[ milan. it sounds romantic in the pathetic kind of way that embry's mind tends to work, where he imagines he's there with ash, visiting gothic cathedrals and hunting for da vinci's folios at the ambrosian library — only for a split second it isn't ash that's with him, but hawk, strolling past flamingo-filled ponds and shamelessly undressing in the crystal-walled tubs of the underwater museum. he wonders if hawk would like to go again, and realizes it would be stupid to ask even if the circumstances weren't so bleak. ]
I'm assuming that friend wanted to dance with you. Do you enjoy a good waltz?
[ over the years, he's snuck a lot of dances with ash, always just the two of them in rooms hidden away from the world. ash has only gotten marginally better over the years, but even so, embry misses it. ash dances with greer now, and it feels like getting horse-kicked in the ribs every time he has to stand in ash's periphery and pretend he doesn't wish it was still with him.
he runs his fingers along the velvety back of the couch, his insides twisting into a casual bundle of nerves. what does one really do for a man that's lost someone? he wasn't great when ash lost jenny — he'd served as more of a container for ash's grief, a willing outlet he could ride and slap and choke his pain away on. somehow that feels absurd with hawk, but so does his one nice offering of a brief leave of absence, hawk's disdain strong enough to wither the balls of a less experienced man. ]
I don't want you there tomorrow, moping around and looking like shit.
[ he looks devastating with his hair begging to be touched, the obscene silk of his robe exposing all manner of lean muscle. christ, he shouldn't be having these thoughts about a man grieving, but he'd let ash fuck him to near unconsciousness shortly after jenny's funeral, so it's not like his track record supports his overall sense of morality. ]
I wouldn't have been in the office today if you'd said something. [ embry loses steam at how fucking bratty he sounds, punctuated by strauss. ] Just take the week. Go see your family or something. Visit a church. Take a walk beside a babbling brook. Invite some stranger over, play them this record, and dance with them. Or just fuck them.
no subject
I'm assuming that friend wanted to dance with you. Do you enjoy a good waltz?
[ over the years, he's snuck a lot of dances with ash, always just the two of them in rooms hidden away from the world. ash has only gotten marginally better over the years, but even so, embry misses it. ash dances with greer now, and it feels like getting horse-kicked in the ribs every time he has to stand in ash's periphery and pretend he doesn't wish it was still with him.
he runs his fingers along the velvety back of the couch, his insides twisting into a casual bundle of nerves. what does one really do for a man that's lost someone? he wasn't great when ash lost jenny — he'd served as more of a container for ash's grief, a willing outlet he could ride and slap and choke his pain away on. somehow that feels absurd with hawk, but so does his one nice offering of a brief leave of absence, hawk's disdain strong enough to wither the balls of a less experienced man. ]
I don't want you there tomorrow, moping around and looking like shit.
[ he looks devastating with his hair begging to be touched, the obscene silk of his robe exposing all manner of lean muscle. christ, he shouldn't be having these thoughts about a man grieving, but he'd let ash fuck him to near unconsciousness shortly after jenny's funeral, so it's not like his track record supports his overall sense of morality. ]
I wouldn't have been in the office today if you'd said something. [ embry loses steam at how fucking bratty he sounds, punctuated by strauss. ] Just take the week. Go see your family or something. Visit a church. Take a walk beside a babbling brook. Invite some stranger over, play them this record, and dance with them. Or just fuck them.