[ bob stops immediately, abruptly, pulling back as if embry has any strength at all. strength enough to hurt him, certainly, as he does now. gutting his supposedly impenetrable surface end-to-end, bleeding him out with the sound of his cry and the accusation on his lips. his dark eyes flash with it, confusion and pain and a kind of understanding. he won’t want you like this, won’t want you when you’re done, it’s just you and me, me and you, you you you you you. ]
It’s — it’s just me.
[ it’s all me. the sentry taking him higher, a manic impulse made manifest. the void isn’t here. it hasn’t touched embry — any darkness is entirely in his own mind, his own imagination, his own making. even so, it’s already too much. a mistake. proof of his poor character, ill-equipped for the power of a god.
bob steps back, hands held aloft, and with that, comes a chasm they might not cross again, bridged only by embry’s grip on him. it seems suddenly too great, too deep. his palm hovers above embry’s shoulder, no longer touching him. any instinct to comfort made unwelcome by embry’s command. he only wanted you low and pathetic. right, the same as val, the same as — well, the void. always easier to love a broken thing. always gentler when he’s fresh from the hospital. then it’s right back to square fucking one.
his expression shifts, arranging into something almost functional, unease in every strained line, only there’s a hint of defiance, too, in the set of his jaw. ]
You met the guy who was gonna die.
[ in an alleyway, a club bathroom, the foot of a bridge. at the hands of a pitying wolf, or under the heel of some rich fuck like embry. ]
Now I’m more.
[ than that, than human. ]
Sorry to disappoint.
[ grief dulling a remark he wishes was sharp, even with embry wrecked and vulnerable before him. maybe bobby did die back then, strapped to a table in an oxe laboratory. his pulse must have stopped, and resuscitation must have failed, else they wouldn’t have marked him deceased. ]
[ nearly four decades on this earth and he’s never felt so degraded. no, not even close to the right word, because he likes the degradation. he liked when ash fucked him with two fresh bullet holes in him. liked when greer asked him to act out her worst nightmares and give in to his most depraved thoughts. he never even knew he craved such things until ash brought it out of him, and years later, greer. there’s nothing groundbreaking about asking bob for the same, not when he’s fucked his way up and down entire coastal lines, only — bob isn’t any of those nameless faces anymore. hasn’t been since embry’s bloody fingers slipped into his mouth. maybe he never was.
he’s never felt so poisonous. that’s more fitting for a man who watched ash die, greer die, hawk die. one common denominator between them. bob pulls back like something radioactive has blossomed between them, and still embry won’t let him go, one hand grasping his shirt like the floor will split in two if he doesn’t hold on, his eyes as bright as the bloom of wildflowers. ]
You’re more. [ repeated, like a brick to the head. his breath shivers, tears cooling on his cheeks. ] Yeah, I know you’re fucking more. You’re — [ riotous, cataclysmic, fucking nuclear. all in the eyes, and a little in the way he can make embry stop breathing, too. i’d probably do anything for you. anything, everything, the only way he knows how to devote himself to a person. even if they never know it.
with the way bob looks at him now, as bruised as the night sky, it’s better if he doesn’t know. the best gift he can give is one where he spares bob the disappointment. sacrifice, drilled into his head, pressed upon his heart. let him hate you. it’s better this way.
he forces the tension out of his fingers, his grip on bob slipping away, until they’re no longer touching, embry’s back against the wall, the silence punctuated by the pull of his own breath. ]
Sorry I asked. [ even, biting, before he reins in his frayed composure, reaching for the polished politician, a shiny gloss over his soulless fucking desolation. there’s nothing you can’t sacrifice. ] It was fun, though. While it lasted.
[ pulse rapid, like the whir of helicopter blades, hating every moment his heart keeps beating. he refuses to meet bob’s eyes, his gaze vacant, hollowed out. ]
[ embry, snot nosed and pleading, does not inspire anger. he doesn’t even inspire disappointment, when bob hasn’t had standards for how others treat him in some time. it’s all — hurt, bubbling over, bleeding through any confusion.
but it’s stupid to be hurt, right? when embry did the same thing last time, sick by the bonfire, and lied to his face about it. it wasn’t the kiss. it wasn’t you. only this wouldn’t happen to him on repeat, a record scratch, if he weren’t flawed in some fundamental way. you’re, embry says, and leaves it unfinished ‘cause there’s nothing to add. his strength, his power, is frightening and off-putting. his capacity for violence has snuffed any hope for connection. when embry looks at him or touches him, bob knows what he sees.
it’s the same, when he looks in the mirror. it’s bucky’s arm and koby’s head, ava’s throat in his hand. the sound of people running on the blacktop, screaming until they can’t, silenced by shadow. his expression coalesces, mortally wounded in a way he could never hide, even with years of media training. eyes blinking back sentiment, mouth slack with shock. ]
Wow. [ momentarily stunned into silence by embry’s pivot. ] That’s, I mean — You gave up quick.
[ on the lie, pretending that bob mattered or that embry cared or some combination of the two falsities. all that tracks, when bob’s response has given him the perfect escape route. and he knows it’s for the best, at least for embry, if he lets him take it. the only good thing you can do is leave him be. it still hurts, to think this was embry’s plan since at least the games: ripcord as soon as the opportunity presented itself. ]
I’ll get you out of here. [ looking askance, then squeezing his eyes shut, like that’ll ease the burn. ] You can beg me to let you go fuck yourself, or say something even shittier to me, if it makes you feel better, but I’m not doing that to Ash and Greer.
[ not after watching them suffer in the games. and it wouldn’t even feel good, to know embry was dying here. he’d just feel like even more a piece of shit than he already does, especially when bucky cares so deeply for embry’s partners. ]
I’ll give you thirty seconds to follow. You don’t, I carry you like I should’ve done earlier. [ no breaks for a pity fuck. an adrenaline rush. a tool for embry moore to play with until he cuts himself on a jagged edge. ] You run or fall, I do the same. [ his eyes flash, their dulled dark meeting embry’s, more resigned than confident. stubborn, still. ] You’re benched, Moore.
[ it’s never been more obvious that he could try for a hundred years, could get on his knees and swear his fealty and kiss his fucking feet, and still never be worthy of bob’s goodness. he could never earn his way to something so pure, not with all the power and money and influence in the world. it’s both a miracle and a fucking tragedy that ash and greer have opened their lives, their marriage to the likes of him. wonders like that shouldn’t come around twice, not when embry has to live with the relentless trials of their unholy unity and the terrible part he’s played in their suffering.
bob looks at him like he’s driven a sword through his chest. no mask, no defenses against this. against him.
at least he has definitive fucking proof that god isn’t real, since he or she hasn’t struck him dead yet. he feels like he’s just shot his favorite pony in the head. ]
Well, you know me. Or maybe you don’t. [ his composure holds, in part because he can feel essential parts of himself going numb. ] It’s not personal. I don’t like to stay in one place for too long.
[ because he likes him too much already. because he doesn’t know how to do this because he’s never actually done it — always had ash to guide him and greer to coax him out of running. never reached with both hands for anything himself.
he knows it’s wrong to chase his anger, to follow the winding path of his worst impulses, and still he feels a fiery spark of irritation that bob still cares enough to not let him go fuck himself. that, and a crushing wave of longing. for bob. for death. to be anyone but himself, because then maybe he wouldn’t have to keep enduring the sight of the wound he’s gouged between them.
he pushes off the wall, blinking back the twinge of discomfort that brings him fully to the present, his face suddenly throbbing, feeling filthy in a way that he only wants more of. i just want you. so simple. a death knell. ]
I’ll follow you, Bobby. [ quietly weary. no need to play hide and seek with his demons when he knows they’re waiting for him the second he closes his eyes. bob has already turned away, so he looks at the nape of his neck, warm and sweet beneath the tousle of his hair. ] Just lead the way.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It’s — it’s just me.
[ it’s all me. the sentry taking him higher, a manic impulse made manifest. the void isn’t here. it hasn’t touched embry — any darkness is entirely in his own mind, his own imagination, his own making. even so, it’s already too much. a mistake. proof of his poor character, ill-equipped for the power of a god.
bob steps back, hands held aloft, and with that, comes a chasm they might not cross again, bridged only by embry’s grip on him. it seems suddenly too great, too deep. his palm hovers above embry’s shoulder, no longer touching him. any instinct to comfort made unwelcome by embry’s command. he only wanted you low and pathetic. right, the same as val, the same as — well, the void. always easier to love a broken thing. always gentler when he’s fresh from the hospital. then it’s right back to square fucking one.
his expression shifts, arranging into something almost functional, unease in every strained line, only there’s a hint of defiance, too, in the set of his jaw. ]
You met the guy who was gonna die.
[ in an alleyway, a club bathroom, the foot of a bridge. at the hands of a pitying wolf, or under the heel of some rich fuck like embry. ]
Now I’m more.
[ than that, than human. ]
Sorry to disappoint.
[ grief dulling a remark he wishes was sharp, even with embry wrecked and vulnerable before him. maybe bobby did die back then, strapped to a table in an oxe laboratory. his pulse must have stopped, and resuscitation must have failed, else they wouldn’t have marked him deceased. ]
no subject
he’s never felt so poisonous. that’s more fitting for a man who watched ash die, greer die, hawk die. one common denominator between them. bob pulls back like something radioactive has blossomed between them, and still embry won’t let him go, one hand grasping his shirt like the floor will split in two if he doesn’t hold on, his eyes as bright as the bloom of wildflowers. ]
You’re more. [ repeated, like a brick to the head. his breath shivers, tears cooling on his cheeks. ] Yeah, I know you’re fucking more. You’re — [ riotous, cataclysmic, fucking nuclear. all in the eyes, and a little in the way he can make embry stop breathing, too. i’d probably do anything for you. anything, everything, the only way he knows how to devote himself to a person. even if they never know it.
with the way bob looks at him now, as bruised as the night sky, it’s better if he doesn’t know. the best gift he can give is one where he spares bob the disappointment. sacrifice, drilled into his head, pressed upon his heart. let him hate you. it’s better this way.
he forces the tension out of his fingers, his grip on bob slipping away, until they’re no longer touching, embry’s back against the wall, the silence punctuated by the pull of his own breath. ]
Sorry I asked. [ even, biting, before he reins in his frayed composure, reaching for the polished politician, a shiny gloss over his soulless fucking desolation. there’s nothing you can’t sacrifice. ] It was fun, though. While it lasted.
[ pulse rapid, like the whir of helicopter blades, hating every moment his heart keeps beating. he refuses to meet bob’s eyes, his gaze vacant, hollowed out. ]
no subject
but it’s stupid to be hurt, right? when embry did the same thing last time, sick by the bonfire, and lied to his face about it. it wasn’t the kiss. it wasn’t you. only this wouldn’t happen to him on repeat, a record scratch, if he weren’t flawed in some fundamental way. you’re, embry says, and leaves it unfinished ‘cause there’s nothing to add. his strength, his power, is frightening and off-putting. his capacity for violence has snuffed any hope for connection. when embry looks at him or touches him, bob knows what he sees.
it’s the same, when he looks in the mirror. it’s bucky’s arm and koby’s head, ava’s throat in his hand. the sound of people running on the blacktop, screaming until they can’t, silenced by shadow. his expression coalesces, mortally wounded in a way he could never hide, even with years of media training. eyes blinking back sentiment, mouth slack with shock. ]
Wow. [ momentarily stunned into silence by embry’s pivot. ] That’s, I mean — You gave up quick.
[ on the lie, pretending that bob mattered or that embry cared or some combination of the two falsities. all that tracks, when bob’s response has given him the perfect escape route. and he knows it’s for the best, at least for embry, if he lets him take it. the only good thing you can do is leave him be. it still hurts, to think this was embry’s plan since at least the games: ripcord as soon as the opportunity presented itself. ]
I’ll get you out of here. [ looking askance, then squeezing his eyes shut, like that’ll ease the burn. ] You can beg me to let you go fuck yourself, or say something even shittier to me, if it makes you feel better, but I’m not doing that to Ash and Greer.
[ not after watching them suffer in the games. and it wouldn’t even feel good, to know embry was dying here. he’d just feel like even more a piece of shit than he already does, especially when bucky cares so deeply for embry’s partners. ]
I’ll give you thirty seconds to follow. You don’t, I carry you like I should’ve done earlier. [ no breaks for a pity fuck. an adrenaline rush. a tool for embry moore to play with until he cuts himself on a jagged edge. ] You run or fall, I do the same. [ his eyes flash, their dulled dark meeting embry’s, more resigned than confident. stubborn, still. ] You’re benched, Moore.
[ and with that, he turns. ]
no subject
bob looks at him like he’s driven a sword through his chest. no mask, no defenses against this. against him.
at least he has definitive fucking proof that god isn’t real, since he or she hasn’t struck him dead yet. he feels like he’s just shot his favorite pony in the head. ]
Well, you know me. Or maybe you don’t. [ his composure holds, in part because he can feel essential parts of himself going numb. ] It’s not personal. I don’t like to stay in one place for too long.
[ because he likes him too much already. because he doesn’t know how to do this because he’s never actually done it — always had ash to guide him and greer to coax him out of running. never reached with both hands for anything himself.
he knows it’s wrong to chase his anger, to follow the winding path of his worst impulses, and still he feels a fiery spark of irritation that bob still cares enough to not let him go fuck himself. that, and a crushing wave of longing. for bob. for death. to be anyone but himself, because then maybe he wouldn’t have to keep enduring the sight of the wound he’s gouged between them.
he pushes off the wall, blinking back the twinge of discomfort that brings him fully to the present, his face suddenly throbbing, feeling filthy in a way that he only wants more of. i just want you. so simple. a death knell. ]
I’ll follow you, Bobby. [ quietly weary. no need to play hide and seek with his demons when he knows they’re waiting for him the second he closes his eyes. bob has already turned away, so he looks at the nape of his neck, warm and sweet beneath the tousle of his hair. ] Just lead the way.