[ 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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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.