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Summary
“L-lord…” Kurt’s voice quivered under his voice instinctively, his breath catching in his throat, the old word spilling out as it always did, a pleading prayer.
“Ah, none o’ dat now, mon ange,” Remy teased gently, though his voice carried a roughness, almost reverent. He knew damn well what he was doing to Kurt, to get him all desperate and flustered under him, to get him mewling and purring like this just for him. His lips ghosted over the skin of his neck again, just below his ear, feeling the flutter of his heartbeat at his pulse point against his mouth.
“I’m the only one you oughta be prayin’ to…”