( it's a night like any other, in that sleep is few and far away and ash is searching for solace through the scriptures of his bible, well worn and dog-earred and annotated to the point of near madness. it's a different kind of sleeplessness, these days. ash has known about his death far longer than embry has, which has been convenient these last few months, at least in that he hasn't had to think about it with any true devotion. it's just a truth, existing there and in the distance, waiting with cold arms to welcome him on their inevitable return home. now? it's forefront, evident. this long lasting debate with himself that keeps him up later into the night, unable to find sleep: is it cruel to want embry and greer now, when he knows it's doomed? should he be pushing them together, taking himself out of the narrative?
he can't find an answer, and is aware there likely isn't one, even as greer helps herself into his room, a look of affection on his face. at least — until the lamplight catches greer's expression and forces him to knot his brows, hands coming up to cup her curvy hips as she crawls over him, settling onto his lap. his sweet, little girl. she remembers. not even the sad stuff necessarily — but that they're married, that she's his wife and possibly his widow, that she holds the full width of their love story in the cavity of her chest. it's a hungry kiss, because ash is always starved for her, his reading glasses mussed as he slides a hand up her back, a three-fingered claw cinching through her hair, fisting tightly. his opposite hand seizes her waist, digging up her tiny sleep shirt, until he has a warm grip of her perfect skin, strong enough to flip them over in one swift motion.
against her mouth, he moans ) Greer. ( and then, with a little more control, more domination, ) Greer.
( it does the trick and they pull apart, greer pressed down into his mattress and ash looking down at her, cataloguing her beautiful tears, her perfect face, the everything about her that he loves so much. he leans up, kisses her salty lashes, stroking his hand against her cheek like trying to soothe her, his wild dog. )
We're okay. It'll be okay. ( cooing, in between kissing her flushed cheeks and red eyes, her needy mouth, her heaving throat. ash, as ever, has one perfect solution to everything. ) Tell me your safeword, angel.
[ Immediately, Greer has the sense that she might have overstepped, gone too far in her eagerness — but the truth is that she can't help herself, not with a tornado of memories still spinning in her mind. So many of them war with each other, the strange, not-quite-her life that the house had created for her versus falling to her knees next to Embry, Ash's hands gently resting atop each of their heads. She needs, in her desperation, to feel his touch on her again now, the warmth and certainty of his gripping hold always so capable of making even the slightest doubt run for cover.
She nearly giggles, a bit hysterical, when she breaks the kiss to breathe, realizes she's knocked his reading glasses askew, but her center of gravity suddenly tilts and he's put her on her back in an instant, hovering over her. Any time she gets to exist beneath his stare, those discerning green eyes stripping her down to nothing, she wants to simultanously bask in it, like a cat in a sun patch, and curl into herself, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
The sound of her name on his lips brings her out of her thoughts and into the present, and she tries to remember how to breathe again, lifting her chin into his hand, arching as his palm caresses her skin. Her heart wants to beat out of her chest, but she can feel it slowing, dropping lower, a dull echo at the apex of her thighs, as he soothes her with kisses and perfect reassurance. ]
We'll be okay. [ She repeats it, the very thing she needed to hear — seconded only by what he follows up with. In truth, she hadn't even come here for that, but of course Ash would know exactly what she needs, what recenters her in the moments when she's feeling most adrift. She nods once, shakily, before offering it, solely so he knows it's front of mind. ] Maxen. [ In a whisper, as she licks her lips, tasting salt and her own anticipation, as her body slackens into submission beneath his. ]
( his hands smooth down her sides, sitting up on his knees to look down at her, sprawled out in the plush center of his bed. greer, as ever, takes his breath away — there's no imperfection to her, nothing but endless longing in that bleeding gaze of hers, exactly the same as the look she first gave him, when he found her kneeling in a pile of glass of abilene's making. the birthplace of his obsession — who could look at greer and not fall immediately in love with her, not fall in love again every time they see her? )
That's right.
( softly cooed, thumbs digging into her waist, pushing up the hem of her cami to rub against her soft skin. eventually he pulls his hands away, seeing to the perfunctory needs of the scene — putting his bible on a bedside table, glasses taken off for as long as it takes to clean the lens on his pants before setting them back on his nose. once it's all taken care of, he takes a time just to look at her, his beautiful bride, blonde and pink and perfect. he wants to tell her i want you to marry embry and i want you to live a long, happy life. the words are ill fitted to the moment though, all intimately charged with their particular brand of carnality, and ash stays his tongue, stroking his hands up her arms to capture her wrists, pining them gently above her head.
he doesn't handle her gentle because he thinks she needs it, or that she can't take something rougher — but because he feels the same reverence now that he does anytime he accepts communion on his tongue, like the moment is holy and requires something akin to worship. of course, ash can worship greer with a belt in his hands and her tears on the tops of his feet, so it isn't unusual, just laser pointed, profound. ash should not get this. he should be dead, and not with his hips sandwiched between his wife's gorgeous thighs, fingertips sliding up the hem of her shorts just to feel more of her under his hands. but he is, for some reason, and the moment is beautiful in that precious impossibility — he wants to put her in his mouth and swallow her whole. )
Tell me something you want, little princess.
( not a lack of ideas — too many of them, in fact. ash halves himself down, sucking the tip of one pert breast through her shirt, wetting the cloth. biting, teeth impressions through the soft cotton material. )
[ She's a far cry now from the woman who didn't know what she wanted from him, even though her body instinctively did — chin lifting into the possessive squeeze of his grip, muscles tensing in anticipation of that same hand coming down for a hard strike of palm against her already-tenderized ass cheek. Now, she isn't afraid to let the tears fall, knowing how much he likes to see them, knowing that he'll always brush them away, whether with his fingers or his tongue.
She doesn't know where they're coming from now, whether this is her still mourning or something closer to relief, but she releases a shuddering breath, in the interim, as Ash goes through the motions of setting any distractions aside. The sight of him taking the time to clean the lenses on his glasses makes love swell, strong and powerful, in her chest, and when he takes hold of her wrists, he does it with as much careful deliberation as he'd attended to those smudges caused by her own earnestness. ]
I want — [ Greer swallows, once, around a soft hiccup — the familiarity of this pose, of his hands creating makeshift cuffs around her wrists, grounds her to the moment itself, rather than allowing her thoughts to stray too far outside this and them, and when she manages to speak again, it's steadier, more certain. ]
I want you to make me ache. Make me hurt. Sir. [ Her telltale arch into that suction, the teasing pressure of his bite, should be another clue — she wants her nipples red, and tender, and sore, by the time he's through with her, but she'll also be soaked for his fingers or his cock, if he deigns to give her either. ] And... I want you in my throat. Please.
( he says it, teasing her, but not lacking in affection — anyone else would be demanding when given the potential of anything, if they'd be bold enough to say it. only greer would use it to please him, a fact that has him smiling fondly up at her, hands smoothing up her body and sinking under the watery softness of her silk cami, pushing it up her chest and past her extended arms, tossing it over his shoulder once she's free. he likes her naked, and has never made a mystery of that — similarly, his hands finds the waistband of her shorts which he pushes down, past her hips and off her long legs, lost with the rest of it.
he focuses back on her with intention, lifting up her leg long enough to press a kiss on the inside of her knee, before flattening her out, shuffling one leg than the other, until he's straddling her stomach. his fingers trace lazily up the insides of her arms, watching goosebumps pop up on her skin, as fascinating as the rest of her. )
Open your mouth. I want to see your tongue.
( he waits for her to oblige, staring at her for a few intense moments before shifting up, higher on her torso. ash pushes his pants down and lets his erection bob free, hand wrapping around his cock and giving himself a few rough strokes, the way she's seen embry do it several times before. )
Remember to snap if you need to safe out.
( a good reminder — but he's more aware of what greer can take now, and moreover what she wants to, what she likes enduring, how she likes being pushed. leaning forward on his knees, he pats the fat underside of his cock on her cheek, before resettling the head on her flat tongue, groaning while he feeds her the rest of it with a slow roll of his hips forward. there's not a lot of buildup — ash likes it when she chokes, when she cries, when she drools from the stretch of his cock nestled in the back of her throat, demanding pleasure. he doesn't hesitate to give a testing thrust, a hand cinching around both of her wrists with a bruising squeeze. she feels like she was made for him — like he was made to use and abuse her, to fuck every hole she has, to own her body and break it apart, just so he can kiss the pieces all back together again. )
[ Being stripped of her clothing is a relief — not because Greer often feels so confined by layers that Ash's gaze seems capable of burning right through, but because she's already warming, flushed with desire for whatever he deems appropriate to give her now. He's always known how to keep her on that knife's edge between denial and satisfaction, winding her up until she's convinced she can't bear anymore and then pushing her boundary further, driving her towards new planes of arousal and the ensuing madness that threatens to overwhelm her completely.
She wants to be here, though, naked and arranged beneath his still-clothed form. He straddles her front, the angle making it seem as though he's looming over her, but is still careful not to crush her chest, or make it difficult for her to breathe. His cock will do plenty of that in short order, and as he shoves the waistband of his pants down, her mouth begins to water; truly, she has an obscene amount of saliva welling up on her tongue at the mere sight of how hard he is, at the idle thought that she could make him swell harder as soon as he settles himself.
There's little reason to speak, little reason to do anything but comply — and as his hand moves over his shaft, her mind can't help but turn to the memories she has, now, of watching Embry do it, watching his hand roughly move over Ash's cock, watching Ash's head tip back, tendons in his neck visible with the pain of it, with the pleasure. Greer obediently opens her mouth, sticks out her tongue; in her mind, Embry's here too, watching them, waiting for permission to run his fingertips along her newly-bared inner thigh. ]
Yes, sir.
[ An assurance, but also a promise — a vow, all on its own, for what they have, what she foolishly hadn't known of before. Ash doesn't wait, doesn't make her wait, but instinctively, she lifts her chin, does her best to relax her throat. He makes her gag anyway, feeding his cock toward her throat before she's fully ready to receive him. His hands feel like irons, branding around her wrists, keeping her held fast, even while the rest of her arches beneath him, thighs gently squeezing together behind his kneeling straddle. It might seem like she's struggling, but in truth, she's exactly where she so often longs to be, serving as a vessel for his pleasure, needing nothing more than to sate him, absorbing every single one of his groans as she coughs, splutters again, tears pinpricking at the corners of her gaze while she fights to keep her eyes open, to keep her attention locked on his handsome features. ]
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he can't find an answer, and is aware there likely isn't one, even as greer helps herself into his room, a look of affection on his face. at least — until the lamplight catches greer's expression and forces him to knot his brows, hands coming up to cup her curvy hips as she crawls over him, settling onto his lap. his sweet, little girl. she remembers. not even the sad stuff necessarily — but that they're married, that she's his wife and possibly his widow, that she holds the full width of their love story in the cavity of her chest. it's a hungry kiss, because ash is always starved for her, his reading glasses mussed as he slides a hand up her back, a three-fingered claw cinching through her hair, fisting tightly. his opposite hand seizes her waist, digging up her tiny sleep shirt, until he has a warm grip of her perfect skin, strong enough to flip them over in one swift motion.
against her mouth, he moans ) Greer. ( and then, with a little more control, more domination, ) Greer.
( it does the trick and they pull apart, greer pressed down into his mattress and ash looking down at her, cataloguing her beautiful tears, her perfect face, the everything about her that he loves so much. he leans up, kisses her salty lashes, stroking his hand against her cheek like trying to soothe her, his wild dog. )
We're okay. It'll be okay. ( cooing, in between kissing her flushed cheeks and red eyes, her needy mouth, her heaving throat. ash, as ever, has one perfect solution to everything. ) Tell me your safeword, angel.
no subject
She nearly giggles, a bit hysterical, when she breaks the kiss to breathe, realizes she's knocked his reading glasses askew, but her center of gravity suddenly tilts and he's put her on her back in an instant, hovering over her. Any time she gets to exist beneath his stare, those discerning green eyes stripping her down to nothing, she wants to simultanously bask in it, like a cat in a sun patch, and curl into herself, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
The sound of her name on his lips brings her out of her thoughts and into the present, and she tries to remember how to breathe again, lifting her chin into his hand, arching as his palm caresses her skin. Her heart wants to beat out of her chest, but she can feel it slowing, dropping lower, a dull echo at the apex of her thighs, as he soothes her with kisses and perfect reassurance. ]
We'll be okay. [ She repeats it, the very thing she needed to hear — seconded only by what he follows up with. In truth, she hadn't even come here for that, but of course Ash would know exactly what she needs, what recenters her in the moments when she's feeling most adrift. She nods once, shakily, before offering it, solely so he knows it's front of mind. ] Maxen. [ In a whisper, as she licks her lips, tasting salt and her own anticipation, as her body slackens into submission beneath his. ]
no subject
That's right.
( softly cooed, thumbs digging into her waist, pushing up the hem of her cami to rub against her soft skin. eventually he pulls his hands away, seeing to the perfunctory needs of the scene — putting his bible on a bedside table, glasses taken off for as long as it takes to clean the lens on his pants before setting them back on his nose. once it's all taken care of, he takes a time just to look at her, his beautiful bride, blonde and pink and perfect. he wants to tell her i want you to marry embry and i want you to live a long, happy life. the words are ill fitted to the moment though, all intimately charged with their particular brand of carnality, and ash stays his tongue, stroking his hands up her arms to capture her wrists, pining them gently above her head.
he doesn't handle her gentle because he thinks she needs it, or that she can't take something rougher — but because he feels the same reverence now that he does anytime he accepts communion on his tongue, like the moment is holy and requires something akin to worship. of course, ash can worship greer with a belt in his hands and her tears on the tops of his feet, so it isn't unusual, just laser pointed, profound. ash should not get this. he should be dead, and not with his hips sandwiched between his wife's gorgeous thighs, fingertips sliding up the hem of her shorts just to feel more of her under his hands. but he is, for some reason, and the moment is beautiful in that precious impossibility — he wants to put her in his mouth and swallow her whole. )
Tell me something you want, little princess.
( not a lack of ideas — too many of them, in fact. ash halves himself down, sucking the tip of one pert breast through her shirt, wetting the cloth. biting, teeth impressions through the soft cotton material. )
no subject
She doesn't know where they're coming from now, whether this is her still mourning or something closer to relief, but she releases a shuddering breath, in the interim, as Ash goes through the motions of setting any distractions aside. The sight of him taking the time to clean the lenses on his glasses makes love swell, strong and powerful, in her chest, and when he takes hold of her wrists, he does it with as much careful deliberation as he'd attended to those smudges caused by her own earnestness. ]
I want — [ Greer swallows, once, around a soft hiccup — the familiarity of this pose, of his hands creating makeshift cuffs around her wrists, grounds her to the moment itself, rather than allowing her thoughts to stray too far outside this and them, and when she manages to speak again, it's steadier, more certain. ]
I want you to make me ache. Make me hurt. Sir. [ Her telltale arch into that suction, the teasing pressure of his bite, should be another clue — she wants her nipples red, and tender, and sore, by the time he's through with her, but she'll also be soaked for his fingers or his cock, if he deigns to give her either. ] And... I want you in my throat. Please.
no subject
( he says it, teasing her, but not lacking in affection — anyone else would be demanding when given the potential of anything, if they'd be bold enough to say it. only greer would use it to please him, a fact that has him smiling fondly up at her, hands smoothing up her body and sinking under the watery softness of her silk cami, pushing it up her chest and past her extended arms, tossing it over his shoulder once she's free. he likes her naked, and has never made a mystery of that — similarly, his hands finds the waistband of her shorts which he pushes down, past her hips and off her long legs, lost with the rest of it.
he focuses back on her with intention, lifting up her leg long enough to press a kiss on the inside of her knee, before flattening her out, shuffling one leg than the other, until he's straddling her stomach. his fingers trace lazily up the insides of her arms, watching goosebumps pop up on her skin, as fascinating as the rest of her. )
Open your mouth. I want to see your tongue.
( he waits for her to oblige, staring at her for a few intense moments before shifting up, higher on her torso. ash pushes his pants down and lets his erection bob free, hand wrapping around his cock and giving himself a few rough strokes, the way she's seen embry do it several times before. )
Remember to snap if you need to safe out.
( a good reminder — but he's more aware of what greer can take now, and moreover what she wants to, what she likes enduring, how she likes being pushed. leaning forward on his knees, he pats the fat underside of his cock on her cheek, before resettling the head on her flat tongue, groaning while he feeds her the rest of it with a slow roll of his hips forward. there's not a lot of buildup — ash likes it when she chokes, when she cries, when she drools from the stretch of his cock nestled in the back of her throat, demanding pleasure. he doesn't hesitate to give a testing thrust, a hand cinching around both of her wrists with a bruising squeeze. she feels like she was made for him — like he was made to use and abuse her, to fuck every hole she has, to own her body and break it apart, just so he can kiss the pieces all back together again. )
no subject
She wants to be here, though, naked and arranged beneath his still-clothed form. He straddles her front, the angle making it seem as though he's looming over her, but is still careful not to crush her chest, or make it difficult for her to breathe. His cock will do plenty of that in short order, and as he shoves the waistband of his pants down, her mouth begins to water; truly, she has an obscene amount of saliva welling up on her tongue at the mere sight of how hard he is, at the idle thought that she could make him swell harder as soon as he settles himself.
There's little reason to speak, little reason to do anything but comply — and as his hand moves over his shaft, her mind can't help but turn to the memories she has, now, of watching Embry do it, watching his hand roughly move over Ash's cock, watching Ash's head tip back, tendons in his neck visible with the pain of it, with the pleasure. Greer obediently opens her mouth, sticks out her tongue; in her mind, Embry's here too, watching them, waiting for permission to run his fingertips along her newly-bared inner thigh. ]
Yes, sir.
[ An assurance, but also a promise — a vow, all on its own, for what they have, what she foolishly hadn't known of before. Ash doesn't wait, doesn't make her wait, but instinctively, she lifts her chin, does her best to relax her throat. He makes her gag anyway, feeding his cock toward her throat before she's fully ready to receive him. His hands feel like irons, branding around her wrists, keeping her held fast, even while the rest of her arches beneath him, thighs gently squeezing together behind his kneeling straddle. It might seem like she's struggling, but in truth, she's exactly where she so often longs to be, serving as a vessel for his pleasure, needing nothing more than to sate him, absorbing every single one of his groans as she coughs, splutters again, tears pinpricking at the corners of her gaze while she fights to keep her eyes open, to keep her attention locked on his handsome features. ]