[ danny is not gentle with him by any means, which is — good, honestly. what he doesn't know is that gentle typically gives embry hives, makes him flush with panic and hatred and an absurd longing for something he doesn't know how to take. ash always said he didn't know how to love him, whether keeping him or letting him go was the right answer to what embry needed, and the truth is embry wouldn't be able to tell him. he doesn't know. he's never been able to know, robbed of discovering what kind of life they could have had together for a million different reasons, but mostly because embry's not worth the sacrifice. he's the martyr. he's the one who gives everything up and pretends it means nothing.

he likes the way danny bruises his throat, careless, or maybe careful to do just that. it's not so different from how ash does it, except it's nothing at all like how ash does it, because danny doesn't give a single fuck about him like how ash does. that makes all the difference, his face aflame as danny spits, humiliated by how quickly the simple degrading gesture gets him hot. ]

Yeah? Who's the slut again? [ his sticks his fingers in his own mouth, slicking them up with danny's spit before dipping them into his fly, pushing in until he's brushing danny's tight little hole with spit-soaked fingertips. ] I said I want a present. Your cock isn't a gift.

[ he pushes up into him, his own cock twitching and flushed pink, resting against his open slacks, sadly ignored. it doesn't feel right to go easy on danny, so he doesn't, two fingers in quick, right to the knuckle with no time to adjust to the burn. he's not fucking him, technically. he's just — fucking him. ]

Tell me — the pictures. [ he has danny's cock at his lips again, his lips reddened. ] Danny, please.