( his blood is hot, hot in his veins. he might be just an empty carcass of the man he usually is, one tragedy after the next depleting him like an empty vending machine, but sex stirs him — embry stirs him, really. the ever present fight there is to being with him, wrestling with a strong man and winning, thinking about all the places he can catch and pin him, thinking about how long it'll take to pull his pants down and shove his cock inside embry, punish him for leaving. for wanting to leave. for suggesting he should, like ash ever wants him anywhere else but the space directly in front of him, on his knees, mouth open.
it would feel good to hurt him. it would help ash feel sane. he's about to turn embry around and fuck him against the fucking door, but instead he stops, frozen in place, embry's words sinking in with their cold, icy grip. morgan. pregnant. ash lets him go and stumbles backwards, eyes wild like some feral, rabies stricken dog in the street. put him out of his misery, it's the right thing to do.
he stumbles back, misses the bed, sits down on the floor, his knees bent up, his eyes in the middle distance. remembering that day in carpathia where he gave the call to abandon morgan. he'd been annoyed with her — frustrated she wouldn't go home, irritated she felt so entitled to ash's time when there was a war, and when there wasn't a war, there was embry. still, he felt affectionately towards her — he didn't want her to die, would've done whatever he could have to protect her, for embry's sake alone. and she was pregnant? with his son? she tried to tell him — she asked so many times for him to make time, and he couldn't, because there was a war, and because he didn't care all that much. because he was young and cruel and disinterested in anything outside of embry.
distantly, he remembers jenny's funeral, and morgan driving home the point — i'm your sister, like she just wanted to hurt him, gut him where he stood, take out anything human inside himself and dump it on the ground. this is like that, but worse, because there's a boy involved, ash's son, a product of his incest, a kid morgan had to raise ... by herself? but he's never heard of a son, never even knew about her giving birth. )
A son?
( his voice is quiet, broken. more ways ash colchester is a failure. he puts his head in his hands, raking through his black hair, trying to reframe what he knows about his character within himself — ash colchester, president, captain. deadbeat dad.
[ embry moore is going to hell. he already knew it, but it's a solid fact now, indisputable. there's no reversing it, no atonement for the way he's blown a hole straight through the man he loves. he remembers jenny's funeral. he remembers morgan hitting ash with the ugly, sordid truth in the worst possible place at the worst possible time. he remembers how he could've killed her on the spot for doing such irreparable harm to a man who'd just buried his goddamn wife.
he's just like her. apparently, being a horrible fucking person is hereditary.
he could slip out the door right now. the fact that he even considers it, even just for a moment, is another strike against him. forcing himself away from the door, he takes a step toward ash's fallen form, then another. he doesn't feel worthy to even approach him. ]
My aunt Nimue raised him. [ he sinks to his knees, feeling as if the floor has spun out from beneath him. a ragged sound escapes him. ] As if Morgan could ever be a mom. Lyr would have grown up to be a sociopath.
[ ash has met his family, though it's never been anything like the trips to ash's home in the midwest. vivienne moore's grand estate complete with lakes and horses and yachts could never hold even an ounce of the warmth and laughter that ash's mother has in spades. nimue, to her credit, raised lyr very differently from the way vivienne raised morgan and embry. ]
He's not like Morgan or me. [ it seems like an important distinction to make. his heart flutters rapidly in his chest. ] He's a good kid, Ash. Smart. Bookish. Takes life too seriously. He's my favorite. There wasn't... after the church, there wasn't anything you could've done. Morgan didn't want you to know. She didn't want anyone to know. And I —
[ guilt closes his throat, throwing him back to the shitty little hospital where he'd sat by morgan's side and listened to the doctors tell her she'd never regain full movement in her shoulder again — and morgan tell him that she'd never forgive him, either. ]
I could've gone to her, too. You didn't leave her in that church. I did. She's my sister. I'm the one that chose you over her. [ he swallows down the broken glass feeling in his throat. ] Fuck, Ash, it's my job to hold all this for you. I'm sorry. I'm... I'm sorry.
( there's no other word for it — he's disgusted with himself. it sits like a pit in his stomach, throwing out anything good he ever thought about himself, leaving all the trash in place. exactly like his own father, who abandoned ash at birth — isn't ash just as awful? isn't he worse, since he made the call that would've killed morgan and his unborn child, if she hadn't been clever enough to fake dead? maybe he didn't deserve to know. maybe morgan saw something in him that day that made it evident, obvious ash could never be a successful father. and he just —
absolutely fucking hates morgan leffey
— for one whole minute, for not telling him, for keeping this from him, for not giving him a choice in being an absentee parent. but then ash remembers that she tried to tell him. at one point, she wanted to. then ash left her for dead and earned her lifelong loathing, which is about what ash deserves. he doesn't hate her. he hates what happened to her, that she nearly died, that she had to give birth alone, that she had to give up her son, that she didn't really have a choice, either. she still should've told him, but ash understands with perfect clarity why she wouldn't have.
still, doesn't lyr deserve to know his father? to have that choice? smart, bookish, too serious lyr. ash would give an arm and a leg just to know him, just to meet him once. to see if they look alike, if they act alike. to see if he's as angry at the world as ash was, at his age. he has to be a teenager now — still young, but older. ash missed all the milestones, things he would've loved to see, things he's always dreamed of being a part of when he managed to right the wrong of his father through parenthood. the heels of his hands flatten on his eyes, pushing the tears back in. )
No. ( he only stops when embry says all that, squeezing his nose before pulling away his hand. his face is splotchy and wet, but he looks at embry, so he can see how serious he is. ) That was my call, my choice. You were following orders. You could've been court-martialed if you didn't. ( he shakes his head. ) She's my sister, too. I own that.
( if the only thing he can manage to do right is assuage embry of his guilt, then he'll do it. )
I don't need you to hold anything for me. I want to protect you. Come here. ( he extends an arm, gesturing embry closer with a wave of his hand, to fold him against his chest. he waits until he knows it's the truth to say, ) I'm glad I know.
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it would feel good to hurt him. it would help ash feel sane. he's about to turn embry around and fuck him against the fucking door, but instead he stops, frozen in place, embry's words sinking in with their cold, icy grip. morgan. pregnant. ash lets him go and stumbles backwards, eyes wild like some feral, rabies stricken dog in the street. put him out of his misery, it's the right thing to do.
he stumbles back, misses the bed, sits down on the floor, his knees bent up, his eyes in the middle distance. remembering that day in carpathia where he gave the call to abandon morgan. he'd been annoyed with her — frustrated she wouldn't go home, irritated she felt so entitled to ash's time when there was a war, and when there wasn't a war, there was embry. still, he felt affectionately towards her — he didn't want her to die, would've done whatever he could have to protect her, for embry's sake alone. and she was pregnant? with his son? she tried to tell him — she asked so many times for him to make time, and he couldn't, because there was a war, and because he didn't care all that much. because he was young and cruel and disinterested in anything outside of embry.
distantly, he remembers jenny's funeral, and morgan driving home the point — i'm your sister, like she just wanted to hurt him, gut him where he stood, take out anything human inside himself and dump it on the ground. this is like that, but worse, because there's a boy involved, ash's son, a product of his incest, a kid morgan had to raise ... by herself? but he's never heard of a son, never even knew about her giving birth. )
A son?
( his voice is quiet, broken. more ways ash colchester is a failure. he puts his head in his hands, raking through his black hair, trying to reframe what he knows about his character within himself — ash colchester, president, captain. deadbeat dad.
he looks up suddenly, eyes wet. )
What's he — what is he like?
no subject
he's just like her. apparently, being a horrible fucking person is hereditary.
he could slip out the door right now. the fact that he even considers it, even just for a moment, is another strike against him. forcing himself away from the door, he takes a step toward ash's fallen form, then another. he doesn't feel worthy to even approach him. ]
My aunt Nimue raised him. [ he sinks to his knees, feeling as if the floor has spun out from beneath him. a ragged sound escapes him. ] As if Morgan could ever be a mom. Lyr would have grown up to be a sociopath.
[ ash has met his family, though it's never been anything like the trips to ash's home in the midwest. vivienne moore's grand estate complete with lakes and horses and yachts could never hold even an ounce of the warmth and laughter that ash's mother has in spades. nimue, to her credit, raised lyr very differently from the way vivienne raised morgan and embry. ]
He's not like Morgan or me. [ it seems like an important distinction to make. his heart flutters rapidly in his chest. ] He's a good kid, Ash. Smart. Bookish. Takes life too seriously. He's my favorite. There wasn't... after the church, there wasn't anything you could've done. Morgan didn't want you to know. She didn't want anyone to know. And I —
[ guilt closes his throat, throwing him back to the shitty little hospital where he'd sat by morgan's side and listened to the doctors tell her she'd never regain full movement in her shoulder again — and morgan tell him that she'd never forgive him, either. ]
I could've gone to her, too. You didn't leave her in that church. I did. She's my sister. I'm the one that chose you over her. [ he swallows down the broken glass feeling in his throat. ] Fuck, Ash, it's my job to hold all this for you. I'm sorry. I'm... I'm sorry.
no subject
absolutely fucking hates morgan leffey
— for one whole minute, for not telling him, for keeping this from him, for not giving him a choice in being an absentee parent. but then ash remembers that she tried to tell him. at one point, she wanted to. then ash left her for dead and earned her lifelong loathing, which is about what ash deserves. he doesn't hate her. he hates what happened to her, that she nearly died, that she had to give birth alone, that she had to give up her son, that she didn't really have a choice, either. she still should've told him, but ash understands with perfect clarity why she wouldn't have.
still, doesn't lyr deserve to know his father? to have that choice? smart, bookish, too serious lyr. ash would give an arm and a leg just to know him, just to meet him once. to see if they look alike, if they act alike. to see if he's as angry at the world as ash was, at his age. he has to be a teenager now — still young, but older. ash missed all the milestones, things he would've loved to see, things he's always dreamed of being a part of when he managed to right the wrong of his father through parenthood. the heels of his hands flatten on his eyes, pushing the tears back in. )
No. ( he only stops when embry says all that, squeezing his nose before pulling away his hand. his face is splotchy and wet, but he looks at embry, so he can see how serious he is. ) That was my call, my choice. You were following orders. You could've been court-martialed if you didn't. ( he shakes his head. ) She's my sister, too. I own that.
( if the only thing he can manage to do right is assuage embry of his guilt, then he'll do it. )
I don't need you to hold anything for me. I want to protect you. Come here. ( he extends an arm, gesturing embry closer with a wave of his hand, to fold him against his chest. he waits until he knows it's the truth to say, ) I'm glad I know.