[ he'd put up a bigger fight if not for the present circumstances, but it does rankle each time hawk does his hawkins fuller thing and snatches the persian rug out from beneath his feet. sometimes embry falls so naturally into places he doesn't mean to that the idea of fighting his own nature aggravates him, especially when he doesn't want to admit to any goddamn nature to begin with.
but his hand is in a perfect place for this: to slide easily into the unkempt curls he's been fixating on since he walked through the door. his knuckles first brush the line of hawk's jaw, the crescent of his cheek, relishing the rough burn of overgrowth, and then he's in his hair, coarser where it clearly hasn't seen a brush in days, and then softer the deeper he pushes in. it's like pressing against a crack to widen it for a rare peek inside. hawkins fuller, real man.
he still smells like his cologne, some spiced, woodsy scent, and scotch and smoke, and all of it feeds directly into embry's brain just like how strauss is assaulting him now. the temperature of the room increases by several degrees, maybe just from body heat, and embry wants, wildly, to pull away, even as he notches his hand at the top of hawk's ribcage and forcefully shoves their hips together. his cock twitches, and he ignores it. ]
That's better form. [ he leans back, his spine curving in a graceful arc. if hawk wants him to be the goddamn woman, he'll be the goddamn woman. no one's going to best him at the viennese waltz while johann fucking strauss is watching. ] Try to keep up. The last man I did this with kept stepping on my toes.
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but his hand is in a perfect place for this: to slide easily into the unkempt curls he's been fixating on since he walked through the door. his knuckles first brush the line of hawk's jaw, the crescent of his cheek, relishing the rough burn of overgrowth, and then he's in his hair, coarser where it clearly hasn't seen a brush in days, and then softer the deeper he pushes in. it's like pressing against a crack to widen it for a rare peek inside. hawkins fuller, real man.
he still smells like his cologne, some spiced, woodsy scent, and scotch and smoke, and all of it feeds directly into embry's brain just like how strauss is assaulting him now. the temperature of the room increases by several degrees, maybe just from body heat, and embry wants, wildly, to pull away, even as he notches his hand at the top of hawk's ribcage and forcefully shoves their hips together. his cock twitches, and he ignores it. ]
That's better form. [ he leans back, his spine curving in a graceful arc. if hawk wants him to be the goddamn woman, he'll be the goddamn woman. no one's going to best him at the viennese waltz while johann fucking strauss is watching. ] Try to keep up. The last man I did this with kept stepping on my toes.