[ the market thatâs popped up in place of the faire reminds embry of one of their brief getaways in vienna, wandering the christmas market in the public square, warming his fingers on glĂźhwein and letting ash feed him wurst while he complained that it would give him onion breath. ash had bundled a scarf over his head when embryâs ears turned red with cold, pulling him in to kiss the tip of his ruddy nose when theyâd rounded a corner, and embry swore there was nothing better than this. nothing more complicated than kissing his captain eight-hundred miles from the war. merlinâs warning felt like a still breeze in that moment, the paranoid words of an old man who knew little of hot-blooded love.
of course, merlin had gotten the last word after all, and embry has been fucked ever since, missing his cautious european freedom in the face of american political scrutiny. his good mood dissipates with the memory, wintery blue eyes scanning the crowd to land on a familiar khaki barn coat, the dark brown corduroy collar turned up to keep out the cold. the coat makes ash look painfully midwestern, which embry finds painfully fucking cute, and heâs stuck his hands inside of it enough to know the brushed flannel lining is warm and soft, and that heâs probably wearing a sweater underneath snug enough to caress his muscles, and maybe embry should just pull him aside for a dirty fuck instead of the far more humiliating thing he came here to do.
no. he canât, he shouldnât. besides, the ring is burning a hole in his pocket, and he has to get rid of it eventually, in the form of giving it to the person he got it for in the first place.
he comes up behind ash, his gloved hand cradling his elbow to urge him out of the crowd and past the end of the row of stalls, where itâs quieter and more secluded. with every (perfectly normal) interaction, embry is very aware of the last horrible thing he said to ash. multiple horrible things, in fact. they sit like goddamn elephants on his chest, and he doesnât know if theyâll ever talk about any of it again, but he hopes not. he hopes for never.
from the pocket of his long wool coat, he pulls out the ring. it hadnât come in a box, maybe because he hadnât asked for one. he thinks, belatedly, that he shouldâve gotten some kind of wrapping for it, because he knows how to give a gift and this certainly isnât it, but itâs already clutched in his fist, hidden away for the last few moments until he holds his hand out between them and opens his fingers, the gold band glinting in his leather-clad palm. ]
This is for you. I figured you needed one, too. [ heâs very aware that ash hasnât worn a ring since jenny died. he was there when he took it off for the last time. he was there for every hellish moment of it. ] Merry Christmas, Ash.
( ash is american through and through, which means the holidays are synonyms with vacation time, even for the president. he is undivorcable from the good mood of a jolly christmas tune even if his spirit has been, through the last few weeks to months, a little decimated. embry's tried to help. so has greer, and so has bucky, and they've all had success in the short term, managing to give ash certain purpose where it lives in the confines of a bedroom, the push and pull of bdsm. physically, he is a person with a body, and he even gives the illusion sometimes of being that â mentally, he's still staring at embry's corpse, burying embry's body, kissing embry's headstone. mentally, he's imagining hawk guiding him to embry's death site, hawk arranging his funeral, hawk's silence during werewolf. mentally, he's imagining a fatherless son, eyes that look like his, morgan pregnant and nearly dead and not just alone, but abandoned. at night, he doesn't sleep. mentally, he's anywhere but here.
it's only when he lingers on it, though. christmas is a shallow enough distraction that his thoughts are far from dark â there's cinnamon bun air wafting from a nearby vendor's cracked door, rocking around the christmas tree sung a cappella by a wayward group of carolers, and a handsome man locking eyes with ash. he doesn't have much to complain about. the way embry looks in moonlight is similar to how he looks with snow dusting his thick hair, silver compliments on a gq magazine cover. he's actually very cute, all pink nose and cold-blushed cheeks, eyes the same color as glacier caps. ash grins at his back, small and happy, as he's led away.
privately, he wonders if embry is about to drop another bomb on him, something new he needs to brace for. he's ready for it, even if it isn't fair to expect it â ash doesn't know how much more he can take, but he's thought that for months and is still standing. blow after blow, he's here, present enough to look amused at embry's squirreling them away, hiding their clandestine meeting. a regular game, for them. you be the prince and i'll be the mistress, and we'll both be boys.
still, if he'd been asked to guess what this was about, it probably would've been closer to a dry fuck in the icy wind than â this. ash stares at the ring like he's never seen one before, like he has no idea what this could mean. but. he does know what this means. he knows, because he's proposed to embry three times, and didn't give the option of no on the last one, because he's been waiting some fifteen years for a yes from embry, and that's â that's what it is, right? in the palm of embry's hand, probably pure gold and not just gold-plated like the one on his finger. ash's eyes get wet. he looks up at embry for confirmation this isn't some insomnia-induced dream made nightmarish by its perfection, but it's real, and he knows it's real because the vulnerability in embry's expression is complimented by his quiet discomfort, the rawness of cracking his egg heart open and waiting to see how ash responds.
ash laughs, bright, some huge weight fifteen years old lifting off his chest as he bites off one of his gloves at the fingertips. embry said yes. embry does love him. he means something to embry, exactly what embry means to him. )
At least â ( he bites off his other glove, before tucking them both in embry's coat pocket, lifting one wrist to press against the corner of his eye, extending the other hand towards him. ) put it on me, if you're not going to get down on one knee, Patroclus.
[ ash makes for a good president because he knows how to wear the face, play the part, say all the right things and look as handsome and powerful as can be while doing it no matter what tears him up inside. not like embry, who blows up the second the door is closed, and sometimes even before that. not like embry, who makes rash decisions like yes, i do need to point my gun here and yes, we should drop a fucking bomb there.
not like embry, who digs his teeth even into the man he loves and then can't take any of it back. it festers between them. lyr. merlin. ash is nice enough not to bring it up, because ash is nice enough to never bring embry's innumerable shortcomings up, because then they'd never talk about anything else. but he can feel it, another added weight on ash's shoulders. another thing he's put there, another burden he's forced him to carry. coming here has shed light on embry's specific brand of cruelty, on all the ways he's ruined ash colchester's life just by existing in it, because even if he's spent years choking on merlin's leash, he made a choice to push ash in all the right directions. he's played him, expertly, right into the highest office of the united states.
not that it took much. ash's nobility and natural goodness filled in what embry's schmoozing charm couldn't.
vivienne moore deserves an award for mothering the two worst people alive. ]
If I'm going down on one knee, your pants are coming off.
[ he laughs, unexpected, like he's surprised he's still capable of it. following ash's lead, he pulls his gloves off, feeling the metal warmed by his pocket. he doesn't have any qualms about what role to play â ash was his girl during his dance lessons, and embry was his when they'd fucked in a hotel in berlin, when he'd asked ash to pretend he was greer before he even knew her name. right now, they're just two men fifteen years too late.
lyr is a teenager now. embry saw his whole life, and ash saw none of it, and he suddenly wants to vomit as he takes ash's hand in his. ]
I don't know how to do this. I don't know if I â [ cold air swirls unsteadily from his lips, dark lashes swept downward as he guides the ring onto ash's finger. a perfect fit, everything and nothing they are. ] I've never made anyone happy before.
[ it's not a plea for reassurance, but a plain truth laid out between them. embry moore is not the storybook prince, even with his regency face and marble body; he's chipped and cracked on the inside, a bramble of thorns with no flowers. empty. he lifts his eyes, frosted over with a chilly gloom. ]
Don't say it. I know. [ you love me. with one hand holding ash's newly ringed one, he brings his other to rest his fingers to his cheek, his thumb pressed over his lips. ] That's not the same as making someone happy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@ christkindlmarket.
of course, merlin had gotten the last word after all, and embry has been fucked ever since, missing his cautious european freedom in the face of american political scrutiny. his good mood dissipates with the memory, wintery blue eyes scanning the crowd to land on a familiar khaki barn coat, the dark brown corduroy collar turned up to keep out the cold. the coat makes ash look painfully midwestern, which embry finds painfully fucking cute, and heâs stuck his hands inside of it enough to know the brushed flannel lining is warm and soft, and that heâs probably wearing a sweater underneath snug enough to caress his muscles, and maybe embry should just pull him aside for a dirty fuck instead of the far more humiliating thing he came here to do.
no. he canât, he shouldnât. besides, the ring is burning a hole in his pocket, and he has to get rid of it eventually, in the form of giving it to the person he got it for in the first place.
he comes up behind ash, his gloved hand cradling his elbow to urge him out of the crowd and past the end of the row of stalls, where itâs quieter and more secluded. with every (perfectly normal) interaction, embry is very aware of the last horrible thing he said to ash. multiple horrible things, in fact. they sit like goddamn elephants on his chest, and he doesnât know if theyâll ever talk about any of it again, but he hopes not. he hopes for never.
from the pocket of his long wool coat, he pulls out the ring. it hadnât come in a box, maybe because he hadnât asked for one. he thinks, belatedly, that he shouldâve gotten some kind of wrapping for it, because he knows how to give a gift and this certainly isnât it, but itâs already clutched in his fist, hidden away for the last few moments until he holds his hand out between them and opens his fingers, the gold band glinting in his leather-clad palm. ]
This is for you. I figured you needed one, too. [ heâs very aware that ash hasnât worn a ring since jenny died. he was there when he took it off for the last time. he was there for every hellish moment of it. ] Merry Christmas, Ash.
no subject
it's only when he lingers on it, though. christmas is a shallow enough distraction that his thoughts are far from dark â there's cinnamon bun air wafting from a nearby vendor's cracked door, rocking around the christmas tree sung a cappella by a wayward group of carolers, and a handsome man locking eyes with ash. he doesn't have much to complain about. the way embry looks in moonlight is similar to how he looks with snow dusting his thick hair, silver compliments on a gq magazine cover. he's actually very cute, all pink nose and cold-blushed cheeks, eyes the same color as glacier caps. ash grins at his back, small and happy, as he's led away.
privately, he wonders if embry is about to drop another bomb on him, something new he needs to brace for. he's ready for it, even if it isn't fair to expect it â ash doesn't know how much more he can take, but he's thought that for months and is still standing. blow after blow, he's here, present enough to look amused at embry's squirreling them away, hiding their clandestine meeting. a regular game, for them. you be the prince and i'll be the mistress, and we'll both be boys.
still, if he'd been asked to guess what this was about, it probably would've been closer to a dry fuck in the icy wind than â this. ash stares at the ring like he's never seen one before, like he has no idea what this could mean. but. he does know what this means. he knows, because he's proposed to embry three times, and didn't give the option of no on the last one, because he's been waiting some fifteen years for a yes from embry, and that's â that's what it is, right? in the palm of embry's hand, probably pure gold and not just gold-plated like the one on his finger. ash's eyes get wet. he looks up at embry for confirmation this isn't some insomnia-induced dream made nightmarish by its perfection, but it's real, and he knows it's real because the vulnerability in embry's expression is complimented by his quiet discomfort, the rawness of cracking his egg heart open and waiting to see how ash responds.
ash laughs, bright, some huge weight fifteen years old lifting off his chest as he bites off one of his gloves at the fingertips. embry said yes. embry does love him. he means something to embry, exactly what embry means to him. )
At least â ( he bites off his other glove, before tucking them both in embry's coat pocket, lifting one wrist to press against the corner of his eye, extending the other hand towards him. ) put it on me, if you're not going to get down on one knee, Patroclus.
no subject
not like embry, who digs his teeth even into the man he loves and then can't take any of it back. it festers between them. lyr. merlin. ash is nice enough not to bring it up, because ash is nice enough to never bring embry's innumerable shortcomings up, because then they'd never talk about anything else. but he can feel it, another added weight on ash's shoulders. another thing he's put there, another burden he's forced him to carry. coming here has shed light on embry's specific brand of cruelty, on all the ways he's ruined ash colchester's life just by existing in it, because even if he's spent years choking on merlin's leash, he made a choice to push ash in all the right directions. he's played him, expertly, right into the highest office of the united states.
not that it took much. ash's nobility and natural goodness filled in what embry's schmoozing charm couldn't.
vivienne moore deserves an award for mothering the two worst people alive. ]
If I'm going down on one knee, your pants are coming off.
[ he laughs, unexpected, like he's surprised he's still capable of it. following ash's lead, he pulls his gloves off, feeling the metal warmed by his pocket. he doesn't have any qualms about what role to play â ash was his girl during his dance lessons, and embry was his when they'd fucked in a hotel in berlin, when he'd asked ash to pretend he was greer before he even knew her name. right now, they're just two men fifteen years too late.
lyr is a teenager now. embry saw his whole life, and ash saw none of it, and he suddenly wants to vomit as he takes ash's hand in his. ]
I don't know how to do this. I don't know if I â [ cold air swirls unsteadily from his lips, dark lashes swept downward as he guides the ring onto ash's finger. a perfect fit, everything and nothing they are. ] I've never made anyone happy before.
[ it's not a plea for reassurance, but a plain truth laid out between them. embry moore is not the storybook prince, even with his regency face and marble body; he's chipped and cracked on the inside, a bramble of thorns with no flowers. empty. he lifts his eyes, frosted over with a chilly gloom. ]
Don't say it. I know. [ you love me. with one hand holding ash's newly ringed one, he brings his other to rest his fingers to his cheek, his thumb pressed over his lips. ] That's not the same as making someone happy.