[ he remembers that. nothing to the face. a pang in his chest at the implication, eyes dropping down to the lifted hoodie and imagining all the hurt that his body once hid. it isn't abilene's hand in his now, but galahad's tiny one, holding on warm and tight. he can't imagine not wanting to give him the whole world. can't imagine anyone harming him that he wouldn't kill with his own hands.
no void to feed on his memories. his fingertips have somehow ended up on bob's cheek, stroking gentle lines down his face, in opposition to how his other hand still mercilessly fists bob's hair. his gaze drops down again, sharpening at the sight of the marks at his hips. not kisses or bites. a possessive hold.
he wrenches at bob's hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat, and then his mouth is on him, all teeth and hard kisses atop every bruise, every bite, traveling down his body to follow the path mapped out across his skin. every mark reddens and darkens beneath his attention, a new claim staked on his already tenderly abused flesh. ]
Tell me each one as I go. Tell me who.
[ ani. yelena. armand. corry. he wants to hear it, wants bob to confess like he's a cheating lover, like an adulterous fucking whore come to beg at his feet. he pops the buttons on bob's jeans and unzips his fly, yanking the denim off so he can expose his most hidden bruises, digging his thumb into the blue-black at his hips. finally relinquishing his hold on his hair, he hooks bob by the thighs, pulling his hips off the table and lifting them toward him. intentionally rough, a stir of desire when bob's back hits the wood. laid out with his hoodie still rucked up around him, his bruises wet with spit. ]
And who has you here? [ his teeth sink into unmarked flesh, a groan in his throat as he licks and sucks and kisses the softness of his inner thighs. ] Here? [ another kiss. another bite. he trails marks all around, leaving bob's cock untouched where it strains in his briefs. his eyes flicker up, glittering. ] Show me you can snap your fingers.
[ he waits to see it, then he's pulling bob off the table and pushing him down to his knees. embry pulls his belt off and tosses it to the table with a clatter, then he's gripping bob's hair again, his cock already in hand as he shoves it roughly into bob's mouth, so hard it drives bob back into the heavy wooden desk drawers. it veers on impersonal, like bob is just a thing to fuck, a hole to stick his dick in, like he could be any warm body against him right now, save for the small tells — embry's hand cradling his skull so his knuckles crack against the drawers instead of bob's head, the way his entire body strains to fuck bob's mouth but he holds still so he won't choke (as much) on his dick. ]
I'm gonna put bruises on you that no one can see. So every time you swallow you can remember that you're fucking mine. [ he pushes all the way in, so far that he can feel bob's rigid breath against him, that he can feel the tight constriction of his throat. ] Open up all the way for me, Bobby.
[ for the boy who has never belonged anywhere, who only recently found people and relationships that might hold steady, embry’s jealousy (armand’s questioning, ani’s upset) had intiitally been an unfamiliar, uncertain thing. like trying to toe a line you can’t see, never quite sure if you stepped out-of-bounds. now, he wonders if the shape isn’t more familiar — just another form of wanting. another of embry’s paradoxes, too. the kind of man who says don’t want you to think of anybody else, don’t want you to go to them and then asks that the spectre of bob’s other lovers be made real, name by name.
he sucks in a breath when embry first laves over another bite, when his teeth scrape someone else’s bruise and reclaim it, newly tender. hands tented on the wood, hips rolling into embry’s thigh. those fingers in his hair are like a puppeteer’s on his strings, pulling him taut.
despite the command, bob answers on a delay, still unsure whether this will function as bloodletting and release or self-harm, but wanting to give embry what he asks, anyway (and wanting to be wanted enough to warrant his jealousy). twin coils burn hot, shame and a smug satisfaction. it’s as though he fucked up and needs to beg embry’s forgiveness, detritus from the commune still lodged in his skull, but a contrarian undercurrent has his jaw tilting up in defiance because there are people who want me even when you don’t — ]
Yelena. [ guttered out, with embry’s tongue in the dip of his collar. it feels dirty to invoke anyone else when he’s with somebody. it feels risky. it feels — like his heart juddering in his chest and cock twitching in his trousers. yelena, ani, armand. embry knocks the last name from his chest, along with his breath, on yanking him hard enough that he lets his back hit the desk: ] Corry —
[ from fucking him, obviously, which embry has only just decided he’s interested in (when he regretted it before bob could come down from the high of it happening at all). no time to think of that, of anybody else, when embry has him now. wants him again, however briefly. his back bows as embry bites him. ]
You. You — [ legs trembling and chest bare, cock standing at attention. the winter air chills his damp skin. he shivers through it. ] You, Embry
[ even though it’s easier than ever to let embry take charge and manhandle him, bob could still resist. could give more push and pull, not immovable and untouchable but difficult, sure. instead, his hands trace the corded muscle in embry’s arms where they hold him in place. too reverent, when embry has drawn his hands back from touching him before, afraid of what might slip through their haptic link.
with a snap of his fingers, he signs over his mouth to embry’s worship, too. half-expecting what comes, surprised only by the abrupt roughness of it, the sudden, strange sensation of helplessness: boxed in by embry’s hand and the desk behind it, so there is no pulling back. just an initial instinctive struggle, shifting his weight on his shaky knees. a barely there tilt, tongue sliding against the undersides of embry’s cock, thick and filling his mouth, already nudging too deep. he gags and whines, immediately aware of the stretch in his jaw. but where that might make someone else panic, he gives in to the familiar draw of an eddy. blinks his lashes wet, looking up at embry through the thicket.
bob fumbles for the root of his cock and splays a hand on his thigh, a near-tender circle of his thumb over the drawn muscle. an eager, aching sound answers the filth in embry’s mouth, and he pushes for more, jaw slackening, throat opening. it feels like being a thing, yes, a toy — but a well-loved one, worn with the repetitive strain of affection. it’s the closest he’s come to the glorious headfuck of the commune, embry in his head, his dreams, leaving phantom and real bruises in his wake. now, the whole of his world narrows to embry’s cock, nails digging into his thigh, squeezing his shaft until he swallows that too. bob’s throat spasms, but he holds, determined, before trying to edge back. no snap of his fingers, however, even while wet-eyed and ruddy-cheeked. so enamoured with embry that he appears dazed. ]
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no void to feed on his memories. his fingertips have somehow ended up on bob's cheek, stroking gentle lines down his face, in opposition to how his other hand still mercilessly fists bob's hair. his gaze drops down again, sharpening at the sight of the marks at his hips. not kisses or bites. a possessive hold.
he wrenches at bob's hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat, and then his mouth is on him, all teeth and hard kisses atop every bruise, every bite, traveling down his body to follow the path mapped out across his skin. every mark reddens and darkens beneath his attention, a new claim staked on his already tenderly abused flesh. ]
Tell me each one as I go. Tell me who.
[ ani. yelena. armand. corry. he wants to hear it, wants bob to confess like he's a cheating lover, like an adulterous fucking whore come to beg at his feet. he pops the buttons on bob's jeans and unzips his fly, yanking the denim off so he can expose his most hidden bruises, digging his thumb into the blue-black at his hips. finally relinquishing his hold on his hair, he hooks bob by the thighs, pulling his hips off the table and lifting them toward him. intentionally rough, a stir of desire when bob's back hits the wood. laid out with his hoodie still rucked up around him, his bruises wet with spit. ]
And who has you here? [ his teeth sink into unmarked flesh, a groan in his throat as he licks and sucks and kisses the softness of his inner thighs. ] Here? [ another kiss. another bite. he trails marks all around, leaving bob's cock untouched where it strains in his briefs. his eyes flicker up, glittering. ] Show me you can snap your fingers.
[ he waits to see it, then he's pulling bob off the table and pushing him down to his knees. embry pulls his belt off and tosses it to the table with a clatter, then he's gripping bob's hair again, his cock already in hand as he shoves it roughly into bob's mouth, so hard it drives bob back into the heavy wooden desk drawers. it veers on impersonal, like bob is just a thing to fuck, a hole to stick his dick in, like he could be any warm body against him right now, save for the small tells — embry's hand cradling his skull so his knuckles crack against the drawers instead of bob's head, the way his entire body strains to fuck bob's mouth but he holds still so he won't choke (as much) on his dick. ]
I'm gonna put bruises on you that no one can see. So every time you swallow you can remember that you're fucking mine. [ he pushes all the way in, so far that he can feel bob's rigid breath against him, that he can feel the tight constriction of his throat. ] Open up all the way for me, Bobby.
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he sucks in a breath when embry first laves over another bite, when his teeth scrape someone else’s bruise and reclaim it, newly tender. hands tented on the wood, hips rolling into embry’s thigh. those fingers in his hair are like a puppeteer’s on his strings, pulling him taut.
despite the command, bob answers on a delay, still unsure whether this will function as bloodletting and release or self-harm, but wanting to give embry what he asks, anyway (and wanting to be wanted enough to warrant his jealousy). twin coils burn hot, shame and a smug satisfaction. it’s as though he fucked up and needs to beg embry’s forgiveness, detritus from the commune still lodged in his skull, but a contrarian undercurrent has his jaw tilting up in defiance because there are people who want me even when you don’t — ]
Yelena. [ guttered out, with embry’s tongue in the dip of his collar. it feels dirty to invoke anyone else when he’s with somebody. it feels risky. it feels — like his heart juddering in his chest and cock twitching in his trousers. yelena, ani, armand. embry knocks the last name from his chest, along with his breath, on yanking him hard enough that he lets his back hit the desk: ] Corry —
[ from fucking him, obviously, which embry has only just decided he’s interested in (when he regretted it before bob could come down from the high of it happening at all). no time to think of that, of anybody else, when embry has him now. wants him again, however briefly. his back bows as embry bites him. ]
You. You — [ legs trembling and chest bare, cock standing at attention. the winter air chills his damp skin. he shivers through it. ] You, Embry
[ even though it’s easier than ever to let embry take charge and manhandle him, bob could still resist. could give more push and pull, not immovable and untouchable but difficult, sure. instead, his hands trace the corded muscle in embry’s arms where they hold him in place. too reverent, when embry has drawn his hands back from touching him before, afraid of what might slip through their haptic link.
with a snap of his fingers, he signs over his mouth to embry’s worship, too. half-expecting what comes, surprised only by the abrupt roughness of it, the sudden, strange sensation of helplessness: boxed in by embry’s hand and the desk behind it, so there is no pulling back. just an initial instinctive struggle, shifting his weight on his shaky knees. a barely there tilt, tongue sliding against the undersides of embry’s cock, thick and filling his mouth, already nudging too deep. he gags and whines, immediately aware of the stretch in his jaw. but where that might make someone else panic, he gives in to the familiar draw of an eddy. blinks his lashes wet, looking up at embry through the thicket.
bob fumbles for the root of his cock and splays a hand on his thigh, a near-tender circle of his thumb over the drawn muscle. an eager, aching sound answers the filth in embry’s mouth, and he pushes for more, jaw slackening, throat opening. it feels like being a thing, yes, a toy — but a well-loved one, worn with the repetitive strain of affection. it’s the closest he’s come to the glorious headfuck of the commune, embry in his head, his dreams, leaving phantom and real bruises in his wake. now, the whole of his world narrows to embry’s cock, nails digging into his thigh, squeezing his shaft until he swallows that too. bob’s throat spasms, but he holds, determined, before trying to edge back. no snap of his fingers, however, even while wet-eyed and ruddy-cheeked. so enamoured with embry that he appears dazed. ]