[ why the hell had he come here again? it was definitely not to end up waltzing in hawk's living room, his memories tossing him between the past and present, grief embalming them both. he almost feels like he's in prague again, now a lifetime ago, looking into ash's eyes and falling, falling, falling, blissfully unaware of the wreckage awaiting him in his future.
he obeys without thinking of disobeying, and that bothers him only after he's already moving in his socked feet across hawk's floor, quiet syllables rumbling through his head. stay awhile. no idea what that means, except that the door is far away now, and he's glad he came because hawk needed someone and doesn't seem to have anyone. not that embry is in a spectacular place to judge. ]
You're not bad. [ it's better than admitting that he's good, that embry feels the thrill of his lost enjoyment returning to him like a cresting wave. ] Better than —
[ ash. fuck, he almost said his name, panic needle-sharp in his throat. he swallows, blinking too-bright eyes as his gaze drops to hawk's mouth. ]
Better than I expected.
[ it isn't exertion that has his breath quickening, but something else that blossoms like a stain inside of him, a senseless want taking hold the longer he keeps himself in hawk's orbit. so what if he's already used up his one chance to fuck hawk? he doesn't need to do that again, although he wouldn't turn it down. but there are still things they haven't done, and it's probably because hawk has no desire to, but embry finds that he does, because for all their tumultuous ups and downs, ash had spoiled embry with his kisses and then ruined him by taking them away.
hawk is no better, pointing out that embry should be kissed, and then just. not. embry knows, logically, that hawk doesn't want him in that way. that the sheen in hawk's eyes is because of shock and mourning and scotch. that the music and their mingling breaths and the firm press of their bodies isn't helping a goddamn thing right now. he should untangle himself and walk away. he's under no obligation to listen to hawk anyway.
instead he leans in, his heart in his throat, and catches hawk's lips against his, timing it as they round an armchair, his fingertips crushing silk as his palm slides out to hawk's back. ]
no subject
he obeys without thinking of disobeying, and that bothers him only after he's already moving in his socked feet across hawk's floor, quiet syllables rumbling through his head. stay awhile. no idea what that means, except that the door is far away now, and he's glad he came because hawk needed someone and doesn't seem to have anyone. not that embry is in a spectacular place to judge. ]
You're not bad. [ it's better than admitting that he's good, that embry feels the thrill of his lost enjoyment returning to him like a cresting wave. ] Better than —
[ ash. fuck, he almost said his name, panic needle-sharp in his throat. he swallows, blinking too-bright eyes as his gaze drops to hawk's mouth. ]
Better than I expected.
[ it isn't exertion that has his breath quickening, but something else that blossoms like a stain inside of him, a senseless want taking hold the longer he keeps himself in hawk's orbit. so what if he's already used up his one chance to fuck hawk? he doesn't need to do that again, although he wouldn't turn it down. but there are still things they haven't done, and it's probably because hawk has no desire to, but embry finds that he does, because for all their tumultuous ups and downs, ash had spoiled embry with his kisses and then ruined him by taking them away.
hawk is no better, pointing out that embry should be kissed, and then just. not. embry knows, logically, that hawk doesn't want him in that way. that the sheen in hawk's eyes is because of shock and mourning and scotch. that the music and their mingling breaths and the firm press of their bodies isn't helping a goddamn thing right now. he should untangle himself and walk away. he's under no obligation to listen to hawk anyway.
instead he leans in, his heart in his throat, and catches hawk's lips against his, timing it as they round an armchair, his fingertips crushing silk as his palm slides out to hawk's back. ]