken, being fucked. They're flushed and sweating. They're getting hard. Their body craves more. Like it doesn't matter who fucks them, as long as someone does.
It's a betrayal. Grotesque and deprived. Kurt shouldn't want this, shouldn't want him, but what else do they have? They try to reach out to Corrigan—their Alpha, their love—on sheer instinct, seeking his guidance and comfort and forgiveness, and they find nothing. There's only Miles.
Miles knows, of course, can smell Kurt's arousal, heavy and sweet and intoxicating, designed to call to any wolf and compel them to take, to claim, to possess. It's the scent of an eager, well-trained mate without a pack, something both horrifying and beguiling. Miles has shattered the bond Kurt has with Corrigan, with the pack, an act that takes sheer force of will to complete. His hatred for the pack he once had is stronger than anything else, his desire to destroy drowning out even his own pleasure.
Still, Kurt does have a pretty mouth, a mouth that knows exactly how to please a wolf, even when roughly used and not given much chance to do anything but kneel there and take it. Miles knows the little human's mind -- whatever they may be thinking about being used by their Alpha's greatest enemy -- is helpless in the face of their body's hormones, it's instincts. Kurt has been so conditioned to crave touch, no matter how rough, perfectly trained to service an entire pack all day, every day. In all his months of watching, Miles had rarely seen them without at least one of the wolves touching them, holding them, kissing them and -- most often -- fucking them. Being pregnant has only intensified this, as Kurt's body has become even more insatiable, more easily aroused, more sensitive and needy. It's a biological need, some believe, a way to ensure that the pack stays close to their vulnerable mate and protects them.
Even Miles's hardened instincts are touched by the pheromones Kurt is drowning the clearing with, compelling him to use them, stay close to them, keep them safe and protected. Granted, he doesn't care as much about their physical safety -- it's much more about keeping them away from Corrigan, under his control. He continues fucking their throat deep and steady, heedless of their choking, gasping sobs, scarcely allowing them to breathe.
And when they reach out, desperately, instinctively, Miles reaches back, drowns them in his own presence, his own power, entrapping them with scent and flesh and mind, beginning to overwrite the warmth of the pack with his own eerie, cold presence. "You know," he rasps, pumping into Kurt's throat and holding his cock there, in the convulsing, tight heat, massaged by their involuntary clutching muscles. "I don't think I like you calling me "sir" anymore..." He slides one hand to rest over the terrified, weeping little human's throat, squeezing slowly, wanting to feel them gag, hear them choke on his cock. "I think "Alpha" suits me much, much better. Don't you?"
There's only Miles, only Miles, only Miles. Kurt reaches for comfort, and finds only Miles' cold overwhelming presence. Kurt reaches for guidance, and finds only Miles' steely control dominating their mind. Kurt reaches for Alpha, and finds only Miles.
They can't breathe. His hand tightens around their throat, filled to bursting with his cock, leaving not a single crevice untouched by his malice. Gagging, choking, Kurt shudders violently as their thoughts get muddied, their vision blurs, lungs aching for air that won't come. Their convulsing throat only feels good around his cock, not once prompting an urge to pull away. He won't let them go. Miles won't let them go. Alpha won't...
No. Alpha would let them go, Alpha always let them go, always let them pull back to breathe, always let them rest when it finally became too much. Alpha would never hurt them like this. Alpha loves them. Kurt has to fight not to mix them up in their mind, not wanting to confuse Miles with Alpha, not wanting those thoughts to even touch.
But it's hard when they start losing control of their own thoughts, when they can feel themself starting to fade, when their struggling gets weaker and weaker. It's hard not to confuse them when they reach out again and again, reaching for Alpha to save them, to keep them safe, and they find only Miles, only Miles, Alpha, Miles, Alpha, Alpha, please...
There's no escape from it -- pulling away from Miles as Alpha is akin to choosing to remain in that cold, limitless, endlessly dark place. Embracing it, submitting, fearful and choking and lost, is so much better. Because when Kurt finally reaches out in confusion and terror, Miles is there. He curls around their mind, soothing the wounded, shattered shards and loosens his grip on their hair at the same time, letting them pull back, letting them breathe.
"Good." It's a brief token approval, accompanied by another painful thrust down Kurt's throat, but at least the rhythm set is one where Miles pulls back each time, gives the terrified human a chance to inhale quickly through their nose. He thrusts up a few times, idly, gaze wandering over the fire and the dark, dark woods, like he's not really that invested.
Because he isn't. Because this is simply the first of many acts that will sever Kurt further from their pack and bind them inextricably to him instead. Miles cares more about that, the long term goal. It's that thought -- that and Kurt's silent, desperate begging -- which finally prompts him to climax, to release down Kurt's throat, holding them still for several moments as he pumps into their stomach. "Clean me up," he commands in that raspy, short tone. "Then go to sleep. We travel again at first light."
Finally. The relief is palpable as Miles at long last empties himself down their ruined throat, before briskly yanking them off his cock, flooding their lungs with air. His spend is like molten iron in their stomach, so heavy it's painful. The shame doesn't help. Even through sobs and coughs and gasps, even through the terror and tears, Kurt still aches between their legs. They still long for Alpha's cock inside. Their new Alpha, their true Alpha, it doesn't seem to matter which.
At least they remain good at this one thing. Being a loyal, eager mate. As they lick him clean and tuck his softening cock back in his pants, as they curl up beside him to cry themself to sleep, Kurt prays it will be enough to keep them and the baby safe.
Safety is, they quickly learn, relative. They're never safe from his threats, nor the back of his hand, nor the awful howling emptiness he floods their mind with when they don't do as he pleases. Any straying thought, any resistance to bowing to him as Alpha, is punished with a merciless denial of their link. Kurt didn't even know that was possible, to close a bonded pack member off like that, to leave them adrift in the cold and dark. It's a violence much worse than the strikes, the kicks and shoves, the tightly gripping fists. Kurt very quickly learns to obey.
Not that they can go anywhere. After what felt like days on the road, stopping for only hours at a time for a nap and a brisk fuck, Miles leads them inside a derelict cabin nestled partway up a mountain overlooking a human village to the north, and he never lets them leave. Their new home is dark, cold, dusty, the wood rotting and splintering, the windows caked in ancient grime. There's a constant musty smell they can never seem to get used to. There's always a draft coming from somewhere. When they're not sleeping or servicing their Alpha, Kurt tries to clean and maintain the cabin as best they can.
The chain is never quite long enough. From where it's bolted into the wall and fastened to the humiliating dog collar around their neck, it only lets them get partway into the cabin. Maybe fifteen feet before it goes taut. Enough for them to reach the wash basin and the fireplace and — most importantly — the bed. But not the door. Never the door.
There's that draft again. Kurt curls up tighter where they're sitting against the wall, hand absently smoothing over their stomach in silent apology to the baby. Bizarrely, they're grateful that Alpha makes them wear clothes now. It would be much too cold in here without the modest, protective layers of skirts and dresses and aprons. If they were allowed knitting needles, they would busy themself making clothes for the baby too. Kurt can only sit idle and stare into space, hoping and praying Miles will provide when the time comes.
Any day now. They stroke their stomach again, a fervent plea for forgiveness. This isn't the life Kurt had wanted for them.
Miles had intended to wait until they got to the cabin before fully claiming Kurt the first time. He'd had ideas of making an event of it, a ceremony akin to the one that had first bound Kurt to the others of the pack. Perhaps it was an attempt to reclaim what the others -- what Corrigan had taken from him.
This idea had only lasted until the afternoon of the second day on the road. Grimy and tired from another long series of hours spent pushing the panting, shivering horses past their limits, Miles had experienced a change of heart. Kurt was spoiled, ruined -- they didn't deserve the dignity and ceremony of a formal claiming. So he'd given them what they did deserve: his cock driving inside their ass as they waited on hands and knees by another miserable fire. He fucked them hard and quick and businesslike, then and ever after, each time they stopped to rest on the long, endless road through the woods. Miles would tug Kurt into his lap or spoon up behind them as they slept, dragging up their coarse skirts and plunging inside them for a handful of rough, silent moments.
And then they'd push forward again, day after day until the horses were near dead from exhaustion and the air took on the bitter chill of the climate near the mountains. Corrigan's territory was beautiful and temperate, closer to the coast, but Miles's cabin was far from that. It had only been a few weeks -- one of travel, the others settling into the cabin, training Kurt on their new duties -- and the air already had the bitter chill of winter, as opposed to the mellow early autumn they'd left behind.
Miles pushes open the door now, arms full of wood, sighing in a heavy, put-upon way. It's obviously a great trial for him, having to warm the miserable hovel they live in. He dumps the wood by the smoldering fire, then drops heavily into his chair -- the only chair. The rug in front of him is where Kurt usually stays, on their knees, either stoking the fire or servicing their Alpha. Now, gesturing vaguely at the coals, Miles grunts a short: "Well? Hurry up."
Kurt perks up as soon as Miles returns, never once taking their eyes off him. They have to be ready for anything. No matter what he demands, they have to get to it right away. As soon as he gestures to the coals, Kurt nods and starts crawling on their hands and knees to the fireplace as fast as they're able, not affording themself the luxury to care about how mortifying the act is. Debasing themself like this is honestly much easier than getting up to stand when so heavily pregnant. They're expected to stay on their knees by the chair, anyway. Why even bother?
They try to hold on to the little things. The low heat still eminating from the coals feels amazing against their freezing hands. The wood smells really nice, a tiny touch of the forest they miss so much within the stuffy confines of the cabin. They get to be useful, to do something, rather than sit around and wait all day. It doesn't matter how small or stupid it is. They'll cling onto any little thing that distracts them from contemplating the horror of their situation. If not, they'd go insane with grief.
Gently piling kindling and logs on top of each other, Kurt diligently stokes the coals with a branch–they're not allowed a proper fire iron–watching as the bark and wood shavings catch fire. They're getting better at this. Alpha got so upset with them the first couple of times when they couldn't get it going fast enough. Now, little flames are already licking the sides of the heavy logs, singing the wood, slowly engulfing them. Kurt glances up at Miles past their stringy bangs, silently asking if this is okay. If this helps. If they did good.
"Happy" doesn't seem to be something that Miles is -- he's either annoyed or he's nothing at all. Sometimes through the link, there's only an absence, a void, like he's gotten so good at turning off his emotions that nothing at all bleeds through. It'd be truly tragic, if it weren't for the fact that he definitely still has his moments of intense feeling -- usually triumph, or a sick fascination. These feelings usually only spring up when he's actively hurting something, when there's blood on his hands.
That's the other thing Kurt has to be mindful of, that cycle from calm to violence. Miles follows it as regularly as the moon, his calm neutrality slowly ebbing away, replaced with gradually escalating annoyance or frustration. It can be the smallest things -- a draft in the wall, a snap or pop from a bubble of sap bursting in the fireplace, a mildly singed potato in dinner. But suddenly he'll switch, go from absently impatient and blank to deadly.
When that happens, there's no way out but through. There's no stopping Miles when he gets that glint in his eye, reaches for his knife, drags Kurt over to the far corner by their hair and set about getting his frustrations out. The claiming marks had come first -- Miles had set the edge of his knife to the edge of one smooth, healed scar and slowly drug it over Kurt's pale skin, ignoring their cries of pain, ignoring their screams, focused entirely on flaying the evidence of the pack from their body. One at a time, he'd removed each mark, saving Corrigan's for the last.
It's still there, on Kurt's neck, surrounded by bandages covering the rest of their shredded flesh. A week has passed since Miles removed Naseer's mark, had licked his blade clean and let Kurt bleed for hours before deigning to doctor their wounds. But Corrigan's mark remains, until Miles decides it's time to carve it free. They know it's coming. He knows it's coming. The pressure has been building for days now, and each moment is one step closer to that inevitability.
Now, without even looking at the fire, Miles gestures vaguely at his groin, impatient. "What are you waiting for?" No approval for Kurt's starting the fire, no sign that they've done something right. Just a bored, passive demand for them to service him.
They try to hold on to the little things. The shackles that Miles installed in the far corner to bind their wrists, so they won't shove and scratch at him in a blind panic like they had the first time. The floor that's already so discolored from rot and old dirt, you hardly even notice the blood stains. The fact that, despite the nauseating bloodlust that sometimes strikes him, Miles hasn't hurt the baby yet.
The fact that Corrigan's mark still remains. The fact that the pack can't feel them anymore. The knowledge that their agony and terror and devastation won't touch any of their lives.
Little things. Anything that keeps them anchored, keeps them from slipping into total ruinous insanity. Kurt has no other choice but to hold on to them like their life depends on it.
Even Miles' brisk, impatient scolding is a blessing. As frightened and tense as they are, it's so much better than his fist in their hair, his knife to their flesh, the sudden flood of sick excitement they feel through the link as he peels them open and tastes their blood. Kurt is more than happy to set the branch aside and rise up on their knees to face him, pressing in close, so close, slotting right into place between his legs, cold fingers deftly undoing his pants.
The pain left in the wake of removing Naseer's mark is unbearable even when they're stationary. Craning their neck and bobbing their head makes Kurt feel like they're truly dying, white hot flashes of pain shooting through their whole body, making their stomach churn. But they can take it. They have to. They lick their Alpha's unsheathing cock into their mouth, as they have done so many times before, and crane their neck and bob their head and service him as they're told.
There are rewards, too -- Kurt is fed, they're clothed, they're allowed to share Miles's home, his fire, his warmth. Occasionally his bed, though he really only lets them in there when he feels like napping while simultaneously warming his cock inside them. Miles overall prefers to fuck them on their hands and knees in front of the fire, or on the ground, amidst the grime and the blood and the rust, or in his chair, forcing them to ride his cock for hours, smacking their hip or ass or thigh whenever they slow down.
Most often, it's their mouth -- easiest, most straightforward, least amount of work on Miles's end. He can eat or sleep or, occasionally, read newspapers he picks up from one of the mountain towns. Usually he just stares into the firelight, face unreadable, only moving to grip Kurt's hair and hold them still when he releases down their throat.
He's more engaged now, though, paying more attention to their stilted, pained movements, the way they have to push past the pain of their flayed neck, the blood beginning to seep through the bandages from the repetitive movements. That's a bad sign, how intently Miles watches Kurt service him, how his hand slides slowly into their stringy, loose hair, gathering it away from their face.
"Hands behind you," he prompts, suddenly, cock thickening and twitching against Kurt's tongue.
It is a bad sign. Miles usually isn't this hands-on when they're sucking him off. Servicing him can take up the entire day sometimes, when they've done a good job with their chores and their Alpha wants to just sit by the fire and rest. Even then, he only touches them or engages with them at all when he's close to release.
But now, he's playing with their hair, easing it back, away from their face. He's talking to them, making demands. It's enough to make alarm bells go off in Kurt's mind. They gaze up at him, eyes haunted and sunken after almost a month of this, searching his face for any sign of what's about to happen to them. Searching for that glint he gets in his eye, that telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Despite the sudden dread settling in the pit of their stomach like an iron weight, Kurt does what they're told, their shaky hands going behind their back, fingers grasping their own wrists to keep them steady. The whole time, they don't stop bobbing their head, pushing through the pain, lips pursing around his cock, kissing the swell of his knot on every descent. They feel him twitching against their tongue, which they pulse against his hot flesh in return, exactly the way he likes it.
It's entirely possible that Miles is just tormenting them for the pleasure of it -- Kurt retreats too often into their own innermost thoughts, protects themselves by shutting down and becoming numb to the ways Miles tortures them. But still, when they can't anticipate what he's about to do to them, the fear is back, a particular shakiness to everything they do that even concentrated practice can't keep at bay.
So Miles slowly wraps their hair in his hand, the long, loose, limp curls tangled around his fingers, and he idly rocks his hips up into their mouth. "Such pretty hair. You are, really, so very pretty, Kurt. We'd been watching you for a long, long time, you know. All of us -- the whole pack, as it should've been. I had my own ideas for how to take you, that first time."
His free hand comes up to tug at the collar around their neck, fastened tight enough that he has to work to get his fingers under the metal. "My ideas were closer to this. I knew how tricky and conniving you humans could be. But Corrigan wanted to be gentler, wanted to woo you." Miles laughs, soft and breathy and smug. "And look where that got him. If he'd kept you chained to the bed like I'd wanted, he wouldn't have lost you."
If he truly does get off on their fear, he gets potent waves of it now, radiating from them. Every word out of his mouth is like poison. The thought of Miles being part of the pack at all is already incomprehensible to them, his cruelty and malice inherently incompatible with the tender, gentle, loving relationship the rest of the pack had with them, and with each other. But to think he was with them when they chose Kurt, when they watched the little human from afar and saw how miserable they were with their current life, how much better their life could be as the pack's chosen, cherished mate, is even worse.
To think he'd suggested to the pack—to Corrigan, Naseer, sweet Benji, who he'd already bullied enough—that a mate's place was in shackles... chained to the bed... just a thing to be used more than a part of the pack... It sickens them. That bottomless pit of dread in their stomach roils and churns.
His fingers make the collar go tight around their healing wounds, and Kurt whimpers, flinching around Miles' cock. They can feel the tears pressing, pain and sorrow and horror all rolled into one pulsating mess of emotions, threatening to spill over. Only the squeeze of fingers around their bruised wrists keep them in check, the only control they have. It's so frustrating. They don't want to be scared of him, they don't want him to know they're scared, they don't want to be here, and they're so hurt and furious that they have to be.
If not for the baby, they would've pulled away and told him as much. But they don't. They can't.
He does -- tangibly, cock hardening further against Kurt's tongue, pressing at the back of their throat. The corner of his mouth twitches, curves cruelly as the horror they can't hide in their wide, haunted eyes. "Always thought that, even back when it was Benji. That pup was so much more fun when he couldn't resist. Ever notice how fucking bleeding-heart Corrigan never pins him down the way he does you or the others?" Miles sneers, rocks his hips up hard, remembering that fight, him insisting that the whelp wasn't taking to his new role because the Alpha gave him too much damn freedom. He'd always been taught a pack's mate belonged either beneath a wolf or kept somewhere out of the way if not needed. He'd always convinced Benji to be tied down when it was just the two of them, had overridden the pup's fear and unease with everything from soothing words to threats. Corrigan had caught him, eventually, had nearly killed him for it. Weak. Spineless.
Glancing back down, Miles lets his hand drift over to his knife, always strapped at his hip, always ready, just in case. He keeps it with him unless he's asleep, in which case it's kept locked in a drawer, the key put high on the mantle, out of Kurt's reach, no matter how they strain to get it. "He was always so tender-hearted, Corrigan. He let the pack get away with too much -- all of them. Kai wouldn't have lasted a week under my leadership. Leo's as spineless as Corrigan is, and Naseer..." A scoff, a sharp sound as the knife is drawn free from the sheath. "Well, Naseer always got whatever he wanted. A Beta's meant to be subservient to the Alpha, not his equal. Not his friend."
A soft sigh, and Miles waves the knife around vaguely, free hand seizing a handful of Kurt's long, loose hair. Slowly, he begins to saw through the thick strands, idly, like he just wants something to do -- or he wants to scare them by having the knife out, so close. "That won't be how I run things, when we return. Which we will, once you deliver and recover. There's a town not far from here, where a woman owes me a favor. If Corrigan's brat isn't out of your belly in a week, she'll cut it out." All calmly, idly, unbothered, as Miles continues to roughly cut Kurt's hair.
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Date: 2023-11-12 04:53 am (UTC)Another shove forward, towards a small lean-to by the side of the road, one of many built for passing travelers to spend an hour or a night while their horses rest. It's little more than a smudgy firepit with a holey roof over top, but it'll do for the night. Miles gives Kurt one last rough push, this time to sit down in the ashes by the fireplace. "Hold still," he commands, pulling a length of rope from his belt and beginning to loop it around Kurt's ankles.
"A month's time, hm? That's not very far away." He lifts his eyes, cold and pale blue and immediately locking with Kurt's. "Can you feel them yet? Your link with the pup?" His hand is back on Kurt's rounded belly, smoothing back and forth. "It'll be there, already. They can feel you too, your fear, your joy. But they won't understand who their father is until they're born. Until they link with him."
A slow, curling, cruel smile. "With me."
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Date: 2023-11-12 02:14 pm (UTC)They offer no resistance as he ties their ankles together, only gathering their cloak tighter around their shoulder to ward off the cold. His words do give them pause though. Kurt does feel the baby. They're so small still, a far-away presence very close by, unable to signal thoughts of hopes or desires on their own yet, but Kurt knows deep in their core that they're there. They depend on them. They love them.
They will never know their real father. They will never know how wanted they were, how loved they were, long before they were ever born. Corrigan, beloved Corrigan, won't be there to witness the birth of his first child, to lock eyes with them for the first time and know, just as surely as Kurt does, that they love him.
The realization crushes them. "P-Please," they whimper, devastated, fighting through another wave of sobs rocking their little body. Their hands join Miles' on their stomach, fingers trembling over where the baby rests. They can't even delude themself that the pup is peacefully oblivious within them. While they can't comprehend the peril they're in, Kurt knows they can feel the sheer depth of their grief. That's not fair to them. None of this is. "Please... P-Promise me you'll take care of them. Miles, please, promise you'll treat them like your own," they beg, seeking the wolf's cruel gaze. The baby may never know the love of their real father, but they should at least be safe with the one who's pretending to be.
"They didn't do anything to d-deserve this. Please..."
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Date: 2023-11-12 11:25 pm (UTC)"Of course, of course," he soothes, stroking his thumb over their cheekbone, brushing away their tears. "That's what a true Alpha would do, hm? They'll be as good as mine once we meet. Even Corrigan would have to respect that." Miles reaches out with his free hand, the one he'd set on Kurt's stomach, reaching around to tug them forward, into his lap.
"Though I think he'll respect you carrying my pup even more so, don't you?" He nuzzles against their ear, whispers softly: "If you do everything I say, if you obey me without question, I'll take you with me when I conquer the pack." Miles lets this linger, a potential of reunion, of return to Corrigan and the others, even as the first prisoner of a usurper, an invader.
But then: "I'll let you choose what order I kill them in."
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Date: 2023-11-12 11:55 pm (UTC)Even now, knowing full well what he's done and what his plans are—taking them and their child, impregnating them, building a family only to use it against their old one—Kurt doesn't resist him as he pulls them close. Miles is repugnant and dangerous and so, so cruel, but he's there. He's a soothing hand and a warm breath and a soft voice, a strong firm body against their own. They shiver at the closeness, and they cannot pretend that none of it is with delight, however reluctant.
Except when his final suggestion is spoken. His final threat. The sob that escapes them shakes the walls of the flimsy lean-to. "P-Please, no," they cry, burying their face into his shoulder. Part of them is screaming to get away from him, push away and run, to somehow warn the others of what Miles is preparing to do. But even if their legs weren't tied at the ankles, they'd never make it anywhere. If he's already intent on killing his former pack, his family, surely the only thing stopping him from killing Kurt too is their continued compliance and obedience. Still, this... they can't accept this. "Sir, please, don't— d-don't hurt them, we don't have to hurt them, p-please— please..."
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Date: 2023-11-13 03:14 am (UTC)Pulling back, he cradles Kurt's chin in one hand, giving them a gently stern, almost paternal look. "That's a lot of responsibility. Do you think you can show me how good you can be? How you'll listen to what I say and not fight me?" He doesn't mean a word of it, he's going to do damn well whatever he pleases, but Kurt doesn't need to know that. They need that flicker of hope, that shred of possibility that Miles might not kill the others. Fear is a powerful motivator, but so is love.
So, leaning forward and kissing their forehead gently, Miles seemingly relents: "If you think you can, you need to show me. I'll build a fire, then you can begin proving it to me. I left your hands and mouth untied for a reason. Use them. Understand me?"
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Date: 2023-11-13 10:31 pm (UTC)The time it takes for Miles to get a fire going is just enough time for Kurt to compose themself, wipe their tears, calm their breathing. They have to do a good job at this. As much as they hate the thought of being intimate with Miles in any way—most of all willingly—it's a small price to pay for the pack's safety. If all it takes is to play the part of a loyal, obedient, dutiful wife, Kurt will give the performance of a lifetime.
Besides, they're very good at this. As soon as Miles is seated again, Kurt is curling up next to him, tucked against his side, trembling fingers undoing the buttons holding his trousers closed. They're admittedly a little clumsy, not used to dealing with clothes anymore, but it doesn't stop them from touching him all over, hands smoothing over his thighs and hips and stomach, palming encouragingly at his swelling sheath. "How— H-How do you like to be serviced, sir?" they ask from where they're resting their head on his lap, lips shakily parted less than an inch from where Miles' cock emerges. "Slowly? O-Or all at once?"
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Date: 2023-11-14 02:39 am (UTC)"I prefer," he began softly, almost tenderly, voice remaining just as gentle as he abruptly twisting his hand in their hair, yanking their head back hard, wrenching them up onto their knees. "If you keep that pretty mouth shut if I'm not fucking it. Understand?" Miles meets Kurt's eyes evenly, calmly, twisting his hand tighter and tighter, then shaking them a little to punctuate his final word.
Then: "Open, tongue out. Hold still. If I want you to talk, I'll ask you a question. If not, don't make a sound. Nod if you understand."
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Date: 2023-11-14 06:48 am (UTC)Not Miles. Miles barely wants to know they're there. Their fingers stiffen against his hips, his slick cock, they whimper with fright, but they don't fight him. He tells them not to make a sound, and they obey. He tells them to open their mouth, and they do just that, tongue out, wetting their chin, just as they're told. He doesn't tell them to relax their throat yet, but they still do, shivering, waiting for him.
Kurt's eyes well with tears as they hold his gaze, trying to wordlessly communicate their intent. They'll do better. They'll do everything he says. They're his, free to use, free to play with whenever he wants. They're so, so good at this. Let them prove it.
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Date: 2023-11-15 04:59 am (UTC)Corrigan's link had been the hardest to break, straining even now in the back of Miles's mind, strong enough to flare even through the shattered link they had once shared. It was horror, it was rage, it was confusion, still. But the real reason Miles had stopped, had allowed the exhausted horses and his exhausted captive some rest, was because Corrigan had realized, at last. The wolves had found the blood, had searched beyond the spot and found Miles's secret, hidden camp. They'd caught his scent at last, mixed with that of their terrified, bleeding mate, and they had understood -- Kurt had been taken, stolen, and Miles was responsible.
Miles had known it would happen, of course. It was an important part of the plan, realizing that he was the one to blame, and that he was willing to harm Kurt -- or their baby. They'd underestimated him once before, and would be more cautious in retaliating. They may not even search at all, fearful that Miles would sense them coming closer and punish their mate for it.
Corrigan was no fool. He'd be cautious, strategic. He'd deliberately close off whatever remained of their link. And he had. But not before sending through, in a silent, devastating force of emotion -- I'm going to fucking kill you.
The force of the mental message had rattled Miles, leaving him shaken, exhausted. They had enough of a head start that he felt find taking a momentary break. Not sleeping, but relieving tension some other way. He still had very specific plans for how he would fully enjoy Kurt's body -- like his former pack had for months now -- but there was no shame in using what he had to pass the time. The journey would be very boring if he didn't take full advantage of their well-trained mouth.
Like before, Miles's cool, neutral expression gives nothing away. He simply gathers Kurt's hair back in a tight, cold fist, knotted at the back of their skull, and pulls them forward, filling their mouth with his cock. There's a soft, pleased groan at the soft, slick heat, the way the human's throat tenses, then submits, lets him slide down it. "Look at me," he commands softly, forcing Kurt to gulp down his entire length. He's -- honestly he's by far the smallest of the pack, even more so than Benji, the youngest. Of course size isn't everything, but even when he was accepted by the others, he'd never been great at technique. He tended to be rough, businesslike, mindless, only wanting to get his cock sucked or top one of the others.
But he forces Kurt to hold it, to stay with his cock plunged down their throat, to look up at him and swallow around him and prove how good they could be.
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Date: 2023-11-15 10:08 pm (UTC)The human can't hide their feelings as well as he can. Being with the wolves has only made them more expressive, easier to read, seeing as they no longer had anything to fear from showing their emotions. So there's no hiding the pitiful shiver of delight as Miles' cock breaches their throat. It goes all the way down their spine to their twitching toes, fingers curling against his hips, their eyes reflexively growing hazy.
It doesn't matter that his cock is thoroughly unimpressive compared to what they're used to, nor that he lacks in any flair or technique. Kurt has done this so many times, their mouth so well-trained by now, that just the act of servicing him triggers a full-body pleasure response. Being pregnant and flooded with hormones doesn't exactly help. It's so unfair.
But they can still follow orders, uncrossing their eyes to look up at him when he commands it, those big devastating eyes welling with tears fixed on Miles' face through long eyelashes. They shudder, held firmly in place against his pelvis, throat working around his cock, fluttering, clenching, squeezing. As their lips and tongue twitch against him, Kurt can feel themself getting hard too, unfairly at the mercy of their oversensitive, well-conditioned body, so finely tuned to pleasure and pain.
Kurt never once fights him. Even as their lungs start to ache for air, they don't resist his grip or try to pull away. If what Miles wants is a quiet, submissive, obedient little breeding slave, that's what they'll be for him. Their own pathetic reflexive pleasure might even help sell the performance...
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Date: 2023-11-17 01:33 am (UTC)Still, he doesn't care. Their throat works around him, their tongue fluttering slightly, their big teary eyes fixed upwards. So obedient, so good. Miles doesn't give them any praise, but his hand softens minutely where it's knotted in their long, tangled hair. He even pulls them far enough off his cock that breathing is easier. His version of a reward.
But then he yanks them back, thrusting up hard enough that even his comparatively small length hits the back of Kurt's throat, slides back to block their air for another long, painful moment. He wants to taunt them about doing this for Corrigan, choking on his cock every night, but that silent threat is echoing still in his mind. So Miles stays silent, immovable, just focusing on fucking Kurt's throat hard and deep and punishing.
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Date: 2023-11-18 04:09 am (UTC)It feels awful. Kurt can't stop the choked whimpers and sobs of pain every time they're yanked back down on his cock, can't stop the tears from pouring down their face as he helps himself to their mouth, forcefully taking what he imagines he's earned. But it's nothing compared to the molten hot stab of shame at how their body reacts to being taken, being fucked. They're flushed and sweating. They're getting hard. Their body craves more. Like it doesn't matter who fucks them, as long as someone does.
It's a betrayal. Grotesque and deprived. Kurt shouldn't want this, shouldn't want him, but what else do they have? They try to reach out to Corrigan—their Alpha, their love—on sheer instinct, seeking his guidance and comfort and forgiveness, and they find nothing. There's only Miles.
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Date: 2023-11-19 02:00 am (UTC)Still, Kurt does have a pretty mouth, a mouth that knows exactly how to please a wolf, even when roughly used and not given much chance to do anything but kneel there and take it. Miles knows the little human's mind -- whatever they may be thinking about being used by their Alpha's greatest enemy -- is helpless in the face of their body's hormones, it's instincts. Kurt has been so conditioned to crave touch, no matter how rough, perfectly trained to service an entire pack all day, every day. In all his months of watching, Miles had rarely seen them without at least one of the wolves touching them, holding them, kissing them and -- most often -- fucking them. Being pregnant has only intensified this, as Kurt's body has become even more insatiable, more easily aroused, more sensitive and needy. It's a biological need, some believe, a way to ensure that the pack stays close to their vulnerable mate and protects them.
Even Miles's hardened instincts are touched by the pheromones Kurt is drowning the clearing with, compelling him to use them, stay close to them, keep them safe and protected. Granted, he doesn't care as much about their physical safety -- it's much more about keeping them away from Corrigan, under his control. He continues fucking their throat deep and steady, heedless of their choking, gasping sobs, scarcely allowing them to breathe.
And when they reach out, desperately, instinctively, Miles reaches back, drowns them in his own presence, his own power, entrapping them with scent and flesh and mind, beginning to overwrite the warmth of the pack with his own eerie, cold presence. "You know," he rasps, pumping into Kurt's throat and holding his cock there, in the convulsing, tight heat, massaged by their involuntary clutching muscles. "I don't think I like you calling me "sir" anymore..." He slides one hand to rest over the terrified, weeping little human's throat, squeezing slowly, wanting to feel them gag, hear them choke on his cock. "I think "Alpha" suits me much, much better. Don't you?"
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Date: 2023-11-19 01:57 pm (UTC)They can't breathe. His hand tightens around their throat, filled to bursting with his cock, leaving not a single crevice untouched by his malice. Gagging, choking, Kurt shudders violently as their thoughts get muddied, their vision blurs, lungs aching for air that won't come. Their convulsing throat only feels good around his cock, not once prompting an urge to pull away. He won't let them go. Miles won't let them go. Alpha won't...
No. Alpha would let them go, Alpha always let them go, always let them pull back to breathe, always let them rest when it finally became too much. Alpha would never hurt them like this. Alpha loves them. Kurt has to fight not to mix them up in their mind, not wanting to confuse Miles with Alpha, not wanting those thoughts to even touch.
But it's hard when they start losing control of their own thoughts, when they can feel themself starting to fade, when their struggling gets weaker and weaker. It's hard not to confuse them when they reach out again and again, reaching for Alpha to save them, to keep them safe, and they find only Miles, only Miles, Alpha, Miles, Alpha, Alpha, please...
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Date: 2023-11-20 05:01 am (UTC)"Good." It's a brief token approval, accompanied by another painful thrust down Kurt's throat, but at least the rhythm set is one where Miles pulls back each time, gives the terrified human a chance to inhale quickly through their nose. He thrusts up a few times, idly, gaze wandering over the fire and the dark, dark woods, like he's not really that invested.
Because he isn't. Because this is simply the first of many acts that will sever Kurt further from their pack and bind them inextricably to him instead. Miles cares more about that, the long term goal. It's that thought -- that and Kurt's silent, desperate begging -- which finally prompts him to climax, to release down Kurt's throat, holding them still for several moments as he pumps into their stomach. "Clean me up," he commands in that raspy, short tone. "Then go to sleep. We travel again at first light."
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Date: 2023-11-22 12:54 am (UTC)At least they remain good at this one thing. Being a loyal, eager mate. As they lick him clean and tuck his softening cock back in his pants, as they curl up beside him to cry themself to sleep, Kurt prays it will be enough to keep them and the baby safe.
Safety is, they quickly learn, relative. They're never safe from his threats, nor the back of his hand, nor the awful howling emptiness he floods their mind with when they don't do as he pleases. Any straying thought, any resistance to bowing to him as Alpha, is punished with a merciless denial of their link. Kurt didn't even know that was possible, to close a bonded pack member off like that, to leave them adrift in the cold and dark. It's a violence much worse than the strikes, the kicks and shoves, the tightly gripping fists. Kurt very quickly learns to obey.
Not that they can go anywhere. After what felt like days on the road, stopping for only hours at a time for a nap and a brisk fuck, Miles leads them inside a derelict cabin nestled partway up a mountain overlooking a human village to the north, and he never lets them leave. Their new home is dark, cold, dusty, the wood rotting and splintering, the windows caked in ancient grime. There's a constant musty smell they can never seem to get used to. There's always a draft coming from somewhere. When they're not sleeping or servicing their Alpha, Kurt tries to clean and maintain the cabin as best they can.
The chain is never quite long enough. From where it's bolted into the wall and fastened to the humiliating dog collar around their neck, it only lets them get partway into the cabin. Maybe fifteen feet before it goes taut. Enough for them to reach the wash basin and the fireplace and — most importantly — the bed. But not the door. Never the door.
There's that draft again. Kurt curls up tighter where they're sitting against the wall, hand absently smoothing over their stomach in silent apology to the baby. Bizarrely, they're grateful that Alpha makes them wear clothes now. It would be much too cold in here without the modest, protective layers of skirts and dresses and aprons. If they were allowed knitting needles, they would busy themself making clothes for the baby too. Kurt can only sit idle and stare into space, hoping and praying Miles will provide when the time comes.
Any day now. They stroke their stomach again, a fervent plea for forgiveness. This isn't the life Kurt had wanted for them.
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Date: 2023-11-23 06:18 am (UTC)This idea had only lasted until the afternoon of the second day on the road. Grimy and tired from another long series of hours spent pushing the panting, shivering horses past their limits, Miles had experienced a change of heart. Kurt was spoiled, ruined -- they didn't deserve the dignity and ceremony of a formal claiming. So he'd given them what they did deserve: his cock driving inside their ass as they waited on hands and knees by another miserable fire. He fucked them hard and quick and businesslike, then and ever after, each time they stopped to rest on the long, endless road through the woods. Miles would tug Kurt into his lap or spoon up behind them as they slept, dragging up their coarse skirts and plunging inside them for a handful of rough, silent moments.
And then they'd push forward again, day after day until the horses were near dead from exhaustion and the air took on the bitter chill of the climate near the mountains. Corrigan's territory was beautiful and temperate, closer to the coast, but Miles's cabin was far from that. It had only been a few weeks -- one of travel, the others settling into the cabin, training Kurt on their new duties -- and the air already had the bitter chill of winter, as opposed to the mellow early autumn they'd left behind.
Miles pushes open the door now, arms full of wood, sighing in a heavy, put-upon way. It's obviously a great trial for him, having to warm the miserable hovel they live in. He dumps the wood by the smoldering fire, then drops heavily into his chair -- the only chair. The rug in front of him is where Kurt usually stays, on their knees, either stoking the fire or servicing their Alpha. Now, gesturing vaguely at the coals, Miles grunts a short: "Well? Hurry up."
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Date: 2023-11-23 07:47 pm (UTC)They try to hold on to the little things. The low heat still eminating from the coals feels amazing against their freezing hands. The wood smells really nice, a tiny touch of the forest they miss so much within the stuffy confines of the cabin. They get to be useful, to do something, rather than sit around and wait all day. It doesn't matter how small or stupid it is. They'll cling onto any little thing that distracts them from contemplating the horror of their situation. If not, they'd go insane with grief.
Gently piling kindling and logs on top of each other, Kurt diligently stokes the coals with a branch–they're not allowed a proper fire iron–watching as the bark and wood shavings catch fire. They're getting better at this. Alpha got so upset with them the first couple of times when they couldn't get it going fast enough. Now, little flames are already licking the sides of the heavy logs, singing the wood, slowly engulfing them. Kurt glances up at Miles past their stringy bangs, silently asking if this is okay. If this helps. If they did good.
They just want to make their Alpha happy.
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Date: 2023-11-25 01:18 am (UTC)That's the other thing Kurt has to be mindful of, that cycle from calm to violence. Miles follows it as regularly as the moon, his calm neutrality slowly ebbing away, replaced with gradually escalating annoyance or frustration. It can be the smallest things -- a draft in the wall, a snap or pop from a bubble of sap bursting in the fireplace, a mildly singed potato in dinner. But suddenly he'll switch, go from absently impatient and blank to deadly.
When that happens, there's no way out but through. There's no stopping Miles when he gets that glint in his eye, reaches for his knife, drags Kurt over to the far corner by their hair and set about getting his frustrations out. The claiming marks had come first -- Miles had set the edge of his knife to the edge of one smooth, healed scar and slowly drug it over Kurt's pale skin, ignoring their cries of pain, ignoring their screams, focused entirely on flaying the evidence of the pack from their body. One at a time, he'd removed each mark, saving Corrigan's for the last.
It's still there, on Kurt's neck, surrounded by bandages covering the rest of their shredded flesh. A week has passed since Miles removed Naseer's mark, had licked his blade clean and let Kurt bleed for hours before deigning to doctor their wounds. But Corrigan's mark remains, until Miles decides it's time to carve it free. They know it's coming. He knows it's coming. The pressure has been building for days now, and each moment is one step closer to that inevitability.
Now, without even looking at the fire, Miles gestures vaguely at his groin, impatient. "What are you waiting for?" No approval for Kurt's starting the fire, no sign that they've done something right. Just a bored, passive demand for them to service him.
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Date: 2023-11-25 03:56 am (UTC)The fact that Corrigan's mark still remains. The fact that the pack can't feel them anymore. The knowledge that their agony and terror and devastation won't touch any of their lives.
Little things. Anything that keeps them anchored, keeps them from slipping into total ruinous insanity. Kurt has no other choice but to hold on to them like their life depends on it.
Even Miles' brisk, impatient scolding is a blessing. As frightened and tense as they are, it's so much better than his fist in their hair, his knife to their flesh, the sudden flood of sick excitement they feel through the link as he peels them open and tastes their blood. Kurt is more than happy to set the branch aside and rise up on their knees to face him, pressing in close, so close, slotting right into place between his legs, cold fingers deftly undoing his pants.
The pain left in the wake of removing Naseer's mark is unbearable even when they're stationary. Craning their neck and bobbing their head makes Kurt feel like they're truly dying, white hot flashes of pain shooting through their whole body, making their stomach churn. But they can take it. They have to. They lick their Alpha's unsheathing cock into their mouth, as they have done so many times before, and crane their neck and bob their head and service him as they're told.
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Date: 2023-11-26 12:23 am (UTC)Most often, it's their mouth -- easiest, most straightforward, least amount of work on Miles's end. He can eat or sleep or, occasionally, read newspapers he picks up from one of the mountain towns. Usually he just stares into the firelight, face unreadable, only moving to grip Kurt's hair and hold them still when he releases down their throat.
He's more engaged now, though, paying more attention to their stilted, pained movements, the way they have to push past the pain of their flayed neck, the blood beginning to seep through the bandages from the repetitive movements. That's a bad sign, how intently Miles watches Kurt service him, how his hand slides slowly into their stringy, loose hair, gathering it away from their face.
"Hands behind you," he prompts, suddenly, cock thickening and twitching against Kurt's tongue.
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Date: 2023-11-26 12:40 am (UTC)But now, he's playing with their hair, easing it back, away from their face. He's talking to them, making demands. It's enough to make alarm bells go off in Kurt's mind. They gaze up at him, eyes haunted and sunken after almost a month of this, searching his face for any sign of what's about to happen to them. Searching for that glint he gets in his eye, that telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Despite the sudden dread settling in the pit of their stomach like an iron weight, Kurt does what they're told, their shaky hands going behind their back, fingers grasping their own wrists to keep them steady. The whole time, they don't stop bobbing their head, pushing through the pain, lips pursing around his cock, kissing the swell of his knot on every descent. They feel him twitching against their tongue, which they pulse against his hot flesh in return, exactly the way he likes it.
Anything not to give him a reason.
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Date: 2023-11-26 09:33 pm (UTC)So Miles slowly wraps their hair in his hand, the long, loose, limp curls tangled around his fingers, and he idly rocks his hips up into their mouth. "Such pretty hair. You are, really, so very pretty, Kurt. We'd been watching you for a long, long time, you know. All of us -- the whole pack, as it should've been. I had my own ideas for how to take you, that first time."
His free hand comes up to tug at the collar around their neck, fastened tight enough that he has to work to get his fingers under the metal. "My ideas were closer to this. I knew how tricky and conniving you humans could be. But Corrigan wanted to be gentler, wanted to woo you." Miles laughs, soft and breathy and smug. "And look where that got him. If he'd kept you chained to the bed like I'd wanted, he wouldn't have lost you."
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Date: 2023-11-26 10:40 pm (UTC)To think he'd suggested to the pack—to Corrigan, Naseer, sweet Benji, who he'd already bullied enough—that a mate's place was in shackles... chained to the bed... just a thing to be used more than a part of the pack... It sickens them. That bottomless pit of dread in their stomach roils and churns.
His fingers make the collar go tight around their healing wounds, and Kurt whimpers, flinching around Miles' cock. They can feel the tears pressing, pain and sorrow and horror all rolled into one pulsating mess of emotions, threatening to spill over. Only the squeeze of fingers around their bruised wrists keep them in check, the only control they have. It's so frustrating. They don't want to be scared of him, they don't want him to know they're scared, they don't want to be here, and they're so hurt and furious that they have to be.
If not for the baby, they would've pulled away and told him as much. But they don't. They can't.
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Date: 2023-11-29 03:32 am (UTC)Glancing back down, Miles lets his hand drift over to his knife, always strapped at his hip, always ready, just in case. He keeps it with him unless he's asleep, in which case it's kept locked in a drawer, the key put high on the mantle, out of Kurt's reach, no matter how they strain to get it. "He was always so tender-hearted, Corrigan. He let the pack get away with too much -- all of them. Kai wouldn't have lasted a week under my leadership. Leo's as spineless as Corrigan is, and Naseer..." A scoff, a sharp sound as the knife is drawn free from the sheath. "Well, Naseer always got whatever he wanted. A Beta's meant to be subservient to the Alpha, not his equal. Not his friend."
A soft sigh, and Miles waves the knife around vaguely, free hand seizing a handful of Kurt's long, loose hair. Slowly, he begins to saw through the thick strands, idly, like he just wants something to do -- or he wants to scare them by having the knife out, so close. "That won't be how I run things, when we return. Which we will, once you deliver and recover. There's a town not far from here, where a woman owes me a favor. If Corrigan's brat isn't out of your belly in a week, she'll cut it out." All calmly, idly, unbothered, as Miles continues to roughly cut Kurt's hair.
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From:now that i am FREE from the HOLIDAYS AT LAST
From:FREEDOM!!!
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