[ he should have known better than to let ash follow him in here after he's just sloppily made out with several random strangers. even if he wasn't wearing the evidence directly on his skin, ash always knows. he sniffs out embry's weaknesses like an overzealous bloodhound, caging him in like prey, and embry wants to break loose, wants to shove ash against the mirror and tell him he's not playing this game with him here, not when there are so few places for him to run, not when greer is here and embry knows he's always going to be the one left out in the cold.
his brow knits when ash abuses his bruised skin, the sudden rush of warm breath and wet mouth and pain going straight to his dick, which happens to be pinned against the edge of the cold counter, trying to twitch and fill out against unforgiving marble. he clamps down a moan, most of it dying in his throat, but he's sure ash still hears it and he certainly feels it pressed up against him like a goddamn leech. ]
You're making it worse.
[ he looks like a teenager that can't control himself. sure, he used to walk into the white house rumpled and smelling of sex all the time without thought, making himself comfortable between ash and greer to watch the game or have a drink or bitch about whichever writer he and greer had decided to mutually hate that day, but that was different. it was almost like a job to be america's most eligible bachelor in politics by day, and come home to the people he loves most at night and play out some twisted fantasy where he's actually wanted. then when real night set in, he'd go home alone to his capitol hill condo and pass the hours drinking, until the sun would rise to a respectable height and he could go back, armed with coffee and a newspaper, and park himself on ash's couch again beside a sleepy greer and pretend he was there to work.
he could have done that for years. he would have snuck around with ash for years, for his entire goddamn life, if only ash hadn't ruined it by asking for more.
he tries to wiggle away, tries to ignore ash's mouth and body and heat. he cups a hand beneath the stream of water and splashes his face, droplets running down his chest and dripping from the wet hair curling across his forehead. his face flames with heat, and his cock won't stop being traitorously interested in its close proximity to ash, still valiantly throbbing to life despite his uncomfortable position. embry shifts his hips, grinding against the marble, and this time moans for real, dropping his head forward as his hands splay against the vanity. ]
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his brow knits when ash abuses his bruised skin, the sudden rush of warm breath and wet mouth and pain going straight to his dick, which happens to be pinned against the edge of the cold counter, trying to twitch and fill out against unforgiving marble. he clamps down a moan, most of it dying in his throat, but he's sure ash still hears it and he certainly feels it pressed up against him like a goddamn leech. ]
You're making it worse.
[ he looks like a teenager that can't control himself. sure, he used to walk into the white house rumpled and smelling of sex all the time without thought, making himself comfortable between ash and greer to watch the game or have a drink or bitch about whichever writer he and greer had decided to mutually hate that day, but that was different. it was almost like a job to be america's most eligible bachelor in politics by day, and come home to the people he loves most at night and play out some twisted fantasy where he's actually wanted. then when real night set in, he'd go home alone to his capitol hill condo and pass the hours drinking, until the sun would rise to a respectable height and he could go back, armed with coffee and a newspaper, and park himself on ash's couch again beside a sleepy greer and pretend he was there to work.
he could have done that for years. he would have snuck around with ash for years, for his entire goddamn life, if only ash hadn't ruined it by asking for more.
he tries to wiggle away, tries to ignore ash's mouth and body and heat. he cups a hand beneath the stream of water and splashes his face, droplets running down his chest and dripping from the wet hair curling across his forehead. his face flames with heat, and his cock won't stop being traitorously interested in its close proximity to ash, still valiantly throbbing to life despite his uncomfortable position. embry shifts his hips, grinding against the marble, and this time moans for real, dropping his head forward as his hands splay against the vanity. ]