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You weren't at breakfast this morning.
[ a little pointed, a little obvious, definitely avoiding any mention of herself — and certainly admitting to the fact that she's been paying attention to his presence in the dining room.
but this is easier, somewhat, over broaching any other subject. ]
[ a little pointed, a little obvious, definitely avoiding any mention of herself — and certainly admitting to the fact that she's been paying attention to his presence in the dining room.
but this is easier, somewhat, over broaching any other subject. ]
[ an astute observation — he hadn’t dragged himself out of bed for the fanfare of breakfast because being pathetic and hungover is a full time fucking job.
still, he can feel the pluck of guilt at his ribs like a harp, the promise he’d broken five years ago fresh in his mind as if he’d walked out of that chicago hotel just yesterday. her words feel like a well-deserved accusation. ]
hey, princess.
did you have an extra mimosa in my honor?
still, he can feel the pluck of guilt at his ribs like a harp, the promise he’d broken five years ago fresh in his mind as if he’d walked out of that chicago hotel just yesterday. her words feel like a well-deserved accusation. ]
hey, princess.
did you have an extra mimosa in my honor?
[ well, at least he answered. that's... something, although she has no way of knowing what the intent behind the words are — all in lowercase, which points to less effort, but he'd also made a point of using punctuation, which does point to some effort. ]
I can't say I'm trusting a lot of what they serve here now.
[ especially not after those parties, and she doesn't want to go into detail about them — the mere thought alone is making her ears hot, her mouth dry as the memory of embry, on his knees, hits her as powerfully now as it had then. ]
You're alright, then?
I can't say I'm trusting a lot of what they serve here now.
[ especially not after those parties, and she doesn't want to go into detail about them — the mere thought alone is making her ears hot, her mouth dry as the memory of embry, on his knees, hits her as powerfully now as it had then. ]
You're alright, then?
[this guy better be fucking hot.
that's the only thing sustaining hawk through this objectively ludicrous endeavor and following up on something that should have stayed an anonymous hookup. he's not even sure what's really driving this when he's at least back on speaking terms with tim - or maybe that's it in a nutshell. those words are echoing in his mind - coward, emotions, you run when it's too much, you pick the easy choice. as if any of this is fucking easy: still watching everything over one shoulder at all times, still living like there's someone watching him for the slightest crack to throw him in jail or present evidence of his deviancy to cohn and mccarthy on a silver platter. it's not like there's any shortage of it here, if anything, the cup runneth significantly over after a stop to the overworld and then some.
didn't stop him on christmas after the polygraph. didn't stop him from curling into tim at five in the morning after bailing leonard out of jail on a public indecency charge like previews of coming attractions if he didn't reign it in. and now here he is: out in public again, soliciting something meaningless because it feels like the walls are still closing in even if he's theoretically miles from dc and the farcical controlling force in the justice department right now.
there's whiskey on his breath and he's carrying a cigarette loosely between his fingers, walking the maze aimlessly with half the idea of turning around if he gets just lost enough, depending on how seriously their oh-so gracious hosts have taken the twists and turns of this. probably just some neat party trick to say they've got one on their grounds - a pissing contest between two wealthy fucks instead of investing in anything worthwhile. credit where it's due though - bathed in the moonlight it looks like some fairytale getaway, exactly where a prince might find his princess, or in this case, another prince. part of him thinks about what tim might look like out here, peeking innocently behind the hedges and waiting for hawk to find him in his solitude, to have his way with him here while the parties rage on inside and no one is the wiser about hawkins fuller and the heart he pretends he doesn't have.
well, he'll just have to settle for someone else.
he stops when he manages to reach the center, a giant statue looking like a bull? no, the minotaur, with a sigh and another deep inhale. it's only then that he notices something glinting off to the side - a bottle. hawk lets his footsteps fall heavier, still confident in their slowness as he takes his time making his way around the curve until he sees a figure sitting next to it. dark hair - a promising start. hawk lets his voice ring out clear, low and a little teasing from behind as he presses a hand against the statue and leans over.]
Well I guess that's as good a glass slipper as any.
that's the only thing sustaining hawk through this objectively ludicrous endeavor and following up on something that should have stayed an anonymous hookup. he's not even sure what's really driving this when he's at least back on speaking terms with tim - or maybe that's it in a nutshell. those words are echoing in his mind - coward, emotions, you run when it's too much, you pick the easy choice. as if any of this is fucking easy: still watching everything over one shoulder at all times, still living like there's someone watching him for the slightest crack to throw him in jail or present evidence of his deviancy to cohn and mccarthy on a silver platter. it's not like there's any shortage of it here, if anything, the cup runneth significantly over after a stop to the overworld and then some.
didn't stop him on christmas after the polygraph. didn't stop him from curling into tim at five in the morning after bailing leonard out of jail on a public indecency charge like previews of coming attractions if he didn't reign it in. and now here he is: out in public again, soliciting something meaningless because it feels like the walls are still closing in even if he's theoretically miles from dc and the farcical controlling force in the justice department right now.
there's whiskey on his breath and he's carrying a cigarette loosely between his fingers, walking the maze aimlessly with half the idea of turning around if he gets just lost enough, depending on how seriously their oh-so gracious hosts have taken the twists and turns of this. probably just some neat party trick to say they've got one on their grounds - a pissing contest between two wealthy fucks instead of investing in anything worthwhile. credit where it's due though - bathed in the moonlight it looks like some fairytale getaway, exactly where a prince might find his princess, or in this case, another prince. part of him thinks about what tim might look like out here, peeking innocently behind the hedges and waiting for hawk to find him in his solitude, to have his way with him here while the parties rage on inside and no one is the wiser about hawkins fuller and the heart he pretends he doesn't have.
well, he'll just have to settle for someone else.
he stops when he manages to reach the center, a giant statue looking like a bull? no, the minotaur, with a sigh and another deep inhale. it's only then that he notices something glinting off to the side - a bottle. hawk lets his footsteps fall heavier, still confident in their slowness as he takes his time making his way around the curve until he sees a figure sitting next to it. dark hair - a promising start. hawk lets his voice ring out clear, low and a little teasing from behind as he presses a hand against the statue and leans over.]
Well I guess that's as good a glass slipper as any.
[ after so long of being so careful, of putting her out of his mind in the only way he knew how — chasing the familiar ruins of destruction — it still sends a shiver through him each time her name lights up his phone. in the grand scheme of things, he's barely touched her. one night, now two. and yet greer galloway has a hook through him just like ash does, like some demented part of him enjoys trying to collect things he can't have. ]
it's like a constant high, being here. not exactly in a good way, though.
you should be careful.
[ it goes unsaid that embry is not going to be careful. it's not something he's ever put into practice. ]
i'm fine. i just haven't seen you around much.
what've you been up to? courting some new paramours because you like a side of danger?
[ he means it as a joke, and it's almost funny, except for the vicious flash of jealousy that sears through him, white-hot. he could strangle whoever puts their hands on greer, though in the sexy way first. ]
it's like a constant high, being here. not exactly in a good way, though.
you should be careful.
[ it goes unsaid that embry is not going to be careful. it's not something he's ever put into practice. ]
i'm fine. i just haven't seen you around much.
what've you been up to? courting some new paramours because you like a side of danger?
[ he means it as a joke, and it's almost funny, except for the vicious flash of jealousy that sears through him, white-hot. he could strangle whoever puts their hands on greer, though in the sexy way first. ]
[ it's suffocating inside, so obviously the better choice of action is to meet a stranger out in the maze for — what, exactly, he doesn't know. is a stranger even still a stranger if he's had their cock in his mouth? also unknown, though embry is leaning toward no in this situation, because a blowjob is pretty familiar even if it's between a wall. jesus christ, he's the king of questionable fucking decisions, and still he doesn't make a move from his perch beside the minotaur, because he's curious. achingly so. and yeah, he's a little fucked up too, but when is he not? everything he consumes here seems to have bad side effects, and yet he keeps drinking, keeps snorting, keeps putting shit in his mouth. no one's going to tell him no, because no one ever tells embry moore no.
that's the only real thing about this place. not even the stars wheeling across the sky can possibly be real, because a place with no exit is just some kind of nightmare, right? he should mind it a little more than he does, but it's nice to be out of washington. it feels great to be out of the closed doors of the goddamn white house that he dragged ash into. at least these doors feel like his mother's house, with lyonesse in the basement — all things easy and familiar. he knows this game, and he knows how to play it well.
he looks every bit the brooding prince tonight, moonlight catching the haughty glint of his eye, his blazer discarded in the grass, tie hanging loose around his neck, an errant lock of his dark hair curling across his forehead. the bottle of gin is mostly empty, and tragically out of reach so it can be seen from the maze's path, and embry hears the visitor before he sees him, craning around toward the sound of confident footfalls before meeting a pair of eyes shrouded in shadow, blue peeking out. the utter handsomeness of the man strikes him first, because embry thinks primarily with his dick, but something itches beneath his skin at the way the man looks or stands or just breathes, the same visceral tug that curled in his gut when he'd uttered his annoying fucking command through the wall. he shakes it off, because the last thing he needs is a repeat of ash fucking colchester syndrome in this stupid house. ]
Came to repay the favor?
that's the only real thing about this place. not even the stars wheeling across the sky can possibly be real, because a place with no exit is just some kind of nightmare, right? he should mind it a little more than he does, but it's nice to be out of washington. it feels great to be out of the closed doors of the goddamn white house that he dragged ash into. at least these doors feel like his mother's house, with lyonesse in the basement — all things easy and familiar. he knows this game, and he knows how to play it well.
he looks every bit the brooding prince tonight, moonlight catching the haughty glint of his eye, his blazer discarded in the grass, tie hanging loose around his neck, an errant lock of his dark hair curling across his forehead. the bottle of gin is mostly empty, and tragically out of reach so it can be seen from the maze's path, and embry hears the visitor before he sees him, craning around toward the sound of confident footfalls before meeting a pair of eyes shrouded in shadow, blue peeking out. the utter handsomeness of the man strikes him first, because embry thinks primarily with his dick, but something itches beneath his skin at the way the man looks or stands or just breathes, the same visceral tug that curled in his gut when he'd uttered his annoying fucking command through the wall. he shakes it off, because the last thing he needs is a repeat of ash fucking colchester syndrome in this stupid house. ]
Came to repay the favor?
[ she hasn’t put her phone down since she sent the first text. it’s silly, watching the screen, waiting for the bubbles to appear that let her know he’s typing a reply, and yet she can’t help herself, like she’s just waiting for any crumb he’s willing to toss her. she feels like a teenager again, sitting by the phone, anticipating its ring. those bubbles appear, and her stomach practically does a flip in response. ]
Nothing all that exciting. I’m not sure these parties are really my thing.
[ said after she’d had a dark, handsome stranger grip her chin before spitting in her mouth, sweet and degrading all at once. how she’d wanted to fall to her knees right then and there, feel his fingers clutching her hair while she nuzzled against his slacks. she hasn’t felt like that with anyone since — ]
Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.
[ trying to drag herself away from thoughts of ash, she sends off the next text too quickly, not considering the implications of teasing embry like this. not thinking about how it might come across. ]
Nothing all that exciting. I’m not sure these parties are really my thing.
[ said after she’d had a dark, handsome stranger grip her chin before spitting in her mouth, sweet and degrading all at once. how she’d wanted to fall to her knees right then and there, feel his fingers clutching her hair while she nuzzled against his slacks. she hasn’t felt like that with anyone since — ]
Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.
[ trying to drag herself away from thoughts of ash, she sends off the next text too quickly, not considering the implications of teasing embry like this. not thinking about how it might come across. ]
you've been doing the political circuit your whole life. this should be a piece of cake.
[ literally.
but — yes. he's worried about her. not that she can't take care of herself when it comes to people wanting to fuck her (christ, he really doesn't want to think about the sheer volume of people that probably want to do just that), but he knows a side of greer that maybe even ash doesn't know. he isn't privy to everything they do behind closed doors, but he does know that greer hadn't played the perfect little submissive with him. there's a wildcat inside of her that matches his own teeth, and embry has spent five years clawing at the walls for how bad he misses her. ]
leo taught you well. you didn't answer the question and somehow i like you more than i did two minutes ago.
[ literally.
but — yes. he's worried about her. not that she can't take care of herself when it comes to people wanting to fuck her (christ, he really doesn't want to think about the sheer volume of people that probably want to do just that), but he knows a side of greer that maybe even ash doesn't know. he isn't privy to everything they do behind closed doors, but he does know that greer hadn't played the perfect little submissive with him. there's a wildcat inside of her that matches his own teeth, and embry has spent five years clawing at the walls for how bad he misses her. ]
leo taught you well. you didn't answer the question and somehow i like you more than i did two minutes ago.
The only time politicians mingle at parties like that is when they don't want anyone to know about it.
[ that's not to say that such minglings don't end up getting out — a leak here, a leak there, and it's anyone's guess as to whether it's career-ending or not. but she also knows what expectations for her are, what they've always been, and the granddaughter of leo galloway isn't meant to walk the rooms of a party like the one she'd willingly attended. ]
You're one to talk.
[ he knows what she's getting at — that it isn't the mingling she's trying to adjust to, but everything around it. bodies entwining in darkened corridors, wandering hands on the dancefloor, moans barely covered up by the thumping bassline that bleeds into every song. worse still, she'd wanted him there — holding her, touching her — and he hadn't been, and she feels like a petulant child seeking him out now, but it doesn't change the fact that having that taste of him in the maze has only left her wanting more. ]
So how much do you like me?
[ that's not to say that such minglings don't end up getting out — a leak here, a leak there, and it's anyone's guess as to whether it's career-ending or not. but she also knows what expectations for her are, what they've always been, and the granddaughter of leo galloway isn't meant to walk the rooms of a party like the one she'd willingly attended. ]
You're one to talk.
[ he knows what she's getting at — that it isn't the mingling she's trying to adjust to, but everything around it. bodies entwining in darkened corridors, wandering hands on the dancefloor, moans barely covered up by the thumping bassline that bleeds into every song. worse still, she'd wanted him there — holding her, touching her — and he hadn't been, and she feels like a petulant child seeking him out now, but it doesn't change the fact that having that taste of him in the maze has only left her wanting more. ]
So how much do you like me?
besides being indefinitely stuck here, i haven't seen any guarantees that our secrets are being kept.
[ it's a little too on the nose, considering his longstanding membership at lyonesse and how many times ash has fucked him within an inch of his life in one of their back rooms. but greer doesn't have to know about any of that. it's enough that she knows him as washington's most eligible bachelor, floating through life with a new girl on his arm every night and unable to be trusted with anything resembling commitment.
frankly, the less she knows the better. if she knew how much he actually liked her, actually wanted her, that he wasn't kidding about wanting to put a ring on her finger — nothing good can come out of that. she's ash's girl, for christ's sake. even when things were at their very best between him and ash, when embry still thought there was still hope for them, ash still kept those emails close, had pored over them like were an extension of the bible he'd keep at his bedside. embry never had a chance. ]
enough that if you gave me a list of names of the people making eyes at you, i'd put nair in their shampoo bottles.
[ it's a little too on the nose, considering his longstanding membership at lyonesse and how many times ash has fucked him within an inch of his life in one of their back rooms. but greer doesn't have to know about any of that. it's enough that she knows him as washington's most eligible bachelor, floating through life with a new girl on his arm every night and unable to be trusted with anything resembling commitment.
frankly, the less she knows the better. if she knew how much he actually liked her, actually wanted her, that he wasn't kidding about wanting to put a ring on her finger — nothing good can come out of that. she's ash's girl, for christ's sake. even when things were at their very best between him and ash, when embry still thought there was still hope for them, ash still kept those emails close, had pored over them like were an extension of the bible he'd keep at his bedside. embry never had a chance. ]
enough that if you gave me a list of names of the people making eyes at you, i'd put nair in their shampoo bottles.
Maybe the answer is not to go at all, then.
[ there’d be no secrets to protect if she gave away nothing of herself, surrendered up no part of herself where anyone could see her. if she didn’t admit that she’d liked being looked at, would've liked it more being someone’s prize, kneeling at their feet where no one else would be allowed to touch her. she’s still trying to accept the fact that she even wants to let herself be owned in that way.
anyway, it’s easier to ask these types of things, be daring, when she’s not looking at him. the same way it had been easier to bare her soul in those letters to ash, more and more pieces gifted up like little offerings in the small hope that he’d read them one day. in words, she can say anything she wants, but there’s an immediacy to this that emailing doesn’t quite have. knowing that embry’s sitting on the other end as they speak, waiting for her reply. ]
It’d be a short list.
Most of them were pretty sweet, actually. One even gave me his jacket.
[ she’s conveniently leaving one of them out, maybe even to see if he calls her on it. ]
[ there’d be no secrets to protect if she gave away nothing of herself, surrendered up no part of herself where anyone could see her. if she didn’t admit that she’d liked being looked at, would've liked it more being someone’s prize, kneeling at their feet where no one else would be allowed to touch her. she’s still trying to accept the fact that she even wants to let herself be owned in that way.
anyway, it’s easier to ask these types of things, be daring, when she’s not looking at him. the same way it had been easier to bare her soul in those letters to ash, more and more pieces gifted up like little offerings in the small hope that he’d read them one day. in words, she can say anything she wants, but there’s an immediacy to this that emailing doesn’t quite have. knowing that embry’s sitting on the other end as they speak, waiting for her reply. ]
It’d be a short list.
Most of them were pretty sweet, actually. One even gave me his jacket.
[ she’s conveniently leaving one of them out, maybe even to see if he calls her on it. ]
clearly the answer is to go and be as stealthy and duplicitous as possible.
[ it's a joke, but embry might already be taking his advice to heart. it's not like he's attached to anyone — ash isn't here, and he doesn't fucking own him even if he was. and greer isn't his. she never has been.
a short list is still a list. he shouldn't be jealous, not when he's been on his knees at the glory holes with a stranger's dick in his mouth. he doesn't have the right to be jealous when he's the one circling his best friend's woman, making him the shittiest man alive by all accounts. and still... jealousy might as well be a knife jammed between his ribs. ]
you said most.
so which ones weren't sweet?
[ it's a joke, but embry might already be taking his advice to heart. it's not like he's attached to anyone — ash isn't here, and he doesn't fucking own him even if he was. and greer isn't his. she never has been.
a short list is still a list. he shouldn't be jealous, not when he's been on his knees at the glory holes with a stranger's dick in his mouth. he doesn't have the right to be jealous when he's the one circling his best friend's woman, making him the shittiest man alive by all accounts. and still... jealousy might as well be a knife jammed between his ribs. ]
you said most.
so which ones weren't sweet?
[yeah, it's fucking suffocating inside. suffocating with the fear of still being watched and the unbearable pressure of knowing he's gonna hurt tim again with or without lucy smith here to extend an engagement to. if he were a better man he'd be in there trying to make it work, apologizing for his outburst at the party and dragging tim off with the intent of fucking the jealousy away. he'd be taking this as an opportunity to test out the idea of a better life - one where they aren't looking over their shoulder or judged for who they sleep with (love, tim had said and meant even if hawk never said it back - he had to know it was the same, didn't he?) and spend their time wrapped up in. on the surface this place looks like some sort of sordid heaven, a reward unearned for all the hard time he's put in at the senate hearings and in the department of justice and even his goddamn polygraph.
it should be counterintuitive, the way this makes him feel a little safer. it's not about that - it's that being in the open, on the hunt and in control of his own risk-taking feels familiar in a way that's manageable. prowling the maze like he would dupont circle after dark, finding a pretty thing to push onto his knees or follow home and press facedown for a rough fuck to burn off all the tension until he rinses and repeats, doing it all over again. only here he doesn't have the luxury of anonymity or a revolving door of takers, of imposing distance and keeping his distance from any attachment that might get him in trouble or killed.
this one still shouldn't count.
he'd never seen the guy's face, but there's something of a kindred spirit hawk feels like he can sense in him - putting himself in a base environment like that and on his knees no less. taking him down like a fucking champ and getting off on it no less, obeying hawk even if he had no fucking obligation, like there was something desperate clawing its way out and couldn't be resisted. so fine, maybe he's a hypocrite according to tim. but he's a hot-blooded american, and his interest has been piqued, and so here he stands, looking down at a pair of gorgeous blue eyes, plush lips and thick hair he'd like to run his hands through. that's a face men go to war for, not kick out of bed - quite frankly, a fucking jackpot on all accounts. it shows in the way hawk visibly brightens, smirk tugging at the corners as he steps in closer.]
As long as you're alright with a little quid pro quo.
[no need for pleasantries. doesn't matter who they are, and hawk isn't getting on his knees in a true exchange - but he will finish the job he started.]
Promised you the ride of your goddamn life, and I'm here to deliver.
it should be counterintuitive, the way this makes him feel a little safer. it's not about that - it's that being in the open, on the hunt and in control of his own risk-taking feels familiar in a way that's manageable. prowling the maze like he would dupont circle after dark, finding a pretty thing to push onto his knees or follow home and press facedown for a rough fuck to burn off all the tension until he rinses and repeats, doing it all over again. only here he doesn't have the luxury of anonymity or a revolving door of takers, of imposing distance and keeping his distance from any attachment that might get him in trouble or killed.
this one still shouldn't count.
he'd never seen the guy's face, but there's something of a kindred spirit hawk feels like he can sense in him - putting himself in a base environment like that and on his knees no less. taking him down like a fucking champ and getting off on it no less, obeying hawk even if he had no fucking obligation, like there was something desperate clawing its way out and couldn't be resisted. so fine, maybe he's a hypocrite according to tim. but he's a hot-blooded american, and his interest has been piqued, and so here he stands, looking down at a pair of gorgeous blue eyes, plush lips and thick hair he'd like to run his hands through. that's a face men go to war for, not kick out of bed - quite frankly, a fucking jackpot on all accounts. it shows in the way hawk visibly brightens, smirk tugging at the corners as he steps in closer.]
As long as you're alright with a little quid pro quo.
[no need for pleasantries. doesn't matter who they are, and hawk isn't getting on his knees in a true exchange - but he will finish the job he started.]
Promised you the ride of your goddamn life, and I'm here to deliver.
[ he's already made a few assumptions about this man — this isn't their first meeting, no matter how little he's seen of him until this point, and their actual first meeting had been, frankly, revealing as shit. embry had been the one to offer up that he's never patronized a glory hole before. he hadn't gotten any kind of resounding agreement to his comment. hell, the guy seemed pretty damn comfortable getting serviced through a wall, though embry reminds himself to rein in his judgment when he thinks about how thoroughly the situation had turned him on in return. just the memory of it has his cheeks darkening in the moonlight, a flush creeping up past his collar. there's no question as to why the two of them are here, skulking about in the darkness. they both have things to hide.
he turns his face away in an attempt to preserve his dignity, lounging casually against the statue. the lights of the house seem faraway, a dollhouse twinkling in the distance, and he's glad for the isolation because he's ashamed of what he's doing — not because he's with another man (his bisexual crisis lasted about twelve seconds as a boarding school preteen), but because of how this is happening. he can feel that tight, itchy feeling that only spells trouble, that leads to an inevitably ugly end where he's shown the worst parts of himself, bitter and soulless, selfish as hell and lacking anything resembling a conscience.
because otherwise he wouldn't be here. he would be trying to make amends with greer. he would be thinking of ash's career and the best way to preserve it. he wouldn't be salivating at the memory of a stranger's cock shoved into his mouth, and orchestrating ways to get it to happen again. ]
I left my gloves. [ he sounds petulant — like a fucking brat asking the servants about his jizz-soaked underwear. ] Do you have them?
[ they were nice gloves, is all, and embry likes nice clothes. the man is standing close enough that he can feel the heat of his body, though embry stubbornly refuses to look over his shoulder, leaning back on one hand as his knuckles tighten against the cool marble. ]
You work in politics, don't you? [ he ventures his guess with an air of casual confidence, grasping for the upper hand. ] You talk like you do. You did on the other side of that wall — which you seemed pretty damn comfortable behind, by the way, which tells me you're a model closeted citizen, aren't you?
he turns his face away in an attempt to preserve his dignity, lounging casually against the statue. the lights of the house seem faraway, a dollhouse twinkling in the distance, and he's glad for the isolation because he's ashamed of what he's doing — not because he's with another man (his bisexual crisis lasted about twelve seconds as a boarding school preteen), but because of how this is happening. he can feel that tight, itchy feeling that only spells trouble, that leads to an inevitably ugly end where he's shown the worst parts of himself, bitter and soulless, selfish as hell and lacking anything resembling a conscience.
because otherwise he wouldn't be here. he would be trying to make amends with greer. he would be thinking of ash's career and the best way to preserve it. he wouldn't be salivating at the memory of a stranger's cock shoved into his mouth, and orchestrating ways to get it to happen again. ]
I left my gloves. [ he sounds petulant — like a fucking brat asking the servants about his jizz-soaked underwear. ] Do you have them?
[ they were nice gloves, is all, and embry likes nice clothes. the man is standing close enough that he can feel the heat of his body, though embry stubbornly refuses to look over his shoulder, leaning back on one hand as his knuckles tighten against the cool marble. ]
You work in politics, don't you? [ he ventures his guess with an air of casual confidence, grasping for the upper hand. ] You talk like you do. You did on the other side of that wall — which you seemed pretty damn comfortable behind, by the way, which tells me you're a model closeted citizen, aren't you?
I'm not sure I can be all that stealthy.
[ for one, even if she were to try and blend in at a party like this, she's not sure she could act convincing enough not to stick out like a sore thumb. second, and more importantly, wouldn't embry be able to spot her, no matter how hard she attempted to hide? ]
And if I give you a name, then what?
[ why is the first thing that pops into her head the possibility of him tracking down this other man, trying to pick a fight? she doesn't have a name anyway, but the point still stands. ]
[ for one, even if she were to try and blend in at a party like this, she's not sure she could act convincing enough not to stick out like a sore thumb. second, and more importantly, wouldn't embry be able to spot her, no matter how hard she attempted to hide? ]
And if I give you a name, then what?
[ why is the first thing that pops into her head the possibility of him tracking down this other man, trying to pick a fight? she doesn't have a name anyway, but the point still stands. ]
we could make a game out of it. where's waldo: greer edition.
i get a prize of your choosing if i find you.
[ he already knows what he wants, but it matters more that she wants, if she wants any of this at all, or if it's just all in his head, a fantasy he's been holding onto that he can't move on from. she's happy with ash, so why would she still want him? ]
what, you don't trust me to behave?
[ but she's right not to. ash is the one always in control, never with a hair out of place. embry is a slave to everything he feels, including the rampant jealousy coursing through him. it's not an unfamiliar feeling — it prickles at him at every diplomatic dinner where he has to watch greer dance with other men who try to get a little too handsy, a little too close, and that wolfish, possessive part of him stops caring about the optics of perception and just wants to put his fist through someone's face. and ash isn't here to drag him back by the scruff of his neck. ]
i want you to have a good time. and i want you to be safe.
if anyone's not letting that happen, then what kind of person would i be to just sit by and watch?
i get a prize of your choosing if i find you.
[ he already knows what he wants, but it matters more that she wants, if she wants any of this at all, or if it's just all in his head, a fantasy he's been holding onto that he can't move on from. she's happy with ash, so why would she still want him? ]
what, you don't trust me to behave?
[ but she's right not to. ash is the one always in control, never with a hair out of place. embry is a slave to everything he feels, including the rampant jealousy coursing through him. it's not an unfamiliar feeling — it prickles at him at every diplomatic dinner where he has to watch greer dance with other men who try to get a little too handsy, a little too close, and that wolfish, possessive part of him stops caring about the optics of perception and just wants to put his fist through someone's face. and ash isn't here to drag him back by the scruff of his neck. ]
i want you to have a good time. and i want you to be safe.
if anyone's not letting that happen, then what kind of person would i be to just sit by and watch?
Carte blanche? That's a lot of power to give me.
[ and a part of her thrills at it, finds herself idly squirming at the thought of them making this a sort of hunt — him searching the party for her, looking for her specifically while she does her best to hide, what he might do when he finds her —
she's tempered, somewhat, by his answer, by the notion that he is seeking to protect her. maybe that is really what she's looking for, rather than him striding up to the first man he sees get too close to her — someone he's deemed as having insulted her — and decking him or initiating some other form of tough-guy violence. ]
What if I was enjoying myself?
Would you sit by and watch then?
[ and a part of her thrills at it, finds herself idly squirming at the thought of them making this a sort of hunt — him searching the party for her, looking for her specifically while she does her best to hide, what he might do when he finds her —
she's tempered, somewhat, by his answer, by the notion that he is seeking to protect her. maybe that is really what she's looking for, rather than him striding up to the first man he sees get too close to her — someone he's deemed as having insulted her — and decking him or initiating some other form of tough-guy violence. ]
What if I was enjoying myself?
Would you sit by and watch then?
i'm not interested in being ash.
you're in control.
[ an unnecessary dig — she loves him just like embry loves him, but the difference is that a part of embry wants to defy ash at every turn where greer falls in line as his perfect submissive. she does it better than he does, which is why they're happy together, and embry is alone. it's as simple as a fairy tale with a perfectly moral ending, if morals involved spankings and ball gags.
but — shit. what if her rules do involve torturing him with the sight of someone else's mouth on her sweet cunt? what if she does want him to watch? as if he isn't already in this very specific hell, watching ash and greer giggle and laugh and kiss like goddamn honeymooners, twisting embry's brittle heart to pieces. both his first and second chance at love, lost. ]
order me to. better yet, cuff me to a chair and make me watch.
i want to see what you're like when you're not with me.
you're in control.
[ an unnecessary dig — she loves him just like embry loves him, but the difference is that a part of embry wants to defy ash at every turn where greer falls in line as his perfect submissive. she does it better than he does, which is why they're happy together, and embry is alone. it's as simple as a fairy tale with a perfectly moral ending, if morals involved spankings and ball gags.
but — shit. what if her rules do involve torturing him with the sight of someone else's mouth on her sweet cunt? what if she does want him to watch? as if he isn't already in this very specific hell, watching ash and greer giggle and laugh and kiss like goddamn honeymooners, twisting embry's brittle heart to pieces. both his first and second chance at love, lost. ]
order me to. better yet, cuff me to a chair and make me watch.
i want to see what you're like when you're not with me.
[ she almost bites back a little too hard — of course he's not ash, no one could ever be ash, not for her — but in the same instant, she has the diametrically opposing thought of not wanting embry to be ash. she doesn't seek him out for the same reasons, doesn't want him for the same reasons, doesn't let her hands stray idly across herself when she's in bed alone for the same reasons. ]
Maybe I'm too selfish for that. Letting you watch.
Maybe if I have you cuffed to a chair, I'd want to have you all to myself.
[ the images are fast and unrelenting — embry, his wrists bound behind him as she straddles him in that chair, indulging herself with a bit of personalized torment, denying him the right to touch her, kiss her, even as she uses him for her own pleasure, sinking down onto him, maybe even forbidding him from finishing until she's through — or from finishing at all.
it'd serve him right, she thinks, for leaving her to wake up alone that morning, with only his scent on her skin providing the coldest of comforts. turnabout is fair play. ]
Maybe I'm too selfish for that. Letting you watch.
Maybe if I have you cuffed to a chair, I'd want to have you all to myself.
[ the images are fast and unrelenting — embry, his wrists bound behind him as she straddles him in that chair, indulging herself with a bit of personalized torment, denying him the right to touch her, kiss her, even as she uses him for her own pleasure, sinking down onto him, maybe even forbidding him from finishing until she's through — or from finishing at all.
it'd serve him right, she thinks, for leaving her to wake up alone that morning, with only his scent on her skin providing the coldest of comforts. turnabout is fair play. ]
[ When she accepts Embry’s offer, she tells him the location of her room, nextdoor to Lestat de Lioncourt, though his room remains closed to her. In King’s Landing, such an invitation would condemn her to scandal, but she’s quickly learning there are no such rules in play here.
Still, her heart flutters like a bird in her breast, as she opens the door. Ser Criston had been her guard since she was a girl, Viserys as good as family until she’d been asked to — to — ]
It’s most reassuring to see you, Embry.
[ A little thrill, at calling a man by name, not title. She’s only ever been able to address her sons so informally. With a slight smile, she clasps her hands before her. Today, her dress bridges the gap between the world she knew and this one, a shimmering green cut across her chest, shoulders and collarbone exposed. The light fabric reaches her ankles and the sleeves split open, cuffed gold at her wrist. Bandages line her left forearm, obscuring the mark of the beast. ]
Would you — [ She turns around, her dress open to her lower back. ] I suppose I can’t ask you to ‘lace me’ when these dresses haven’t any stays.
[ Zip her up, ladies’ maid. ]
Still, her heart flutters like a bird in her breast, as she opens the door. Ser Criston had been her guard since she was a girl, Viserys as good as family until she’d been asked to — to — ]
It’s most reassuring to see you, Embry.
[ A little thrill, at calling a man by name, not title. She’s only ever been able to address her sons so informally. With a slight smile, she clasps her hands before her. Today, her dress bridges the gap between the world she knew and this one, a shimmering green cut across her chest, shoulders and collarbone exposed. The light fabric reaches her ankles and the sleeves split open, cuffed gold at her wrist. Bandages line her left forearm, obscuring the mark of the beast. ]
Would you — [ She turns around, her dress open to her lower back. ] I suppose I can’t ask you to ‘lace me’ when these dresses haven’t any stays.
[ Zip her up, ladies’ maid. ]
[ has anyone ever, in life, felt reassured to see him? maybe ash during their years deployed in carpathia as tensions turned into a war, just because seeing him meant embry hadn't gotten himself recklessly killed yet despite the abundance of opportunity. embry is typically the one disappointing the ones he loves, watching their faces twist into magnanimous suffering as he pulls away, never one to stay put for too long despite making his homes in people instead of places. his life is sacrificial, secondary to ash's grandeur. it's a choice he made, and any bitterness he holds is his personal fucking business — and fuck, is he bitter. not towards ash, not really, because he loves him too much to hate him like he wants to. but he has enough bitterness to feed the entire breakfast table and more.
but he is a politician, and he's spent years honing his vice president voice. he's not the same wild idiot he was at twenty-one, falling obsessively in love with another man under the crushing weight of don't ask, don't tell. the smile with which he greets alicent is equal parts adoring and mischievous, the smile that's earned him his rightful place as the most eligible bachelor in politics, a man that's known to have a new woman on his arm every night while spending his days standing loyally by the president's — his best friend ("friend") — side.
it's a marvelous sight first thing in the morning to see alicent's exposed back. especially since he'd spent the night in torment thinking of ash and greer and all the dirty things they might have been up to without him. ]
Morning, sunshine.
[ embry looks like he's stepped out of the pages of a magazine in pale trousers and a baby blue sweater that matches his eyes, his dark hair doing a perfect regency flop over his forehead. as a professional in his misery, it's undetectable that he was up half the night drowning his sorrows in a bottle of gin. with the practiced ease of a man who's helped many a woman into — and out of — a fancy dress, he begins zipping alicent closed before running into the obstruction of her enormous mane of hair. ]
How's your arm feeling this morning?
[ he asks the question only half because he cares; he is intensely distracted by the color of her hair, glorious, deep copper set in waves that rival the goddamn ocean. it's nearly the same shade as greer's cousin, abilene, and when embry lifts a gentle handful to sweep over her shoulder to clear a path for the zipper, all of last night's gin threatens to come back up as stale bile burning his throat.
he swallows swiftly and yanks the zipper the rest of the way up, setting his hands on her bare shoulders as he twirls her around to face him. ]
Green's a great color on you.
but he is a politician, and he's spent years honing his vice president voice. he's not the same wild idiot he was at twenty-one, falling obsessively in love with another man under the crushing weight of don't ask, don't tell. the smile with which he greets alicent is equal parts adoring and mischievous, the smile that's earned him his rightful place as the most eligible bachelor in politics, a man that's known to have a new woman on his arm every night while spending his days standing loyally by the president's — his best friend ("friend") — side.
it's a marvelous sight first thing in the morning to see alicent's exposed back. especially since he'd spent the night in torment thinking of ash and greer and all the dirty things they might have been up to without him. ]
Morning, sunshine.
[ embry looks like he's stepped out of the pages of a magazine in pale trousers and a baby blue sweater that matches his eyes, his dark hair doing a perfect regency flop over his forehead. as a professional in his misery, it's undetectable that he was up half the night drowning his sorrows in a bottle of gin. with the practiced ease of a man who's helped many a woman into — and out of — a fancy dress, he begins zipping alicent closed before running into the obstruction of her enormous mane of hair. ]
How's your arm feeling this morning?
[ he asks the question only half because he cares; he is intensely distracted by the color of her hair, glorious, deep copper set in waves that rival the goddamn ocean. it's nearly the same shade as greer's cousin, abilene, and when embry lifts a gentle handful to sweep over her shoulder to clear a path for the zipper, all of last night's gin threatens to come back up as stale bile burning his throat.
he swallows swiftly and yanks the zipper the rest of the way up, setting his hands on her bare shoulders as he twirls her around to face him. ]
Green's a great color on you.
[ has anyone ever thought of her as sunshine? it’s laughable, death-touched as she is. ser criston might have felt that way once, when he thought her as pure as the maiden in girlhood, as chaste as the mother as a woman grown, but she’d lost her footing when she allowed him inside her chambers. now, he doesn’t look at her at all. a relief, in truth.
she doesn’t think embry has the same expectations, with his boldness. but does he anticipate the reverse? her favour for his assistance, as larys once offered her. her breath hitches, at the thought of all she may already owe — and the brush of embry’s fingers against her fevered skin. so few touch her anymore. even less are invited willingly. and the wanting that cracked open, when her lord husband died, has yawned ever wider since the party. it feels cavernous, as though she might never fill it. ]
[ lightly — ] It seems to be healing, like anything else.
[ the symptoms that followed that night have only worsened. she hasn’t had anyone to discuss it with, isolated as she is, and knows not where to begin. only embry’s physical presence calls her out of her reverie, grip firm on her bare shoulders. she ought to be scandalised by his informality, but she can’t help but wonder at the softness of his hands. all of the men she’s known have been calloused, made rough by battle. ]
Mm. [ her mouth quirks, at the flattery. is there sincerity in him? she supposes it doesn’t matter. all men want for more than they have. ] The Hightower beacon glows green, when we call our banners to war. [ diplomatic dressing, inflammatory edition. her delicate fingers catch his wrist, barely slipping under his sleeve. concern tightens her features. ] What of your injury?
she doesn’t think embry has the same expectations, with his boldness. but does he anticipate the reverse? her favour for his assistance, as larys once offered her. her breath hitches, at the thought of all she may already owe — and the brush of embry’s fingers against her fevered skin. so few touch her anymore. even less are invited willingly. and the wanting that cracked open, when her lord husband died, has yawned ever wider since the party. it feels cavernous, as though she might never fill it. ]
[ lightly — ] It seems to be healing, like anything else.
[ the symptoms that followed that night have only worsened. she hasn’t had anyone to discuss it with, isolated as she is, and knows not where to begin. only embry’s physical presence calls her out of her reverie, grip firm on her bare shoulders. she ought to be scandalised by his informality, but she can’t help but wonder at the softness of his hands. all of the men she’s known have been calloused, made rough by battle. ]
Mm. [ her mouth quirks, at the flattery. is there sincerity in him? she supposes it doesn’t matter. all men want for more than they have. ] The Hightower beacon glows green, when we call our banners to war. [ diplomatic dressing, inflammatory edition. her delicate fingers catch his wrist, barely slipping under his sleeve. concern tightens her features. ] What of your injury?
[ he's already made several poor decisions that he can attribute to the wolf, though he rarely needs incentive for his choices — he's as committed as a loyal husband to chasing the worst possible ends at all times, wracking up his guilt to pore over once the moon wheels its way into the sky. but it's a sunny morning (he assumes; who knows if that sky is real?), and nighttime is hours and hours away, and so is his guilt.
it's better when she faces him. unlike alicent, abilene is pretty on the outside but wretchedly devoid of feeling on the inside, and it shows in her every mechanically calculated movement, utterly unalive, like an automaton. she would never, in any lifetime, ask embry about a scratch on his arm — which is fair, because he dreams about her accidentally (on purpose?) falling down the stairs on a fairly regular basis these days. ]
Are you saying you're calling for a war with that dress? I'm not ready to be called back into active duty.
[ he turns his palm over so she has easier access to fuss with his sleeve, tugging the expensive fabric up to reveal an angry, barely-healed scar looping down the inside of his arm. he has another at his shoulder, a deeper wound still bandaged, near an old gunshot scar from his time in carpathia. ]
It's getting better.
[ the concern on her face feels unearned when the ghost of her fingertips sends a heated rush skittering across his skin. it would be easy to assume familiarity, to push closer and see what she might allow, but he still feels shaken, off center, so he pulls away with a smile and goes to her closet instead, assuming a different kind of familiarity when he looks over the collection of available shoes provided by the house. ]
What'll it be? Clearly, you have to wear gold. [ he finds a shimmering kitten heel with a tiny ankle strap. ] This looks just annoying enough that you wouldn't want to put it on yourself. Shall I?
it's better when she faces him. unlike alicent, abilene is pretty on the outside but wretchedly devoid of feeling on the inside, and it shows in her every mechanically calculated movement, utterly unalive, like an automaton. she would never, in any lifetime, ask embry about a scratch on his arm — which is fair, because he dreams about her accidentally (on purpose?) falling down the stairs on a fairly regular basis these days. ]
Are you saying you're calling for a war with that dress? I'm not ready to be called back into active duty.
[ he turns his palm over so she has easier access to fuss with his sleeve, tugging the expensive fabric up to reveal an angry, barely-healed scar looping down the inside of his arm. he has another at his shoulder, a deeper wound still bandaged, near an old gunshot scar from his time in carpathia. ]
It's getting better.
[ the concern on her face feels unearned when the ghost of her fingertips sends a heated rush skittering across his skin. it would be easy to assume familiarity, to push closer and see what she might allow, but he still feels shaken, off center, so he pulls away with a smile and goes to her closet instead, assuming a different kind of familiarity when he looks over the collection of available shoes provided by the house. ]
What'll it be? Clearly, you have to wear gold. [ he finds a shimmering kitten heel with a tiny ankle strap. ] This looks just annoying enough that you wouldn't want to put it on yourself. Shall I?
[ embry slips away before she can plumb the depths of his pain. his mark appears worse than her own, enflamed where her gash merely simmers. had it been deeper from the start, or have they diverged in their treatment? she files that question and the matter of his duties in war away for later (does that make him a warrior? a knight, before he served his government through their council?)
at his offer, surprise flickers across her features before they settle and still. she should demur, saying it’s too bold an ask — and unbecoming, besides, for a man of his standing to lower himself on her behalf. instead, her mind recalls all larys has asked of her, in the dark of her chambers. this isn’t the same. it’s the obverse, helping her don armour rather than stripping her of it. the cloying heat tells her it matters not, as long as he stays close. ]
Just enough. [ annoyance, to warrant his gallantry, or boldness, for her to stomach it. amusement glints in her eyes, and she flourishes her hand in acquiescence. ] You may.
[ with practiced elegance, she lifts her skirts halfway up her calf, exposing sheer stockings, trimmed with lace (a matching set with her smallclothes). as modest as the manor saw fit to supply — that is to say, a meagre improvement on bare skin. alicent’s watchful eyes follow the sweep of his hair, bracing against the brightness of his gaze. ]
[ softly, ] Does the wolf’s mark burn your flesh? [ something to say — to offer — as her opposing hand finds his shoulder, gently balancing her weight. she thinks of her son’s flesh, cooking in the aftermath of dragonfire, and her smile falters. the memory cools any untoward desires, at least. ] Perhaps that’s the wrong word. [ She purses her mouth, considering. ] Heat might better suit.
at his offer, surprise flickers across her features before they settle and still. she should demur, saying it’s too bold an ask — and unbecoming, besides, for a man of his standing to lower himself on her behalf. instead, her mind recalls all larys has asked of her, in the dark of her chambers. this isn’t the same. it’s the obverse, helping her don armour rather than stripping her of it. the cloying heat tells her it matters not, as long as he stays close. ]
Just enough. [ annoyance, to warrant his gallantry, or boldness, for her to stomach it. amusement glints in her eyes, and she flourishes her hand in acquiescence. ] You may.
[ with practiced elegance, she lifts her skirts halfway up her calf, exposing sheer stockings, trimmed with lace (a matching set with her smallclothes). as modest as the manor saw fit to supply — that is to say, a meagre improvement on bare skin. alicent’s watchful eyes follow the sweep of his hair, bracing against the brightness of his gaze. ]
[ softly, ] Does the wolf’s mark burn your flesh? [ something to say — to offer — as her opposing hand finds his shoulder, gently balancing her weight. she thinks of her son’s flesh, cooking in the aftermath of dragonfire, and her smile falters. the memory cools any untoward desires, at least. ] Perhaps that’s the wrong word. [ She purses her mouth, considering. ] Heat might better suit.
[ it's a victory, being able to kneel at her feet, her stockinged foot resting on his knee as he fiddles with the metal clasp to loosen the ankle strap. there are times when he gets the strangest sense of déjà vu for a life he knows he's never lived, when he looks up from his familiar place on his knees between ash's feet and thinks he's looking at a king, the d.c. sunset haloing him like a crown, the light limning his nobility and inherent goodness. he gets that now, like he's a knight staring up at a queen, made to serve the unspoken desires that burn her very soul.
he flinches when her hand settles at his shoulder, the pressure of her fingertips pressing down against the wolf's claw marks sending heat rocketing through him and nearly taking him off balance — only nearly, though. the shoe drops but he stays upright, his hand clenched around her ankle with an unforgiving grip as he draws in a sharp breath, his face hot. heat might better suit, indeed. ]
You burn my flesh.
[ he catches her wrist and keeps her hand in place before she can draw her touch away, his accusatory tone light, one corner of his mouth quirking. the pain that sweeps through him is all too familiar, an injury he can't help but prod at because he likes to suffer, an itch he intentionally does not scratch because it feels sweeter to let it build and build and build. ]
The wolf got me there, too. I thought about telling you, but it's more fun to let you discover these things on your own.
[ his grip finally loosens around her ankle, her pale skin red and patterned with the latticework of her lace stockings. the smile he gives her is a return to his well-mannered charm, but with a creak of an open door; he's comfortable here on the floor, maybe too comfortable to be on time for breakfast.
he picks up the shoe, slipping her foot inside and working the leather strap around her ankle with tender care, his head bent in concentration, leaning with familiar ease against her thigh. when he breathes in he's transported again — she smells like lilies, like rosemary, fusing with the juniper on his breath as he exhales against her green dress. ]
Do you like the shoe? [ finished with one, he slides his hand upwards to rest at her calf in tandem with his lifted gaze, his eyes meeting hers. he cups the inside of her knee, gently but liberally lifting her leg so she can admire the shimmering gold in the room's light. ] Should I do the other?
he flinches when her hand settles at his shoulder, the pressure of her fingertips pressing down against the wolf's claw marks sending heat rocketing through him and nearly taking him off balance — only nearly, though. the shoe drops but he stays upright, his hand clenched around her ankle with an unforgiving grip as he draws in a sharp breath, his face hot. heat might better suit, indeed. ]
You burn my flesh.
[ he catches her wrist and keeps her hand in place before she can draw her touch away, his accusatory tone light, one corner of his mouth quirking. the pain that sweeps through him is all too familiar, an injury he can't help but prod at because he likes to suffer, an itch he intentionally does not scratch because it feels sweeter to let it build and build and build. ]
The wolf got me there, too. I thought about telling you, but it's more fun to let you discover these things on your own.
[ his grip finally loosens around her ankle, her pale skin red and patterned with the latticework of her lace stockings. the smile he gives her is a return to his well-mannered charm, but with a creak of an open door; he's comfortable here on the floor, maybe too comfortable to be on time for breakfast.
he picks up the shoe, slipping her foot inside and working the leather strap around her ankle with tender care, his head bent in concentration, leaning with familiar ease against her thigh. when he breathes in he's transported again — she smells like lilies, like rosemary, fusing with the juniper on his breath as he exhales against her green dress. ]
Do you like the shoe? [ finished with one, he slides his hand upwards to rest at her calf in tandem with his lifted gaze, his eyes meeting hers. he cups the inside of her knee, gently but liberally lifting her leg so she can admire the shimmering gold in the room's light. ] Should I do the other?
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