[ it's somehow exactly what he was expecting. some fucked up childhood memory that embry has no way of relating to, because he doesn't even remember his dead father, and his mother is terrifying but gave him every privilege he enjoys today. his childhood doesn't have trauma — he was shipped off to boarding school where he taught himself not to attach himself to anyone, where instead he fucked and drank and drugged his way into having no feelings. he has adult trauma, like a real man.
the door. he hears it, the slightest little snick that makes his hand still on his phone and definitely his dick, and he almost drops everything, almost texts ash or hawk, but the needy pulse between his legs and the sticky liquor haze in his head has him staring as if he can see through wood instead. ]
i feel like i should be insulted. your dad, really? are you thinking about him now? did you used to stalk him behind closed doors, try to listen to him jack off in his bedroom?
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the door. he hears it, the slightest little snick that makes his hand still on his phone and definitely his dick, and he almost drops everything, almost texts ash or hawk, but the needy pulse between his legs and the sticky liquor haze in his head has him staring as if he can see through wood instead. ]
i feel like i should be insulted. your dad, really?
are you thinking about him now? did you used to stalk him behind closed doors, try to listen to him jack off in his bedroom?