manincharge | oh, take me back to the start

Corrigan Molloy isn't usually the type to go out cruising. He doesn't need to, not in his line of work. No, not the official, above-the-table work he puts on resumes and business cards and LinkedIn and all that -- real estate, especially on the East Coast, is not a very reliable way to meet people. It's been lucrative, especially in the wake of several economic collapses, especially with his uncanny ability to predict the fluctuations in trends and capitalize on them. The long and short of it is that Corrigan doesn't have to worry about money, and hasn't had to for a long time.

Generally, due to the under-the-table side of his work, he doesn't have to worry about companionship either. It's been almost ten years since an acquaintance of his (Solstice, who would indignantly declare herself his "best friend", which is ludicrous) had partnered with him on the Hotel. An amorphous, vague name for what was now one of the most reputable sex work locations in the city. She'd handled the marketing, the licenses and the testing and the recruiting, he'd handled the location -- a newly-purchased six-story hotel, modest and unassuming on the outside, redone in lush aristocracy on the inside -- and the funding. It had paid off tenfold in the past decade, himself and Solly taking cuts of the earnings and insuring that the workers were protected, regularly tested and able to pick and choose clients. The world's oldest profession, in the digital era.

As the manager and owner of the Hotel, Corrigan wasn't necessarily needed to work -- he easily could've cloistered himself in his penthouse suite, maintaining his properties in Massachusetts or Vermont or overseas and never even acknowledged what was going on in the floors below. But every so often there was a potential client who reached out, via the discreet, hard-to-find website, or through word of mouth, who wanted something a little more...intense than the straightforward, vanilla experience. And, once Solstice had screened them vigorously to insure that no, they weren't wanting something akin to that godawful 50 shades of whatever book, Corrigan was occasionally inclined to step up, to shift into the Dom persona he'd lived almost full-time in when he was much younger, when kink in general -- much less between men -- was a rarity, hidden in secret clubs and private parties. Back in those days, he'd even had a series of fulltime submissives -- one of whom he was still Facebook friends with, actually -- though none had lasted more than a couple months.

You're so intense, Corry, had always been their ultimate, apologetic explanation for wanting to end the relationship. Not in a bad way, just...it's not what I'm looking for permanently. And of course, he'd always understood, knowing that his personality -- bossy, domineering, able to fill a room with his presence, but intensely focused, doting and attentive on whoever he was with -- could be a lot. Too much, maybe, for any one person. Maybe it was better to keep things sex-only.

And so: there he was, lingering outside a nightclub, pulsing with energy and neon and music, hands in his pockets, debating whether to go inside. None of his doubts showed on his face, though, long accustomed to hiding his emotions under a brooding, impassive mask. It was a gay club, which was technically not exactly what he was -- "pansexual, but male-leaning", Solstice had helpfully deemed him, which had gotten a baffled look as Corrigan thought immediately of cookware -- but it definitely fit what he was looking for. His last four customers, over the past six or so months, had all been women. That damn 50 Shades book was an insidious piece of shit.

Corrigan huffs out a thoughtful, grumbling sound, stepping around to the corner by the club and pulling out his cigarettes. He'd smoke a little, debate if he actually wanted to go inside and go through the song and dance (literally) of finding someone to go home with. Maybe he'd just give it up, pour himself inside a taxi and go home. Catch up on 90-Day Fiance or something.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

manincharge

Corrigan waits, quiet and patient, sipping his champagne through that initial bristly reaction, smiling against the rim of the glass as Kurt relaxes back into his touch. Like a wary cat, hissing for the show of it, then melting under the slightest hint of affection. Like he'd known he would. Automatically, as an unspoken sort of reward for the relaxation, Corrigan smooths his thumb over a knot of tension where neck and shoulder meet, coaxing it loose.

The response makes him chuckle, a low rumble of sound. "I don't tend to enjoy doing things on the fly, if that's what you're asking." Another slow, measured sip. "I had plans in mind for you the moment I saw you."

He shifts a little, so he can look down at Kurt, dark eyes raking over him once again, slower than before, taking his time. "The real question is, do you plan on trusting that I know what's best and I'm going to give you a night to remember? And let me take care of the rest?"

It's a risky proposition -- let me, a complete stranger, do exactly what I want to you, no questions asked. Then again, it's a risky decision to get in a car with a total stranger, bound for an unknown destination, but here Kurt is. Maybe risky is what he's looking for.

From:

makingculture

"Really?" Hearing Corrigan say that lights a fire in Kurt's gut as he sits there, slowly drinking champagne in the dark backseat of an expensive car, shivering softly against the thumb rubbing loose that spot of tension low on his neck. He had plans in mind for him? That's probably not true. That's probably just something Corrigan says to impress him, to make him think he's got more up his sleeve than money and a big dick and half an hour if he paces himself.

But despite himself, Kurt finds himself infuriatingly, excruciatingly curious. Now he has to know what the stranger means.

Corrigan shifts to look at him, and Kurt meets his eyes head-on, chin still held high - although there's a waver in his gaze now that wasn't there before. A softening, his ice front eased by Corrigan's big hand and coaxing touch rewarding his compliance and those dark, hungry eyes raking over every inch of his body like he wants to devour him right there. "I-I do," he finds himself saying without really thinking, melting under those eyes, his pulse fluttering in his throat, in his ears, louder than the thrum of the engine and the sound of his own voice when he agrees to the terms.

"I will, I--" Kurt swallows, feeling hot and tingly all over. It seems risky is absolutely what he's looking for. "I trust you will." Should I be?

From:

manincharge

To be completely fair, Corrigan also has money and a big dick. But that's besides the point. The question get a soft, humming sound, and, matter-of-factly: "If I didn't have plans for you, you wouldn't be here right now, Kurt."

That said, he finishes his champagne in a couple slow, measured swallows, then sets the glass aside, safely out of the way. Then he slides along the seat, taking Kurt's glass without a word -- time enough for champagne later. Right now he's rather more preoccupied with reaching out, curling his fingers around the loose ends of the silky scarf, drawing them free of where they'd been neatly tucked away and tugging once, hard enough to pull Kurt close to him.

"Good boy." It's soft, just shy of purring, and it should be insulting. But Corrigan says it like it's the height of praise, like it's the most lavish of compliments, and he follows up by twining the scarf around his hand and pulling Kurt into his lap, right there in the back of the towncar, leaning in close enough that his next words are tangible against the younger man's mouth. "Do you know what a safeword is?"

From:

makingculture

Those hands are back at his scarf, pulling the ends loose, before tugging on them, forcefully yanking the young man close, so close, a sharp gasp coming from him. That almost hurt. It doesn't make sense that Kurt would feel his pants getting tighter, that he'd feel like he was on fire all over with need, but that's all he can feel.

And the praise. The praise hits him in a part of his gut he absolutely wasn't expecting it to.

Kurt slips easily into Corrigan's lap, lead without hesitation by the scarf wound around the man's strong fist, Kurt's own hands hesitating before settling on his shoulders. He doesn't have the vocabulary for what's happening to him right now, doesn't know what a safeword is - although he can guess based just on the name, he shakes his head just to be safe - but he's starting to feel like he doesn't quite have the autonomy to help himself to Corrigan's body anymore.

Doesn't have permission yet. Kurt trembles, eyes wide with anticipation as he waits for Corrigan to explain, to fill in the gaps for him.

From:

manincharge

Settling back against the seat, Corrigan keeps one hand knotted in the scarf, the other moving to rest at Kurt's lower back, smoothing up and down the line of his spine, almost mindlessly, like petting a startled, wary animal. He can feel the tension, the curiosity mixed with fear, and it's as intoxicating now as it's always been -- perhaps even more so, colored with Kurt's youth and inexperience and the obvious way he's being effected by even this slight bit of dominance.

It's both amusing and concerning -- what if someone else had gotten to him first, what if it hadn't been Corrigan who picked him up off the street and took him home? The thought wouldn't normally cause any distress, since this is supposed to be a one-night stand. Until a few minutes ago, Corrigan had been prepared for it to be straightforward, simple, an hour or so to pass the time. But that was before the tiniest bit of praise had Kurt shivering in his lap, wide-eyed and eager. That was before Corrigan had the urge to put his mark all over the young man, make it so clear that nobody else would dare touch him, ever.

He pushes the thought away, shuts it down, focuses instead on the way Kurt shifts in his lap, on the trembling, breathless look on his pretty face, on his eyes, wide and eager and curious. Corrigan pulls him a little closer, tightens his grip on the scarf, wanting to hear his breath catch, see his face flush deeper. "It's a word you use when you're being pushed too far, when you need a break, or to slow down or stop what's happening. It's -- important to make sure you know it and I know it, before we go any further."

This is, of course, very simplistic as explanations go, barely scratching the surface of the intricate power dynamics that Corrigan enjoys. But he wants this last point to be heard and understood, looking up into Kurt's eyes with solemnity. "It means that no matter what is happening, no matter how much I seem to be enjoying myself, if you need to stop, if you don't want it anymore, our agreement is that you say that word and I stop. No matter what." He arches both eyebrows. "Understand?"

From:

makingculture

Kurt feels almost sick with anticipation as he listens to Corrigan explain, laying out the rules that should have been obvious to him just from the name - safe word, to keep him safe, both of them safe, naturally. If Corrigan likes playing with dominance, with pain, expects Kurt to follow, to do as he says, having a code word makes perfect sense.

What doesn't make sense is just how easily Kurt slips into a state of deference, finding himself wanting to do as the man says. Usually it's Kurt who takes charge in the bedroom, bottoming only occasionally, and even then he's bossy about it, not one to be cowed by anyone. Not anymore. So why does this feel so good? So natural?

There's something about this man. How steely and strong he is, how he carries himself with an air of complete control, how he has such a chokehold on Kurt - as literal as metaphorical - and how safe that makes him feel, even in such a vulnerable position. He can feel his spine tingling as the scarf tightens around his neck, breath catching in his throat. He wants to feel more. "Yes," he gasps, nodding eagerly, fingers tightening in Corrigan's suit jacket. "Yes, I understand. I--"

What's a good safe word? Kurt doesn't know the protocol. Probably something he wouldn't otherwise say during sex, right? Nothing too long, too confusing, too hard to say... "Um... Would-- Would 'scarlet' work? Is that okay?"

From:

manincharge

That's always been Corrigan's favorite part about the intricate dance if dominance and submission-- not just the sex, though that part is always pleasant, of course. It's watching the layers peel away, all those walls that people put up in their day to day life crumbling until all that's left is pure wanting, pure desire and pleasure and delight. It's watching that and knowing it's because of him.

Corrigan huffs out a little laugh, letting the scarf loose in favor of reaching up, cradling Kurt's chin in his hand, thumbing over his lower lip. "That works fine. "Red" is the traditional one, but I suppose you like the finer things in life, hm?" He leans in, acting like he's going to finally do more than vague, ghosting touches, like he's going to kiss Kurt breathless like he's been teasing this whole time -- but that is, of course, right when the town car pulls to a stop.

Figures. Corrigan looks mildly perturbed, but doesn't say anything, just strokes over the shape of Kurt's lower lip once more and then eases him off his lap. "Here we are," he offers, unnecessarily, opening the door and sliding out.

From the outside, the building id unassuming, even shabby, just a six-story grayish building among many other grayish buildings, without so much as a sign or a doorman to distinguish itself. The windows are tinted, and there's a keypad by the door, making it seem like perhaps a middle-class apartment building. Hardly in keeping with the tone set by the town car and champagne.

From:

makingculture

Kurt blushes bright red - or scarlet, he supposes - when Corrigan teases him over his choice of safe word. He does like the finer things in life, of course, anyone with eyes in their heads can surmise as much. But this man thumbing his lip, leaning in to ghost his breath over his waiting mouth, has an almost preternatural way of getting under his skin.

He lets out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when the car comes to a stop, and Corrigan eases him off his lap, denying him the surely intense kiss he so badly wanted. Yet more anticipation to rub his nerves raw.

The building isn't what he'd expected - although what he'd been expecting, he's not totally sure. Maybe something like the Ritz, luxurious exterior, gilded accents, carved decor, something distinguished and quintessentially wealthy New York. It certainly looks better than Kurt's Bushwick apartment building. But only slightly.

"This is where you live?" he asks softly, tone carefully neutral as he tucks his scarf back into his dress shirt, wanting to cover up as much as possible when potentially in view of anyone else but Corrigan.

From:

manincharge

As far as reactions go, that's a very neutrally tactful one, but Corrigan can easily assume that the outward view of the building doesn't inspire much confidence. That's on purpose, of course -- avoiding too much unsolicited attention is more or less his goal. Still, it serves the purpose of getting a bemused half-smile from Corrigan as he steps closer, arm going back around Kurt's waist to guide him to the door. "It is, yes. I own the building."

There's a note of obvious pride in Corrigan's voice, which makes much more sense once he's punched a code into the keypad and the door has unlocked. There's a rush of warmth and the soft sound of music that immediately issues forth from the open door, as Corrigan escorts Kurt inside. The foyer is understated, but beautifully tasteful and spotless, a gleaming reception desk to one side, a waiting area with fireplace and seating, and a glimpse of what looks like a bar to the other side. There are a few people milling about, mostly couples, sitting close together in a loveseat or walking arm-in-arm to the two shining elevators just past the desk. Corrigan spares a quick glance around and silently exhales in relief when there's no sign of neon pink dreadlocks. He'd texted Solstice and asked her to run some mundane errand during the ride over, simply because if anyone could spook Kurt into turning and running, it was her. Better to save that introduction for the morning after.

There's a noticeable shift in the atmosphere when Corrigan steps inside -- everyone there seems to sit up and take notice, glancing over with either furtive smiles or subtle nods. A few of the more lavishly dressed individuals, all of them draped over their business-suit-clad companions, wave or blow kisses, even. Corrigan nods politely in return, then glances over at Kurt to take in his reaction. "I could mention something about books and covers now, but that would be somewhat redundant, hm?"

From:

makingculture

Something about books and covers indeed.

Kurt's eyes are wide with wonder when they step into the warmth of the lobby, trying to take everything in without looking so much like the most lost virgin on planet Earth. It only takes one look at a breathtakingly attractive twenty-something draped over the arm of what looks like a local politician for Kurt to connect the dots that he currently finds himself in a brothel. It may look like the clean, tasteful lobby of a hotel, complete with the warm comfort of a seating area and a bar perfect for mingling off to the side, but every way to Sunday, this is a brothel.

"Y-Yeah, wow, no kiddin', huh?" Kurt doesn't sound upset, really, more stunned and surprised than anything else. Anything that could make Kurt sound that midwestern can't be all that bad, right? His jaw has gone a little slack as he looks around, returning the playfully flirty wave of a young woman with bright red curls sprawled out on the chaise longue by the fireplace, grinning at the sight of the two men who just came in the door. She looks like she would eat Kurt for breakfast if given the chance.

Leaning in a little closer to Corrigan, the absurdity of his situation completely wiping away the desperate submission of moments before, Kurt asks through the side of his mouth: "I don't mean to be a stick in the mud, but i-is this legal?"

From:

manincharge

It's that comment, mumbled and quintessentially midwestern that actually catches Corrigan off-guard for the first time all evening. He actually stares at Kurt for a long moment, eyebrows arched at this unexpected show of genuine, casseroles-and-corn-fields midwest good-ol'-boy lingo. Iowa or Ohio, maybe Illinois, but nowhere near Chicago. Fascinating. He'd known Kurt wasn't from New York, but he hadn't expected such a small-town backstory.

Fortunately Ginger is distracting Kurt enough that Corrigan's slip goes unnoticed, and he recovers in time to give her a scowl over the top of the younger man's head. True to form, she just grins, toothy and bemused and returns her attention to her phone. Probably texting Solly, the traitor. Nobody respects him in this house.

Clearing his throat, Corrigan tucks his arm a little firmer around Kurt's waist, bypassing a few more patrons -- an older man with a truly stupendous mustache gazing at his younger, magazine-pretty male companion, a woman in a long evening gown escorted by a beauty with short-cropped silvery hair -- on his way to the elevators. "You mean, am I leading you into a situation that's going to end with the police raiding us at 3am? I certainly hope not, I just got those chairs reupholstered, and a police raid would definitely ruin the ambiance."

Smirking, he pushes the up button, fishing his room card out of his back pocket. "But yes, on paper this is simply a very expensive hotel with...extremely friendly staff." Corrigan huffs out a weary sigh, tapping his foot with mild impatience. "Ironically, if everything that went on here was filmed and edited to ambient jazz, then put online, it'd all be legal, but because it's private, it becomes illicit." A pause, then he glances down at Kurt, eyebrows arched. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

From:

makingculture

Corrigan pulls him closer, holds him against his muscled side more firmly, with intention, reminding him with sudden clarity why they're here. It's enough for Kurt to snap back into reality, a delighted shiver running through him on the short walk to the elevator past even more attractive people and their clients. Not only is he going to sleep with an insanely attractive and intensely dominating man, he's going to sleep with the boss of an exclusive, seemingly expensive brothel. He owns the building, right? So it stands to reason he owns at least part of the business too.

Kurt wouldn't dare assert that Corrigan sleeps with his employees. That's inappropriate of him, he's not educated enough on sex work to comprehend the ethics of that. But there's a possibility that he could have any single one of these stunningly gorgeous people in his bed at any given time. And still, he wanted to bring Kurt home with him.

"Oh, n-no. No, I..." Kurt trails off, scanning his eyes over the room again as they wait for the elevator, nervous fingers playing with the hem of his scarf. "I mean, everyone looks really healthy and happy to be here." Some maybe a little too happy - that redhead keeps shooting piercing glances at the two of them before going back to texting someone really intensely, nails clacking against the phone screen, making Kurt feel like there's a joke here he's not in on. But while it does make him blush a little, he doesn't take offense.

When he looks back up at the man, he offers a little shrug. Kurt is definitely cool and not a lame narc. "I have no problem with friendly staff."

From:

manincharge

Goddammit, Ginger. Corrigan can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket -- Solstice, likely, demanding an explanation. He slips his free hand down to turn the device off. Let her wonder, for one night, and grill him in the morning. Right now, Corriganhas other things to occupy his attention.

He allows himself an affectionate nuzzle against Kurt's temple, intimate but not too demonstrative, not with an audience. Corrigan is many things, but he's not super into voyeurism. He doesn't want to share Kurt with anyone. A touch of this possessive line of thought creeps into his voice as he murmurs: "Good, because I'd find it very difficult to let you go now."

The elevator doors slide open, finally, letting out a few more of the hotel's employees, on their way to meet customers in the bar -- or to catch a glimpse of the boss's new toy. Corrigan ignores them, guiding Kurt into the elevator and hooking his fingers into the younger man's belt loops to drag him close, chest-to-chest. "We can discuss business practices later. I believe we were having a much more interesting conversation, in the car?" His gaze flickers down, lingering on Kurt's mouth. "Did you have...any other questions?"

From:

makingculture

That little nuzzle, barely there, along with the innocuous words murmured in a low tone, has such a profound effect on Kurt it's impossible to deny. He feels Corrigan's voice all the way down his spine, a tickle almost, his cheeks flushing hot and red at the confirmation that this gorgeous man wants him. That it would be hard to let him go.

He'll have to pick some other time to unpack just how badly he needed to hear that, and how distressing a realization that is. For now he's pulled into an elevator and against Corrigan's chest with a gasp, his hands catching himself on the man's tight muscled stomach, fingers unconsciously spreading out and feeling his body now that it's right in front of him. This is a much more pressing matter.

"Um..." Kurt tries to think past the fog of wanting in his brain, but he's just not well versed enough in the field to really know what to ask for. Most of his concerns are answered by the established safe word - will you hurt me, will I have to do something I don't want to - so he can only really think of the one thought he had back in the car, before the start of their much more interesting conversation:

"What do I call you?" he asks, eyes wide when he looks up at him, the elevator doors slowly sliding shut behind them. His fingertips curl into Corrigan's shirt. "I'm assuming I'm not on a first name basis."

From:

manincharge

The blush looks even better now, on the relative privacy of the elevator, than it had in the dimly lit back of the car. Corrigan keeps one hand at Kurt's waist, lifts the other to ghost over the heat coming from his red cheek, then tucks a loose strand of hair back in place.

Truthfully, he wouldn't have minded too much if Kurt had called him by name, though it definitely helps with setting the scene for that to be off-limits. So Corrigan nods, reaches to press the button for the penthouse.

"You assume correctly. But I'll let you pick. Usually it's some variation on Sir, Master, Daddy, the like." A dismissive hand; it's about the tone and context, rather than the word itself. Though he's fairly sure hearing any of those words in that soft, high, breathy voice would be pleasant.

From:

makingculture

Kurt closes his eyes and leans into that whisper of a touch to his cheek, gently rubbing against his fingers, making shivers run up and down his back. He really badly needs to be out of these clothes and have Corrigan touch him for real.

The elevator starts moving, and Kurt mulls over his choice while his fingers caress Corrigan's stomach, his chest, not daring to touch anywhere else for now. Master sounds a little final and intense for a one night stand. Daddy is hot, he supposes, but kinda just makes him sad for some reason.

"I like sir." Respectful, deferential, appropriate for a working professional as well as a Dom. Kurt licks his lips, looking for signs of approval on Corrigan's face. "If that's alright with you."

Almost as soon as the word solidifies in his mind, Kurt is surprised by how much smaller it makes him feel immediately. Calling someone sir, like he's beneath them. It makes his breath come out hotter, pulse picking up, body leaning in closer to Corrigan's. "I really want to kiss you, sir. Really badly."

From:

manincharge

"Mmm, it'll do." Corrigan says it vaguely, focused instead in the flutter of Kurt's pulse in his throat, the curl of those long fingers against crisply ironed fabric, the unbridled want in those eyes. The older man strokes his thumb back over the sharp edge of Kurt's cheekbone -- young, yes, but far past the youthful roundness that had likely been there in earlier years. Now Kurt's all angles, lean and tensely coiled, holding himself together with perfect control.

Corrigan wants to take that apart, take him apart, release the pent-up heat he can sense burning just under the surface. He cups Kurt's chin, tilts his face up, leans in -- and stops.

There's a low, darkly predatory note in his voice when he replies: "I know you do. But we're not doing what you want. Not unless you get much, much better at asking for permission."

From:

makingculture

Kurt isn't sure how to feel about Corrigan's vague, not-really-a-response to his question, but ultimately decides not to pay too much attention to it because the dark wanting in his eyes more than makes up for it. The brush of his thumb over his cheek, right under his eye, makes Kurt feel like he's coming apart with anticipation, tripping over himself to feel him, to please him, to earn more than vague, not-really-responses.

There's no hiding the little whimper in his throat when Corrigan stops just shy of kissing him, the way his brows bunch up, the confused and hurt look in those big, stormy eyes when he's told they're not doing what he wants, that he needs to do much better than that.

Oh. Oh, that doesn't feel good at all. His belly goes all tight, shoulders tensing up, flushing hot all over with... what is that, disappointment? Shame? Why is he feeling that? And god, why does it make him all the more aware of just how aroused he is, how tight his pants are at the front? He doesn't know. What he does know is that he doesn't want to give the other man a reason to chastise him again.

"I-- I'm sorry, sir. I don't..." Corrigan won't like excuses like I don't know how, he guesses. Kurt swallows, trying to work through the shame and do better. How do you ask for permission again? Kurt feels completely clueless. "P-Please, sir?" Wow, what an effort, truly. "Please, I want to kiss you so badly. There's nothing I want more, sir. I-- I'll do anything, sir, please."

From:

manincharge

The truly unfortunate thing (for Kurt, at least) is that he's desperately pretty when he's been chastised -- those big sad eyes, the visible trembling, the earnest, stammering pleas of someone who's so unused to begging for anything. Corrigan feels the curl of warm, smug triumph low in his gut, wondering how easy it would be to make Kurt beg for anything, everything, how far he'd go to prove that he was worthy of a kiss, a touch.

But he reins it in, reminds himself that as far as he knows, this is the first step outside of the safe, predictable realm of vanilla sex that Kurt's ever taken. If he comes on too strong, it'll be the last. So, as the elevator comes to a stop on the top floor, Corrigan lets both hands come to rest on either side of Kurt's face, ducking to give him what he's asked so nicely for, kissing him slow and sweet. It's an end-of-the-movie kind of kiss, the kind where the violins soar and the closing credits roll right after, long and lingering. The elevator door very nearly closes again while he's in the midst of it.

Corrigan pulls away, though he pauses long enough to tug Kurt's lower lip into his mouth and bite, suddenly sharp, enough that he tastes the coppery tang of blood. Then he pulls away, looking very satisfied with himself. "Like that?" he says, casually, like he has no idea of the effect he has.

From:

makingculture

Kurt will soon come to find that begging is an acquired skill, one he will get much better at much faster than he thinks, one he will work to perfect for months and years to come under the watchful guidance of one Corrigan Molloy. But for now, his innocent first attempt at asking so nicely is rewarded by the man leaning in and finally, after all that excruciating teasing, kissing him breathless.

It feels like a fairytale kiss - a naughty one, sure, one that promises sex beyond what Kurt can begin to imagine, but it's so slow and deep and hot, those big hands cradling his face as they stand there for what feels like forever, bodies pressed so close together as they kiss. Kurt thinks this could last forever and he'd be perfectly fine with it. Corrigan's lips are so soft.

He feels dazed when the older man pulls away, eyes heavy and hooded, his whole body so nice and warm and eager for more, that the last thing he expects is being bitten. Kurt cries out, flinches away, a hand coming up to delicately touch the offended lip. Popped right open, a shallow straight line of exposed flesh, the taste of blood acrid and harsh and hot as it seeps into his mouth, like sucking on pennies. It hurts.

It doesn't make sense, then, that he feels good all over. His pupils are blown wide open when he looks up at Corrigan, cheeks flushed, breath coming out in short, hot bursts. He feels it rippling through his body, little waves of shivery pleasure, every unconscious touch of his tongue to the wound making him feel hot and dizzy. "Y-Yes, sir," is the soft reply from a boy who doesn't know what's happening to him, but who knows he wants more. "Th-Thank you."

From:

manincharge

Kurt is too hard on himself-- there's potential there, unformed and raw with emotion, but unmistakable. The way he shivers all over, gaze hot and needy, the near-reverent way he traces the new wound on his lip, the clear desperation for more are all things that can't be taught. Damn, Corrigan's instincts are good.

He smirks, obnoxiously pleased with himself, cradling Kurt's chin in one big hand, thumbing his lip down and watching blood bead up where he'd been bitten. "Yeah, you like that. Feels good, huh." It's a statement, not a question.

Still tasting the bright tang of blood, Corrigan's patience is wearing thin. He wants Kurt naked and begging in his bed ten minutes ago. The arm he tucks around the young man's waist is much more possessive and directing than it had been downstairs, steering him to the door marked "penthouse".

Once there, though, he stops long enough to pin Kurt against the polished wood, back to Corrigan's front. The older man's voice is low, growling as he grinds forward, against Kurt ass, letting him feel how hard he is. "See what you're doing to me?" He breathes into Kurt's hair. "I almost took you right there in the foyer, right in front of everyone." A lie; he doesn't like sharing. But the thought is hot, in it's way, of being so inflamed with lust that he doesn't care who sees them.

Another of those nuzzling, almost sweet kisses to Kurt's temple and one last rolling movement of his hips and Corrigan reins it in. Almost there. He exhales, opens the door and nudges Kurt inside. "Undress. I'm tired of waiting."

From:

makingculture

God, that's so hot. The man pressing down on his lip, inspecting his work, making Kurt gasp and whine and nod pitifully in agreement as blood swells from the wound is devastatingly hot in a way he hadn't been prepared for. He does like that, it does feel good, and being told that so plainly makes him feel shivery and weak. He can feel his knees buckling, his pants so tight it's unbearable, the taste of blood making him feel dizzy and faint yet somehow more awake and rearing to go than ever.

Like when he's lead down the hallway and pressed against the door and Corrigan starts grinding against him, letting him feel just how big and hard he is against his ass, making Kurt cry out with pleasure, feeling like he's going to pass out with need. It feels so good to be wanted so badly that Corrigan, who surely could have anyone in the world, would have fucked him in the foyer for the whole world to see, just because he couldn't stand waiting.

The Kurt in the foyer would have balked at the idea. The Kurt being nudged through the door of the penthouse suite, knees wobbly and lip still sluggishly bleeding, wouldn't object to the idea for long.

"Y-Yes, sir, of course," he whines softly, taking a few more stumbling steps into the penthouse without really looking, too focused on undoing the buttons of his loudly patterned shirt. It and the scarf are shed almost immediately and dropped to the floor, not paying a single mind to the sorry state the garments will be in come morning. He just barrels ahead, toeing out of his shoes while unbuckling his belt, shoving pants and underwear off his body in one sweeping motion, socks coming off last, leaving him completely bare.

He's pale all over, skin soft and hairless, the flush of pink over his cheeks and nose extending down his neck, over his shoulders and chest, rising and falling with every hot labored breath. His body is attractive and strong, muscles lightly toned, filling out his chest and his thighs without bulk. He's so hard, trembling with need, eyes big and needy as they seek out Corrigan's, wordlessly pleading for touch, for guidance, for approval, for more.

From:

manincharge

Corrigan's fairly certain that there will be some indignation on Kurt's part when the heat and urgency passes and he's left realizing how irrevocably wrinkled all his clothes are. But there's time for that later -- time for showing off the luxurious penthouse and all it's amenities. For now, all Corrigan cares about is shrugging off his jacket and shoes, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, showing just a hint of golden, toned skin. He pulls off his belt, pausing enough to press the heel of his hand against where he's achingly hard at the sight of Kurt naked and pale and shivering.

The belt gets dropped into the tangle of clothes on the floor and Corrigan crosses the space between them in mere steps, reaching out to slide his hands over Kurt's sides, up and down his bare back, pulling him close and satisfying his need to see if the younger man is that toned and lean everywhere. The answer is: yes, mostly, except for that ass that's been tormenting Corrigan since the alley, which he grabs at possessively, gripping hard enough to bruise.

"Fuckin' gorgeous," he growls appreciatively against Kurt's neck, following the words with his mouth, tongue and teeth digging into the tender junction of neck and shoulder, leaving the marks he's wanted to all night. "C'mere," he adds, backing towards the massive bed that takes up the majority of the suite, heavy intricately carved headboard and silken sheets and everything. He sits on the edge, pulls Kurt back into his lap, leans up to kiss at his bloodied mouth again, harder this time, much more possessive and hungry.

His thumbs rub over the sharp jut of Kurt's hipbones, reaching easily, and he's struck again by how much smaller the young man is. "Could break you apart," Corrigan murmurs, mostly to himself, then glances up and runs his tongue over his teeth. "Would you want that? Promise it'd feel good. I'd make you scream so pretty for me."

From:

makingculture

There will be some indignation in the morning, sure. About his clothes for one, but Kurt is the kind of man to ask for steamers and ironing presses for birthdays, so creases and wrinkles won't bug him as much as the myriad marks Corrigan is seeing fit to leave all over his unmarred skin will. He's so pale and bruises so easily, it's always annoyed him, so he'll find when the morning comes just how much of his body is covered in marks - nails, teeth, handprints, clenched fists, Kurt will find them all over himself for days. Days and days of high collars and turtlenecks and unrolled pant legs.

They won't annoy him in the morning, however. He'll finds himself chasing the marks all over his body, cataloguing every bite, every scratch, every bruise, inspect his naked body in the mirror and marvel at the colors and shapes. He'll find himself disappointed when they start to fade.

But that's all for later. For now, Kurt eagerly follows Corrigan's lead, shuddering all over from the big hands grabbing him possessively, the hot tongue painting his neck with future bruises, the appraising growl from the most attractive man he's ever met. He follows him onto the enormous bed, into his lap, kisses him back with loud, hungry whimpers, so needy when he presses his whole body against the bigger man. The sense of vulnerability that shoots through him when he realizes Corrigan is still mostly clothed is far more intoxicating than anything he's had to drink tonight. It leaves him trembling, white-knuckling the man's half open shirt, thighs clenching over his lap, hips bucking against him out of sheer instinct.

The man's dangerous words, his hungrily murmured promise to break him, to make him scream, makes that heady feeling all the more potent. Being vulnerable, being breakable... Kurt hadn't thought he would relish in that feeling. "Yes, p-please, sir. Please, I-- I want that so bad, want to scream for you, sir, please, split m-me apart."

From:

manincharge

"Shhh, shh," Corrigan soothes, mouth against where he can feel Kurt's pulse racing in his throat. One big hand is smoothing up and down the young man's back, following the shivering line of his spine, coaxing him into relaxing closer, warm and eager and pliant in Corrigan's lap. There's something about being almost fully clothed while his partner for the night is bare and pleading under or on top of him that Corrigan loves, loves that little added twist in how the power dynamics shake out. To be naked is to be inherently vulnerable, unable to hide how a touch or a kiss effects you. And he wants to see everything.

It'd be easy to stay like this, Kurt in his lap, perfect and eager and all his, for hours. But Corrigan has other plans, moving to shift the younger man off him and onto the bed, on his back. Another of those long, lingering kisses, a flick of his tongue over the still-raw bite mark, and Corrigan is taking one of Kurt's arms, stretching it above his head to where a leather padded cuff is fastened to the headboard. It's well-made, no expense having been spared, and it buckles snug and unyielding around Kurt's wrist.

Corrigan pauses, kneeling over Kurt and tightening the strap from the cuff to the bed, then giving him an arched eyebrow. "You know what to say if you don't want something, right?" he prompts, with that same nearly-condescending patience. This is only pleasant if the idea of being tied up hits those same buttons in Kurt that Corrigan's been pushing all night, makes him mindless with wanting and excitement.