[ for a little while, it’s so good, better, the best because even though bob can’t touch embry the way he wants to — the way embry can touch bob, the way he was meant to be touched — bob can still feel him. everywhere. both a comfort and the source of his mounting overwhelm: with his hair tickling sweaty skin, his mouth on bob’s chest, his pulse the only soundtrack apart from the slick, filthy sounds of his fingers inside bob, relentless. he could come like this. he’s going to, if embry lets him.
there’s no stoppage that would make bob question if he misstepped. no immediate withdrawal. it’s only that fine, paired with the judder of embry’s heart, that has him trying to think on it for any length on time. he adjusts his grip again because he has to, missing the first attempt at doing so when embry works him a little meaner. whimpering into embry’s hair because there’s nowhere else to hide in the dark.
(the counter to i know what you’re doing would have been obvious: i’m thinking about you. embry, as something special, important, safe, despite what happened at the pound. as the thing he’ll remember when little else makes sense.) ]
Embry. [ as the word he says aloud now, plaintive, when he’s left untouched and empty. fine. maybe he did fuck up or misunderstand, like always. his stomach flips, and it would sink, too, if he couldn’t hear embry moving nearby, pulse evening where bob’s goes wild. ] Anything.
[ for him. to make it up to him. damp at the nape of his neck, the base of his spine. he doesn’t have to go with embry’s touch — with anyone’s — but he does, of course, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t thought possible. made even more pliable by the blindfold, with his hands splayed against the bedspread. eyes closed, regardless, features crumpling with the surprise-pleasure-ache of the plug. the way his body parts for it and swallows it, more obscene to imagine than it is to see, maybe, when embry is fine, like he said. his face burns. ]
Fuck — [ he’s going to fucking die or cum or beg without knowing what he’s asking for. crawl. his skin tingles with the humiliation of it. he pushes himself up on shaky arms — funny, because they don’t shake when adrian’s on his back, counting reps and losing track the second another idea enters his head; when bucky’s leaning on the barbell to apply every ounce of his strength, and the barest strain sets in. he thinks, good thing i have superpowers, because someone normal might eat shit instead of sliding off the bed and back onto all fours with inhuman balance. even then, even knowing exactly where embry is in the room, he’s tender. like the commune. like an impossible bruise on his impenetrable skin. embry knows exactly where to press to make him ache.
like now, with the act of obedience running heat trails down his back — with the plug’s vibrations, felt keenly from his taint to his cock — it’s difficult to focus on the shape of embry in the dark. the fact of him, now amorphous to his senses. his heartbeat seems faint, with the other stimuli in play, and the journey to him painfully far, but he makes it, anyway. ]
Embry, can I — [ strained as he tips back on his knees, accidentally fucking the plug in deeper, the subsequent sound punched out of him. bob ducks his head, the romantic sweep of his hair cresting his brow, and returns his hands to his back. ] Can I cum? Please.
[ he takes a step forward when he thinks bob might falter from the bed, suddenly wondering if this is too much, too rough like always. he’s seen it happen often at lyonesse, the headrush of falling too far into yourself, the space where thought and choice and sanctions end, where a good partner, a good dom would step in and stop the crash straight to the bottom. but bob isn’t his submissive and he’s certainly not a dominant, so none of that applies here — even if he is keenly aware that they’re playing with all the pieces here, only with none of the safe guards in place. just one single word that embry probably won’t listen to because bob had the audacity to choose it.
but he listens. he crawls, and the sight is mesmerizing, well aware that there’s something deeply fucked up in him that gets off on bob picking his way across the floor to him, uncertainty in every unseen step. embry’s breath is ragged by the time he makes it to his feet, watching bob sit back, the light catching the gleam of sweat on his skin, drinking in the way his muscles flex as his hands lock behind his back once more. no, it wasn’t the commune at all, wasn’t the role forced upon him that had him at embry’s feet in the first place — and that thought comes with implications of its own, ones that set embry’s heart racing once more, ones that he manifestly does not want to think about.
his hands cradle bob’s cheeks, tilting his face up as if he can see him. he can feel every bit of his tension like this, the desire thrumming through him that he wears so fucking well, anything anything anything on a loop in his head. ]
You’re so good, Bobby. [ at this. to me. his fingers curl through his hair, tightening into a fist to pull him back, one hand tracing the damp line of his throat. ] You’re so fucking good.
[ he drags him up to his feet, giving him no room to protest, his hand on his cock while the other stays fisted in his hair. bob’s hips buck easily into his hand, stroking him fast, then slow, squeezing him tight to stave off his orgasm before starting again. it’s biting, desperate, needy when he kisses him — he needs this, him, his for now while he has him, for as little time as that may be. ]
Do you forgive me? [ with his hand rough on his cock, mouth hot on his skin. unfair to ask this now, while he pushes bob toward orgasm, but his guilt wells up out of nowhere, shivers skittering over him as he remembers the thrall of bob’s hold, how much he can want something that he wants to run from at the same time. ] For before? For what I said. For how I am. Say you forgive me.
[ you said anything. doesn’t even have to mean it, when he only wants to hear it. ]
[ it’s only on that aching crawl, the hard floor, that bob loses himself a little. unmoored in space and time, adrift in his own head without the anchor of sight or touch until embry takes him in hand again. pries him open, staring into the gulch of his longing. bob can tell, even with the wet of his lashes sticking to the blindfold, because embry maps the planes of his face under his hands and must feel the contours of his need with it.
you’re so good makes him suck in a breath. makes it worth the flare of embarrassment — the tangled snarl of supplication when there’s a bright, brilliant part of him that rejects the premise of kneeling entirelt. the praise loosens those knots and tangles. and embry doesn’t give him any time to twist himself up further, instead unravelling him with relentless precision. he’s lightheaded from being dragged to his feet, dizzy with desire. and he’s forgotten how to use his hands. that he has hands at all. ]
Embry — [ the thought broken by embry working him up, up, up and cutting him off. hole squeezing around the plug to try and get himself over the edge. hips fucking into embry’s hand. shoulders shaking from holding back. unstable on his feet, stumbling now where he hadn’t on the bed. the plug keeps sending static shocks of pleasure through him, even when embry stills. and he doesn’t for long. held upright not by enhanced strength or balance but by embry’s grip. knowing that without the hand in his hair pulling his spine straight, the lean of his not-insignificant weight against embry’s shoulder — mouth seeking his resolute jaw, blindfold soft against embry’s cheek — he’d be back on his knees, a coltish collapse. ]
[ whimpered in his ear, ] I like how you are. [ the only part of what embry asks for that he half-understands. mercurial and evasive and fucking endearing with his roundabout affections. ] Embry, please. [ he’s so hard it hurts, teetering on a jagged ledge. ] I — I forgive you, okay?
[ bob means it, is the thing. voice gravelly, every word excavated from deep within. he doesn’t know what he’s forgiving embry for, only exactly how embry’s going to make it up to him. whether or not he can forget, he can forgive anything. allow anything. if it means he gets to have this. if it makes him good and better and more. ]
I forgive you. [ he’s a goner. words sticking in his throat and teeth scraping embry’s collar, that’s all the acknowledgement he can manage before he’s coming with a full-body shudder. ]
[ i forgive you. he wants to say do you really? wants to pick it apart until those words are shredded and destroyed in his hands, so he can point at bob and say see? you are a liar, and you don’t actually want to be here. but nothing that’s happening now supports his argument, because there’s only bob and the bowstring tension of his body, his weight against him because he somehow trusts embry not to let him fall, the soft, soft cadence of his begging. blindfold and hands still in place, even though he could’ve changed that anytime.
he wants to go to his knees and catch every drop of bob on his tongue, but he lets him spill all over his hand instead so he doesn’t have to let him go, waiting barely a moment before walking him backwards until he hits the bed. he tumbles him down onto the mattress and splays a hand against his collarbone, embry rutting like a schoolboy against the muscled curve of bob’s thigh before he’s coming with a groan, burying his face into bob’s cheek, flattened by the force of his orgasm when bob’s mouth and hands and ass remain completely unused.
well, not his ass. the faint buzzing reaches his ears, bob pinned to the bed with the plug still wedged in him, and he takes the smallest amount of pity, reaching down to nudge it in further for just a few more seconds, kissing along the damp line of bob’s jaw, before he finally flicks it off and eases it out. bob makes a devastating silhouette in the dark, tousled and gleaming, and embry takes a moment to stare, his cheeks simmering with heat, before he pulls at the blindfold, tugging it over bob’s head. guilt and worry and arousal clench like a fist in him at the sight of the tears wetting bob’s eyes. blue, still blue. ]
Hey. [ his hand nestles in bob’s hair, throat tight as he swallows. ] Are you okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have — I should have asked.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
there’s no stoppage that would make bob question if he misstepped. no immediate withdrawal. it’s only that fine, paired with the judder of embry’s heart, that has him trying to think on it for any length on time. he adjusts his grip again because he has to, missing the first attempt at doing so when embry works him a little meaner. whimpering into embry’s hair because there’s nowhere else to hide in the dark.
(the counter to i know what you’re doing would have been obvious: i’m thinking about you. embry, as something special, important, safe, despite what happened at the pound. as the thing he’ll remember when little else makes sense.) ]
Embry. [ as the word he says aloud now, plaintive, when he’s left untouched and empty. fine. maybe he did fuck up or misunderstand, like always. his stomach flips, and it would sink, too, if he couldn’t hear embry moving nearby, pulse evening where bob’s goes wild. ] Anything.
[ for him. to make it up to him. damp at the nape of his neck, the base of his spine. he doesn’t have to go with embry’s touch — with anyone’s — but he does, of course, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t thought possible. made even more pliable by the blindfold, with his hands splayed against the bedspread. eyes closed, regardless, features crumpling with the surprise-pleasure-ache of the plug. the way his body parts for it and swallows it, more obscene to imagine than it is to see, maybe, when embry is fine, like he said. his face burns. ]
Fuck — [ he’s going to fucking die or cum or beg without knowing what he’s asking for. crawl. his skin tingles with the humiliation of it. he pushes himself up on shaky arms — funny, because they don’t shake when adrian’s on his back, counting reps and losing track the second another idea enters his head; when bucky’s leaning on the barbell to apply every ounce of his strength, and the barest strain sets in. he thinks, good thing i have superpowers, because someone normal might eat shit instead of sliding off the bed and back onto all fours with inhuman balance. even then, even knowing exactly where embry is in the room, he’s tender. like the commune. like an impossible bruise on his impenetrable skin. embry knows exactly where to press to make him ache.
like now, with the act of obedience running heat trails down his back — with the plug’s vibrations, felt keenly from his taint to his cock — it’s difficult to focus on the shape of embry in the dark. the fact of him, now amorphous to his senses. his heartbeat seems faint, with the other stimuli in play, and the journey to him painfully far, but he makes it, anyway. ]
Embry, can I — [ strained as he tips back on his knees, accidentally fucking the plug in deeper, the subsequent sound punched out of him. bob ducks his head, the romantic sweep of his hair cresting his brow, and returns his hands to his back. ] Can I cum? Please.
no subject
but he listens. he crawls, and the sight is mesmerizing, well aware that there’s something deeply fucked up in him that gets off on bob picking his way across the floor to him, uncertainty in every unseen step. embry’s breath is ragged by the time he makes it to his feet, watching bob sit back, the light catching the gleam of sweat on his skin, drinking in the way his muscles flex as his hands lock behind his back once more. no, it wasn’t the commune at all, wasn’t the role forced upon him that had him at embry’s feet in the first place — and that thought comes with implications of its own, ones that set embry’s heart racing once more, ones that he manifestly does not want to think about.
his hands cradle bob’s cheeks, tilting his face up as if he can see him. he can feel every bit of his tension like this, the desire thrumming through him that he wears so fucking well, anything anything anything on a loop in his head. ]
You’re so good, Bobby. [ at this. to me. his fingers curl through his hair, tightening into a fist to pull him back, one hand tracing the damp line of his throat. ] You’re so fucking good.
[ he drags him up to his feet, giving him no room to protest, his hand on his cock while the other stays fisted in his hair. bob’s hips buck easily into his hand, stroking him fast, then slow, squeezing him tight to stave off his orgasm before starting again. it’s biting, desperate, needy when he kisses him — he needs this, him, his for now while he has him, for as little time as that may be. ]
Do you forgive me? [ with his hand rough on his cock, mouth hot on his skin. unfair to ask this now, while he pushes bob toward orgasm, but his guilt wells up out of nowhere, shivers skittering over him as he remembers the thrall of bob’s hold, how much he can want something that he wants to run from at the same time. ] For before? For what I said. For how I am. Say you forgive me.
[ you said anything. doesn’t even have to mean it, when he only wants to hear it. ]
no subject
you’re so good makes him suck in a breath. makes it worth the flare of embarrassment — the tangled snarl of supplication when there’s a bright, brilliant part of him that rejects the premise of kneeling entirelt. the praise loosens those knots and tangles. and embry doesn’t give him any time to twist himself up further, instead unravelling him with relentless precision. he’s lightheaded from being dragged to his feet, dizzy with desire. and he’s forgotten how to use his hands. that he has hands at all. ]
Embry — [ the thought broken by embry working him up, up, up and cutting him off. hole squeezing around the plug to try and get himself over the edge. hips fucking into embry’s hand. shoulders shaking from holding back. unstable on his feet, stumbling now where he hadn’t on the bed. the plug keeps sending static shocks of pleasure through him, even when embry stills. and he doesn’t for long. held upright not by enhanced strength or balance but by embry’s grip. knowing that without the hand in his hair pulling his spine straight, the lean of his not-insignificant weight against embry’s shoulder — mouth seeking his resolute jaw, blindfold soft against embry’s cheek — he’d be back on his knees, a coltish collapse. ]
[ whimpered in his ear, ] I like how you are. [ the only part of what embry asks for that he half-understands. mercurial and evasive and fucking endearing with his roundabout affections. ] Embry, please. [ he’s so hard it hurts, teetering on a jagged ledge. ] I — I forgive you, okay?
[ bob means it, is the thing. voice gravelly, every word excavated from deep within. he doesn’t know what he’s forgiving embry for, only exactly how embry’s going to make it up to him. whether or not he can forget, he can forgive anything. allow anything. if it means he gets to have this. if it makes him good and better and more. ]
I forgive you. [ he’s a goner. words sticking in his throat and teeth scraping embry’s collar, that’s all the acknowledgement he can manage before he’s coming with a full-body shudder. ]
no subject
he wants to go to his knees and catch every drop of bob on his tongue, but he lets him spill all over his hand instead so he doesn’t have to let him go, waiting barely a moment before walking him backwards until he hits the bed. he tumbles him down onto the mattress and splays a hand against his collarbone, embry rutting like a schoolboy against the muscled curve of bob’s thigh before he’s coming with a groan, burying his face into bob’s cheek, flattened by the force of his orgasm when bob’s mouth and hands and ass remain completely unused.
well, not his ass. the faint buzzing reaches his ears, bob pinned to the bed with the plug still wedged in him, and he takes the smallest amount of pity, reaching down to nudge it in further for just a few more seconds, kissing along the damp line of bob’s jaw, before he finally flicks it off and eases it out. bob makes a devastating silhouette in the dark, tousled and gleaming, and embry takes a moment to stare, his cheeks simmering with heat, before he pulls at the blindfold, tugging it over bob’s head. guilt and worry and arousal clench like a fist in him at the sight of the tears wetting bob’s eyes. blue, still blue. ]
Hey. [ his hand nestles in bob’s hair, throat tight as he swallows. ] Are you okay? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have — I should have asked.