[there it is. all the missing pieces clicking into place - answering the questions he never bothered asking embry because hell would need to freeze over before he ever got an answer. there's been suspicions of course - what are the chances that both the vice president and the president who served together and have clear history both attend the same private club to fuck freely and don't take a swing at it? but it fractured somewhere, and now ash has tim and hawk...well, he's got no one to blame but himself for that, either. of course both embry and tim would fall for a man like him - the most powerful man in the country who has the audacity to be righteous and actually fucking decent underneath his chiseled good looks and level-headed command.
at first he thinks this is going to be some sort of pissing contest - ash feeling guilty for everything with tim and trying to make it right with embry by picking up the pieces no one noticed until now, because hawk still doesn't fully know what to look for in the chic enigma wrapped in tom ford and a shield of breezy wit.
or is this supposed to make him open up about tim - spill all the secrets like the hazy way he clings to mornings when he's allowed, the beauty mark right under his chin that's practically a landing beacon for his lips and earns the most delightful giggles because tim is ticklish, or the way he begs as fervently for release as he does supplicated in prayer - a mantra of please and oh god and more more more -
hawk doesn't realize how hard he's squeezing his phone until he realizes there's not just an undercurrent of rage heating his skin, it's something else entirely.]
Oh, I'll bet he bucked like it was a goddamn rodeo at first.
How many did you go? I just want to get a clear picture here.
( it's a crystalized memory to ash, who can close his eyes and be transported to carpathia — to churches on fire and teenagers with american bullets in their brain, to his sweating body on a suicide sprint at three in the morning, to embry's dimples when he smiles genuinely, because he forgot he's meant to be a forlorn, melancholic prince in this fairytale of theirs. that night in particular has barbed thorns in ash, the fear as acrid a taste as the bliss of wanting him, being allowed to have him in a situation that was so poorly timed, it could only belong to the both of them. embry saying take what you're owed. embry saying i'm done running from you.
what would it be like, to actually live in that world embry gave him for a day, where embry exists wholly as his, where the lines don't blur, where he's exactly as dedicated to ash as ash is to him. instead, his cock is getting hard thinking about embry in the mud, full of holes, begging to ash to stop, to keep going, to stop. talking to hawkins fucking fuller of all people, a man ash would otherwise be tempted to work out some of his embry-based issues on, if either of them were the type to fold instead of staying stubbornly set. )
Twice, that first night.
( the curiosity of wanting to know what hawk and embry get up to is it's own sisyphean curse — he doesn't want to know, but he also wants to torture himself on the knowledge, of thinking of them together, of embry wanting someone else. he's jealous, thoroughly, through the marrow of his bones, through every blood cell, every fiber of himself. he's also hard, and it's not the worst thing he's ever gotten hard about. )
I made him kiss my boots. Before then. ( ash thinks of an email he sent a lifetime ago. i don't have to be that kind of man, if that's not what you want. i'll be any kind of man for you. it still feels true. ) On his knees, sucking the hard laces of my Army-issued pair, fresh out of the box. Good discipline for a soldier out of line.
( not one american politics would approve of, so he's told. still, it was pretty effective for him. )
He was very out of line that night. He wanted punishment. Deserved it. Begged for it, even. I was happy to oblige. Do you need some inspiration?
( it's not the shitty are you so uncreative that you need me to dominate him for you? and more the desperate, almost hopeful do you want to know what i'd do to him, if i could? do you want to know what he likes? do you want to touch something so precious to me? )
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at first he thinks this is going to be some sort of pissing contest - ash feeling guilty for everything with tim and trying to make it right with embry by picking up the pieces no one noticed until now, because hawk still doesn't fully know what to look for in the chic enigma wrapped in tom ford and a shield of breezy wit.
or is this supposed to make him open up about tim - spill all the secrets like the hazy way he clings to mornings when he's allowed, the beauty mark right under his chin that's practically a landing beacon for his lips and earns the most delightful giggles because tim is ticklish, or the way he begs as fervently for release as he does supplicated in prayer - a mantra of please and oh god and more more more -
hawk doesn't realize how hard he's squeezing his phone until he realizes there's not just an undercurrent of rage heating his skin, it's something else entirely.]
Oh, I'll bet he bucked like it was a goddamn rodeo at first.
How many did you go? I just want to get a clear picture here.
[what the fuck is this.]
no subject
what would it be like, to actually live in that world embry gave him for a day, where embry exists wholly as his, where the lines don't blur, where he's exactly as dedicated to ash as ash is to him. instead, his cock is getting hard thinking about embry in the mud, full of holes, begging to ash to stop, to keep going, to stop. talking to hawkins fucking fuller of all people, a man ash would otherwise be tempted to work out some of his embry-based issues on, if either of them were the type to fold instead of staying stubbornly set. )
Twice, that first night.
( the curiosity of wanting to know what hawk and embry get up to is it's own sisyphean curse — he doesn't want to know, but he also wants to torture himself on the knowledge, of thinking of them together, of embry wanting someone else. he's jealous, thoroughly, through the marrow of his bones, through every blood cell, every fiber of himself. he's also hard, and it's not the worst thing he's ever gotten hard about. )
I made him kiss my boots. Before then. ( ash thinks of an email he sent a lifetime ago. i don't have to be that kind of man, if that's not what you want. i'll be any kind of man for you. it still feels true. ) On his knees, sucking the hard laces of my Army-issued pair, fresh out of the box. Good discipline for a soldier out of line.
( not one american politics would approve of, so he's told. still, it was pretty effective for him. )
He was very out of line that night. He wanted punishment. Deserved it. Begged for it, even. I was happy to oblige. Do you need some inspiration?
( it's not the shitty are you so uncreative that you need me to dominate him for you? and more the desperate, almost hopeful do you want to know what i'd do to him, if i could? do you want to know what he likes? do you want to touch something so precious to me? )