[ he feels caught, trapped, and he knows it shows on his face, in the wild slant of his gaze, the skittish cadence of his heart. he's back at ash's feet, something vital threatening to implode inside of him as he tries to pull answers out that embry can't give. that's just the problem, isn't it? embry can't fucking give anything, because if someone cracked him open and had a look, they'd just find a tattered fucking minefield of dissolution and emptiness. a familiar spark of anger ignites within him, that he's here again, in a place where he wants and wants and wants, and he has to be the one to look hawk in the eye and say no.
it's a cosmic fucking joke, all his faithless years catching up to him yet again as some shitty deity in the sky points and laughs and shits directly on his head.
he's still desperately thinking of something to say, still repeating the same mantra from when ash had asked him to marry him both times — please don't make me do this — still trying to remember how to breathe in the face of hawkins fuller looking like a man down in front of him when hawk touches him again, his thumb stroking the erratic thrum of his pulse. embry feels the floor drop out from beneath his feet, but none of the other benefits, like disappearing from the fucking room. ]
Don't fucking ask me what you already know.
[ because he should say no. he should leave. hawk just lost someone, and throwing himself into his arms is the last thing he needs. when ash had lost jenny embry had sworn his fealty to him in every way imaginable, because he thought it was he'd needed, or at least he'd told himself that at the time, but really, embry had been so fucking lonely for seven years that he would have done anything to be back in his arms. anything but give ash what he'd really needed, and he still can't, and now look where they are.
he can see it all again with hawk, down to the fucking waltz.
the stroke of hawk's thumb lances fire against his skin, unimaginable heat. he should hold his ground, pull away from hawk's hold, do the right thing for once, but he stays where he is, because he can't help but feel like anything he does tonight will twist the knife further, just in a different direction. it's like being in carpathia all over again, his sister burning in a church and a bunch of kids dying on a boat and trying to minimize the damage to both. ]
You can stop me. [ take what you're owed is what he would say if ash were before him. it's what he wants to say now. ] I'm the one that came to you. And I said you're on leave until Monday.
no subject
it's a cosmic fucking joke, all his faithless years catching up to him yet again as some shitty deity in the sky points and laughs and shits directly on his head.
he's still desperately thinking of something to say, still repeating the same mantra from when ash had asked him to marry him both times — please don't make me do this — still trying to remember how to breathe in the face of hawkins fuller looking like a man down in front of him when hawk touches him again, his thumb stroking the erratic thrum of his pulse. embry feels the floor drop out from beneath his feet, but none of the other benefits, like disappearing from the fucking room. ]
Don't fucking ask me what you already know.
[ because he should say no. he should leave. hawk just lost someone, and throwing himself into his arms is the last thing he needs. when ash had lost jenny embry had sworn his fealty to him in every way imaginable, because he thought it was he'd needed, or at least he'd told himself that at the time, but really, embry had been so fucking lonely for seven years that he would have done anything to be back in his arms. anything but give ash what he'd really needed, and he still can't, and now look where they are.
he can see it all again with hawk, down to the fucking waltz.
the stroke of hawk's thumb lances fire against his skin, unimaginable heat. he should hold his ground, pull away from hawk's hold, do the right thing for once, but he stays where he is, because he can't help but feel like anything he does tonight will twist the knife further, just in a different direction. it's like being in carpathia all over again, his sister burning in a church and a bunch of kids dying on a boat and trying to minimize the damage to both. ]
You can stop me. [ take what you're owed is what he would say if ash were before him. it's what he wants to say now. ] I'm the one that came to you. And I said you're on leave until Monday.