[ a twinge of something thorny mingles with his absentminded lust as his fingers roam along the length of her legs — not thorny in that he wants her away from him, but a discomfort at her words, maybe because hearing his thoughts parroted back tip him toward a dangerous spiral. beneath the ragged blanket of his enduring love sits his simmering resentment, that everything he's done is for ash's own good and protection, a cold, thankless task that continually paints him as the loveless villain. even leaving greer without a word after one passionate night had been for ash's sake, letting her believe for more than half a decade that he was a liar, that he didn't care, that everything they'd shared meant nothing. ]
He doesn't know. [ once he's swallowed — ] He wouldn't see it the way I do anyway. He owes me a big fucking thank you, but I'll never get it. Ash never wanted to be president in the first place — he wanted to get married and raise cows and pick up horse shit in the country.
[ he knows ash too well, even if in his fantasies their conversation goes very differently. but ash isn't the type of man to thank embry for doing a bunch of shit he never asked for, although he hopes he'd feel some kind of righteous anger toward merlin for twisting embry's heart and head toward martyrdom to begin with.
then — alicent is so close, closer than when he was on his knees with her ankle in hand, his arm hooked around her and his hand sneaking beneath the fabric of her dress to rest at the height of her thigh, warming her skin. he can't imagine now how he ever saw abilene in her, the flush of life thrumming through every part of her where abilene was utterly fucking dead, no remorse for how she'd fucked him over because she couldn't get to ash. he pushes all thoughts of her from his mind and instead admires the shape of alicent's collarbones, trying to maneuver his hand presently caught in her mane to be a little closer to skin. ]
Are you? [ familiar with the feeling. his brow quirks in sordid curiosity, a sign that she won't get off easy without a direct answer or something of equal value. ] Who did you want, first of all, and then tell to fuck off?
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He doesn't know. [ once he's swallowed — ] He wouldn't see it the way I do anyway. He owes me a big fucking thank you, but I'll never get it. Ash never wanted to be president in the first place — he wanted to get married and raise cows and pick up horse shit in the country.
[ he knows ash too well, even if in his fantasies their conversation goes very differently. but ash isn't the type of man to thank embry for doing a bunch of shit he never asked for, although he hopes he'd feel some kind of righteous anger toward merlin for twisting embry's heart and head toward martyrdom to begin with.
then — alicent is so close, closer than when he was on his knees with her ankle in hand, his arm hooked around her and his hand sneaking beneath the fabric of her dress to rest at the height of her thigh, warming her skin. he can't imagine now how he ever saw abilene in her, the flush of life thrumming through every part of her where abilene was utterly fucking dead, no remorse for how she'd fucked him over because she couldn't get to ash. he pushes all thoughts of her from his mind and instead admires the shape of alicent's collarbones, trying to maneuver his hand presently caught in her mane to be a little closer to skin. ]
Are you? [ familiar with the feeling. his brow quirks in sordid curiosity, a sign that she won't get off easy without a direct answer or something of equal value. ] Who did you want, first of all, and then tell to fuck off?