[ which — he shouldn't have been. ash fixed him, on some level, though arguably he made everything worse, too. the man embry was at twenty-one was heading toward inevitable disaster, joining the army for an adventure that turned into an all-out war that would've gotten him killed if not for ash's guidance, love, and encompassing anger for embry's reckless lack of concern for his own life. everything about his life back home stopped existing during those four years except for the small sliver between life and death, ash's hand heavy on the back of his neck, blood and smoke and bombs, his fucking sister nearly dying in a burning church.
johann strauss playing in a tiny club in prague, while he taught ash how to dance.
then along came danny, one set of ropes and a warm body, and embry's coming apart at the seams, unable to control a carnal desire that ash leashes every day. fuck him. fuck them both. ]
what were you thinking about when i blindfolded you? don't lie. it dilutes the game.
it don't work like that. i don't usually remember where i go when i go somewhere else. but
( but he hadn't gone completely somewhere else that time, had he? it was some frankenstein half-and-half nightmare, too much in his body and too much out of it, his panicked hindbrain trying desperately to evacuate out of his own skin and never come back. embry should have asked: are you really in my hallway? the answer's yes. he's two booted feet beneath the sliver of embry's door, eclipsing his outside light. danny puts his mouth on the cold wood paneling and thinks about his mouth on embry's fly, embry's mouth on his mouth, embry's red mouth, embry's red dick, his daddy's red rage, his daddy's red everything.
what do they have in common? they're both hot and mean. danny's breath fogs the over-polished door when he sighs, rolling his forehead across it. put it back. put it to bed. bury it in pieces in the mojave. once, during a particularly bad session with an impossible fifteen-year-old danny, his therapist told him, you're more than your trauma, gray.
even an impossible fifteen-year-old danny knew she was full of shit, and he knows that still at an impossible twenty-five. no, he's not. he's the sum of it. )
my daddy. i was thinking about the last time i saw him.
[ 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?
my mama died when i was little. custody should've gone to my grandaddy, but after she od'd my daddy took me and no one gave a dime fuck probably 'cause my grandaddy was a red indian man from a shitfuck rez and my daddy was a white army vet from shitfuck lower-class suburbia.
( it's just a story, at this point. danny has a lot of stories, and he feels nothing about most of them. )
only time our beautiful country gave a shit about my daddy being a vet, actually. he used to have me out digging foxholes in our backyard in the fuckin' rain. he slept down there with me once, stinking like whiskey. i jacked him off. he never touched his dick otherwise.
( danny thunks his head against the door, palming his cock through his jeans. he's not thinking about his daddy right now. he's thinking about embry sprawled out in bed, touching his gorgeous dick the way danny is touching his now. )
you really shouldn't have done what you did that night.
[ he's not touching anything anymore, sitting up in bed, bottle in hand despite the fact he's already had too much. it's exactly how the worst night of his life started — well, one of them — kicking abilene out of his house while polishing off a bottle of scotch she'd drugged just for him, falling into bed as her perfectly placed victim. he doesn't know how many times she rode his cock that night, only that it was enough to get her pregnant and it can only be his. ]
i know.
[ he gets up, walks past parisa's panties and lipstick-stained wineglass because she's a worse slob than he is, and opens the door, reaching out to drag danny in by the collar — not rudely, just firmly — and push him against the wall as he sweeps the door shut with his foot. ]
I'm not anyone's dad. Yet. So fuck you.
[ what's obvious is the bulge in danny's jeans. also obvious is that he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't have opened the door at all, and yet embry blinks back and forth between taking bullets in carpathia and watching ash propose to someone else and letting greer believe he left her and knowing that he has no choice but to marry the woman who raped him, and between all of that, yanking danny's belt open doesn't seem that bad.
he sinks down to his knees, danny's cock out in seconds flat, his lips parting as he takes him in, hungry and drunk and burning with guilt. ]
I want — [ muffled with cock, swallowing as his wintery eyes turn upwards. ] Another present.
( embry's always catching him off guard somehow, which seems backward or maybe that's karma circling back around for him, unkindly reminding him that he's not the only unpredictable anomaly in this godforsaken house. the point of this game wasn't for embry to see him at all, so when the door swings open and he's dragged inside, he's struck too stupid to even react until his fly's unzipped, cock out and then gone again into a warm mouth like a hat trick.
danny's hips stutter forward, fucking his cock halfway down his throat on pure reflex. he pockets his phone before he drops it and slides his hand into embry's thick hair, white-knuckling to his scalp. )
Nah. ( fuck, what a mouth. he's halfway between a whine and a rasp, bridling his thumb into the corner of embry's mouth and pulling down on his teeth, feeding him more of his dick, every fat and getting fatter by the second inch on his tongue, in his spasming cunt of an esophagus. he rolls his hips loosely. ) You ain't my daddy, but you are a fucked up fuckin' slut just like him, ain't you?
( just like danny, like father like son. danny knocks a boot heel against embry's knee, spreading his thighs wider, into a little slut sprawl. )
[ it manifestly does not; it's the most vanilla thing he's ever done, even with danny mannerlessly trying to choke him, but he likes it like that, eye-wateringly rough. the kinds of things he's let ash do to him, though, that does make him a fucked up fucking slut. he can't even detail the limits ash has pushed him past because he doesn't have any limits with him, doesn't have anything but thorny love and blistering need when it comes to ash, so yeah, he lets him flog him and fuck him and use him in any way he wants, for hours in bed or stolen minutes in the oval office. it doesn't matter where. he'd do it in hell with ash, if he asked.
embry's throat closes around danny's fat cock, counting the seconds he can't breathe with each bob of his head before he pulls back with a ragged sigh, a flush high in his cheeks. he braces a hand around danny's ankle, sucking his piercing into his mouth while his teeth clink against metal, toying at it with his tongue. ]
You've already seen it. [ he's hard again despite his best intentions, unzipping himself and curling his fingers around his flushed cock, rosy and pert against his palm. danny's wet cock touches his lips again, warm breath against spit-slick skin. ] We're not fucking again, since it was such a big mistake.
( casually, ) No, that makes you a faggot. ( danny flexes his hand in embry's hair, palm skating back to cradle his skull and squeeze. ) Opening the door is what made you a slut.
( inviting danny into his room makes him a slut. knotting a man's dick up with his own tie makes him a slut. but he's a slut who knows how to use his tongue, at least. danny's throat clenches around a jesus christ, hips tilting, his piercing xylophone clinking over his teeth on the way out. the vice-president of the united states of america seems like the kind of guy who knows how to take a throatfucking, so that's what danny decides to give him, as his present: both hands on his face, blunt thumbnails fanning through his bottom lashes as he reins him in and funnels his dick back into his mouth, down his hot fuckdoll throat. )
Oh, fuck. ( shoulders shaking, bowing forward. conversely, danny's the kind of guy who sounds like he's the one getting railed even when he's got his dick in you. danny holds his face while he fucks it, just once or twice, enough to bruise his throat and get his dick sloppy wet before he pulls back, snagging embry by the jaw. he pinches his mouth wide open and spits, one long dribbling line onto the pink platter of his tongue.
that mouth. those eyes. slut. )
After you left and I got out of your stupid fuckin' bowline knots, I just laid there for a while, fingering myself, thinking about you fucking me.
[ 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ which — he shouldn't have been. ash fixed him, on some level, though arguably he made everything worse, too. the man embry was at twenty-one was heading toward inevitable disaster, joining the army for an adventure that turned into an all-out war that would've gotten him killed if not for ash's guidance, love, and encompassing anger for embry's reckless lack of concern for his own life. everything about his life back home stopped existing during those four years except for the small sliver between life and death, ash's hand heavy on the back of his neck, blood and smoke and bombs, his fucking sister nearly dying in a burning church.
johann strauss playing in a tiny club in prague, while he taught ash how to dance.
then along came danny, one set of ropes and a warm body, and embry's coming apart at the seams, unable to control a carnal desire that ash leashes every day. fuck him. fuck them both. ]
what were you thinking about when i blindfolded you?
don't lie. it dilutes the game.
[ he should ask about his photos. and yet. ]
no subject
( but he hadn't gone completely somewhere else that time, had he? it was some frankenstein half-and-half nightmare, too much in his body and too much out of it, his panicked hindbrain trying desperately to evacuate out of his own skin and never come back. embry should have asked: are you really in my hallway? the answer's yes. he's two booted feet beneath the sliver of embry's door, eclipsing his outside light. danny puts his mouth on the cold wood paneling and thinks about his mouth on embry's fly, embry's mouth on his mouth, embry's red mouth, embry's red dick, his daddy's red rage, his daddy's red everything.
what do they have in common? they're both hot and mean. danny's breath fogs the over-polished door when he sighs, rolling his forehead across it. put it back. put it to bed. bury it in pieces in the mojave. once, during a particularly bad session with an impossible fifteen-year-old danny, his therapist told him, you're more than your trauma, gray.
even an impossible fifteen-year-old danny knew she was full of shit, and he knows that still at an impossible twenty-five. no, he's not. he's the sum of it. )
my daddy. i was thinking about the last time i saw him.
no subject
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?
cw: substance abuse, parental death, incest (parent-child)
( it's just a story, at this point. danny has a lot of stories, and he feels nothing about most of them. )
only time our beautiful country gave a shit about my daddy being a vet, actually. he used to have me out digging foxholes in our backyard in the fuckin' rain. he slept down there with me once, stinking like whiskey. i jacked him off. he never touched his dick otherwise.
( danny thunks his head against the door, palming his cock through his jeans. he's not thinking about his daddy right now. he's thinking about embry sprawled out in bed, touching his gorgeous dick the way danny is touching his now. )
you really shouldn't have done what you did that night.
( for your own sake goes unsaid. )
cw: rape
[ he's not touching anything anymore, sitting up in bed, bottle in hand despite the fact he's already had too much. it's exactly how the worst night of his life started — well, one of them — kicking abilene out of his house while polishing off a bottle of scotch she'd drugged just for him, falling into bed as her perfectly placed victim. he doesn't know how many times she rode his cock that night, only that it was enough to get her pregnant and it can only be his. ]
i know.
[ he gets up, walks past parisa's panties and lipstick-stained wineglass because she's a worse slob than he is, and opens the door, reaching out to drag danny in by the collar — not rudely, just firmly — and push him against the wall as he sweeps the door shut with his foot. ]
I'm not anyone's dad. Yet. So fuck you.
[ what's obvious is the bulge in danny's jeans. also obvious is that he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't have opened the door at all, and yet embry blinks back and forth between taking bullets in carpathia and watching ash propose to someone else and letting greer believe he left her and knowing that he has no choice but to marry the woman who raped him, and between all of that, yanking danny's belt open doesn't seem that bad.
he sinks down to his knees, danny's cock out in seconds flat, his lips parting as he takes him in, hungry and drunk and burning with guilt. ]
I want — [ muffled with cock, swallowing as his wintery eyes turn upwards. ] Another present.
no subject
danny's hips stutter forward, fucking his cock halfway down his throat on pure reflex. he pockets his phone before he drops it and slides his hand into embry's thick hair, white-knuckling to his scalp. )
Nah. ( fuck, what a mouth. he's halfway between a whine and a rasp, bridling his thumb into the corner of embry's mouth and pulling down on his teeth, feeding him more of his dick, every fat and getting fatter by the second inch on his tongue, in his spasming cunt of an esophagus. he rolls his hips loosely. ) You ain't my daddy, but you are a fucked up fuckin' slut just like him, ain't you?
( just like danny, like father like son. danny knocks a boot heel against embry's knee, spreading his thighs wider, into a little slut sprawl. )
Take out your dick. Let me see it.
no subject
[ it manifestly does not; it's the most vanilla thing he's ever done, even with danny mannerlessly trying to choke him, but he likes it like that, eye-wateringly rough. the kinds of things he's let ash do to him, though, that does make him a fucked up fucking slut. he can't even detail the limits ash has pushed him past because he doesn't have any limits with him, doesn't have anything but thorny love and blistering need when it comes to ash, so yeah, he lets him flog him and fuck him and use him in any way he wants, for hours in bed or stolen minutes in the oval office. it doesn't matter where. he'd do it in hell with ash, if he asked.
embry's throat closes around danny's fat cock, counting the seconds he can't breathe with each bob of his head before he pulls back with a ragged sigh, a flush high in his cheeks. he braces a hand around danny's ankle, sucking his piercing into his mouth while his teeth clink against metal, toying at it with his tongue. ]
You've already seen it. [ he's hard again despite his best intentions, unzipping himself and curling his fingers around his flushed cock, rosy and pert against his palm. danny's wet cock touches his lips again, warm breath against spit-slick skin. ] We're not fucking again, since it was such a big mistake.
cw: homophobia
( inviting danny into his room makes him a slut. knotting a man's dick up with his own tie makes him a slut. but he's a slut who knows how to use his tongue, at least. danny's throat clenches around a jesus christ, hips tilting, his piercing xylophone clinking over his teeth on the way out. the vice-president of the united states of america seems like the kind of guy who knows how to take a throatfucking, so that's what danny decides to give him, as his present: both hands on his face, blunt thumbnails fanning through his bottom lashes as he reins him in and funnels his dick back into his mouth, down his hot fuckdoll throat. )
Oh, fuck. ( shoulders shaking, bowing forward. conversely, danny's the kind of guy who sounds like he's the one getting railed even when he's got his dick in you. danny holds his face while he fucks it, just once or twice, enough to bruise his throat and get his dick sloppy wet before he pulls back, snagging embry by the jaw. he pinches his mouth wide open and spits, one long dribbling line onto the pink platter of his tongue.
that mouth. those eyes. slut. )
After you left and I got out of your stupid fuckin' bowline knots, I just laid there for a while, fingering myself, thinking about you fucking me.
no subject
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.