( 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — ( 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 — 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 — [ 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.
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it's only when he lingers on it, though. christmas is a shallow enough distraction that his thoughts are far from dark — 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 — 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 — 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 — 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 — ( 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.
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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 — 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 — [ 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.