( ash, by nature, is not much of a party goer. he makes an attempt in an effort not to seem like an antisocial homebody, but his social battery is long out of practice thanks to duplicity, and he tires as easily as he did fresh out of high school. of course, some things never change. his room is as empty as ever, his sleep as far away as it's always been. really, he was just sitting and reading, accepting that the night was another wash of some stubbornly discontent feeling that feels intangible every time he tries to name it — heartbreak, maybe, or restlessness. the liminal space between a previous pain and an inevitable one, one he can feel coming like a punch he's not supposed to flinch at. his mind refuses to settle, so his body refuses to sleep, and eventually he's just pacing like a caged lion when the knock comes to his door, a little like perfect timing.
naturally, he assumes it's embry. come to confess something else? good. he's the only one who visits this late at night, when the hour is only conducive to one thing, and it doesn't involve leaving the bedroom. only, it's not embry. it's — greer. )
I wasn't.
( said a little dryly, heat in his eyes. the budding need to unleash himself on embry doesn't wither away because it's greer at his door — if anything it intensifies, seeing her barely dressed, flushed silvery and pink in the low light of the hallway. ash swallows, debates with himself for all of a moment, before wrapping a hand around her bicep and pulling her into his bare chest, shutting the door behind her so he can pin her up against it, crowding her in with his body.
this, of course, was also always inevitable. ash waits until she looks up at him, bowing his head to press their foreheads together. his expression is almost angry. )
You look fucking perfect. Open your mouth, I have to kiss you.
( ash doesn't ask — he demands. he waits to see if greer will listen. when she does, her pink mouth open in a perfect "o", he sticks his tongue between her lips and fucks her mouth, holding her upright with two bruising hands on her hips. he hasn't kissed her since she was sixteen, and it feels like an unforgivably long time, now. )
[ The first thought Greer has, after the initial panic and worry that this had all been some big mistake, that she never should’ve come, that Ash is never even going to glance in her direction after this — it’s how good he looks, gilded in the golden glow of the light from behind him, a small bedside lamp maybe. She’s only ever glimpsed him fully clothed before — bespoke suits perfectly tailored to his from, his military uniform before that, but never this, never the broad expanse of his chest, the light trail of hair descending from his navel into the waistband of his sleep pants.
Greer doesn’t even get a moment to wonder how warm he must be, to be going without a shirt, because then Ash is pulling her into him, so suddenly that she stumbles, her equilibrium a bit more unbalanced from the drinks that gave her the courage to be standing here in the first place. Her hand instinctively flies up to brace against his chest — not to push him away, but so she doesn’t faceplant into that smooth, firm plane. When he tugs her in, gets the door closed with the press of her own weight against it, she instinctively wants to lower her gaze — like she shouldn’t even be allowed to look at him directly.
But then he’s demanding, not pleading, to kiss her, and Greer can do nothing else except comply, lips parting more in surprise at first before he’s curving himself over her. If Embry kisses her like an apology, Ash kisses her like an admonishment, making her cheeks burn from a dueling combination of shame and pleasure. Maybe she shouldn’t be here, and they both know it now, but the clench of his hands on her hips drives a whimper out of her, one that ends up stifled while he unapologetically claims her mouth.
Her arms are trapped in between their bodies, but she wouldn’t be strong enough to push him away regardless — not because she feels weak, but because she’s surrendering to his methodical devouring of her. Only once she feels dizzied with the need to breathe does she pull back, licking between her newly tingling lips, her eyes heavy with arousal. ]
( pressed up against her mouth, his dick hard in the flat of her stomach. in theory, he's supposed to be better than this — but in practice, greer showed up wearing a bathing suit to his room, like some kind of centerfold in a skeezy magazine, so shoulds have gone right out with the bathwater. ash is not a good person, not a moral person, and this isn't any revelation to him. still, there's an important conversation that needs to happen now, putting a little space between their bodies just to grab her wrists and pin them to either side of her head, one at a time. it's a slow, deliberate action, watching greer all the while for signs of distaste, disinterest.
there aren't any. he knew there wouldn't be, but still — the breath comes a little easier out of his lungs, a little weight off his shoulders. )
We need to have a conversation before this goes any further.
( he squeezes greer's wrists as a signal to keep them in place, while his palms move in, sliding across the sensitive inner skin of her biceps, mapping down the curves of her breasts, to the sides of her waist. his fingers gather up the cover she's wearing, inching it slowly up her thighs. )
Your comfort is important to me, Greer. I can be very demanding — I want you to know you'll always be safe with me, always have an out if you need it. Have you ever used a safeword before? ( knuckles graze her stomach as he pulls the fabric up her body, bullying her arms straight up when he lifts it over her head, tossing it in a drape over his shoulder. ) It's something easy you can say, if you want to stop. I'll always listen to it, no matter what we're doing. You have my word. ( thoughtfully, while he splays his hands over her ribcage, her breasts propped up on the space between his thumb and forefinger. ) You can use my first name, if you don't have one in mind. Maxen.
[ They need to talk before they get too carried away — but Ash's hands are warm on her skin, so warm, and big enough to easily encircle her wrists without him even needing to expend that much effort. If he were pinning her against a horizontal surface, like a table or a bed, Greer knows she wouldn't even struggle all that much. In truth, it doesn't even cross her mind to resist him now; he draws her arms higher along the wall, like he needs her to hear precisely what he's saying before this moves forward, and she lifts her chin wordlessly, lips slightly parted for her quickening breaths. His presence might be blanketing, but she's attuned to every word he utters.
Ash also doesn't need to instruct her to keep her arms where he's placed them, even once he releases his grip on her wrists. There's something inherently helpless about surrendering like this, without a single restraint in place, makeshift or otherwise, but also something inherently trusting. She has to give herself up to him — to his perusal, to his exploration — and in return, he's banking on her not moving a muscle from the position she's been maneuvered into. ]
I know I will. [ It's part of the reason why she'd come here tonight, isn't it? Because she does feel safe with him, because she always has. She shakes her head at the mention of a safeword, something she's never even considered much less used elsewhere, but it sounds right — a word to equip as a last resort, as a touchstone if there's ever a moment where she becomes too overwhelmed to think of anything else. Not that she's considering using it now, but the suggestion he offers is one she agrees to almost instantly, with a few hasty nods of her head. ]
So even if I say "stop," that won't be enough to — [ Why, though, does the knowledge of that fill her with a small thrill, make her vibrate in his hold as he carefully, methodically removes her sarong, leaving even more of her available for his mapping. His hands cup beneath her breasts, lifting them even higher than the support her bathing suit offers, and Greer's breath catches. ] Maxen. [ She savors it, a name she knows well — and it feels special, to use it in this particular context, at his urging. ]
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naturally, he assumes it's embry. come to confess something else? good. he's the only one who visits this late at night, when the hour is only conducive to one thing, and it doesn't involve leaving the bedroom. only, it's not embry. it's — greer. )
I wasn't.
( said a little dryly, heat in his eyes. the budding need to unleash himself on embry doesn't wither away because it's greer at his door — if anything it intensifies, seeing her barely dressed, flushed silvery and pink in the low light of the hallway. ash swallows, debates with himself for all of a moment, before wrapping a hand around her bicep and pulling her into his bare chest, shutting the door behind her so he can pin her up against it, crowding her in with his body.
this, of course, was also always inevitable. ash waits until she looks up at him, bowing his head to press their foreheads together. his expression is almost angry. )
You look fucking perfect. Open your mouth, I have to kiss you.
( ash doesn't ask — he demands. he waits to see if greer will listen. when she does, her pink mouth open in a perfect "o", he sticks his tongue between her lips and fucks her mouth, holding her upright with two bruising hands on her hips. he hasn't kissed her since she was sixteen, and it feels like an unforgivably long time, now. )
no subject
Greer doesn’t even get a moment to wonder how warm he must be, to be going without a shirt, because then Ash is pulling her into him, so suddenly that she stumbles, her equilibrium a bit more unbalanced from the drinks that gave her the courage to be standing here in the first place. Her hand instinctively flies up to brace against his chest — not to push him away, but so she doesn’t faceplant into that smooth, firm plane. When he tugs her in, gets the door closed with the press of her own weight against it, she instinctively wants to lower her gaze — like she shouldn’t even be allowed to look at him directly.
But then he’s demanding, not pleading, to kiss her, and Greer can do nothing else except comply, lips parting more in surprise at first before he’s curving himself over her. If Embry kisses her like an apology, Ash kisses her like an admonishment, making her cheeks burn from a dueling combination of shame and pleasure. Maybe she shouldn’t be here, and they both know it now, but the clench of his hands on her hips drives a whimper out of her, one that ends up stifled while he unapologetically claims her mouth.
Her arms are trapped in between their bodies, but she wouldn’t be strong enough to push him away regardless — not because she feels weak, but because she’s surrendering to his methodical devouring of her. Only once she feels dizzied with the need to breathe does she pull back, licking between her newly tingling lips, her eyes heavy with arousal. ]
I kept looking for you.
no subject
( pressed up against her mouth, his dick hard in the flat of her stomach. in theory, he's supposed to be better than this — but in practice, greer showed up wearing a bathing suit to his room, like some kind of centerfold in a skeezy magazine, so shoulds have gone right out with the bathwater. ash is not a good person, not a moral person, and this isn't any revelation to him. still, there's an important conversation that needs to happen now, putting a little space between their bodies just to grab her wrists and pin them to either side of her head, one at a time. it's a slow, deliberate action, watching greer all the while for signs of distaste, disinterest.
there aren't any. he knew there wouldn't be, but still — the breath comes a little easier out of his lungs, a little weight off his shoulders. )
We need to have a conversation before this goes any further.
( he squeezes greer's wrists as a signal to keep them in place, while his palms move in, sliding across the sensitive inner skin of her biceps, mapping down the curves of her breasts, to the sides of her waist. his fingers gather up the cover she's wearing, inching it slowly up her thighs. )
Your comfort is important to me, Greer. I can be very demanding — I want you to know you'll always be safe with me, always have an out if you need it. Have you ever used a safeword before? ( knuckles graze her stomach as he pulls the fabric up her body, bullying her arms straight up when he lifts it over her head, tossing it in a drape over his shoulder. ) It's something easy you can say, if you want to stop. I'll always listen to it, no matter what we're doing. You have my word. ( thoughtfully, while he splays his hands over her ribcage, her breasts propped up on the space between his thumb and forefinger. ) You can use my first name, if you don't have one in mind. Maxen.
no subject
[ They need to talk before they get too carried away — but Ash's hands are warm on her skin, so warm, and big enough to easily encircle her wrists without him even needing to expend that much effort. If he were pinning her against a horizontal surface, like a table or a bed, Greer knows she wouldn't even struggle all that much. In truth, it doesn't even cross her mind to resist him now; he draws her arms higher along the wall, like he needs her to hear precisely what he's saying before this moves forward, and she lifts her chin wordlessly, lips slightly parted for her quickening breaths. His presence might be blanketing, but she's attuned to every word he utters.
Ash also doesn't need to instruct her to keep her arms where he's placed them, even once he releases his grip on her wrists. There's something inherently helpless about surrendering like this, without a single restraint in place, makeshift or otherwise, but also something inherently trusting. She has to give herself up to him — to his perusal, to his exploration — and in return, he's banking on her not moving a muscle from the position she's been maneuvered into. ]
I know I will. [ It's part of the reason why she'd come here tonight, isn't it? Because she does feel safe with him, because she always has. She shakes her head at the mention of a safeword, something she's never even considered much less used elsewhere, but it sounds right — a word to equip as a last resort, as a touchstone if there's ever a moment where she becomes too overwhelmed to think of anything else. Not that she's considering using it now, but the suggestion he offers is one she agrees to almost instantly, with a few hasty nods of her head. ]
So even if I say "stop," that won't be enough to — [ Why, though, does the knowledge of that fill her with a small thrill, make her vibrate in his hold as he carefully, methodically removes her sarong, leaving even more of her available for his mapping. His hands cup beneath her breasts, lifting them even higher than the support her bathing suit offers, and Greer's breath catches. ] Maxen. [ She savors it, a name she knows well — and it feels special, to use it in this particular context, at his urging. ]
I'll use it. But only if I really want to stop.