[ the thing that newcomers don't know about this place is that it has a way of pulling out your secrets like the smoke curling in tendrils from hawk's lips. of robbing your senses. it's unfair, and embry should maybe say something before he's caught in the same game as always, but hawk is looking better and better, and he was already good enough to undress for the moment he'd laid eyes on him. the question about ash feels like an intentional wedge, a parry to match embry's strike. ]
The president? No, he's not from an important family. He's not like me at all. [ ash is good and noble and powerful, the last hero embry knows, the only man he wants to lose to. ] He's from Kansas. Everything he has, he earned. No favors. No friends in high places.
[ just that asshole merlin pulling strings to tatter embry's heart for ash's sake. he takes a sharp drag, then slides swiftly in the space he's been eyeing, right between hawk's legs where he's perched on the low lounge seat. ]
I think lavender's exactly your color. [ his eyes skirt along the planes of hawk's body, from his open collar, the first sheen of sweat beginning to gleam on his skin, to the way the cut of his trousers cling to his thighs while he sits. embry's hand snakes out to glide along his knee, moving up to the center of his thigh while his gaze settles on hawk's face again. ] In the 1940s there was a purge of gay people in government, fueled by raging homosexual McCarthy. It was a witch hunt. People's lives were ruined. Anonymity was your greatest protection, and because of that, you can't even go back to the history books and read about these people. You can't measure that kind of loss.
[ his hand resumes moving, higher and higher until he reaches the fork of hawk's legs, casual as he adjusts his cigarette with his other hand, smoke escaping between his words. keeping his eyes on hawk's, he palms his cock through the fabric of his trousers. despite the smoke getting to his head (and under his skin, and straight to his own cock), he can feel a sort of palpable tension in hawk, like now he really has mapped out his own exit to the door even though he can feel his cock responding to his touch, too. ]
I know about having to hide. [ the higher he goes, the more he has to keep his heart under wraps, and now it doesn't matter because it's all broken and ash is getting married. with the flick of his fingers, he has hawk's fly open, dipping inside. ] But not like those guys in the forties do. They spent more time looking at exits than at the men in front of them.
no subject
The president? No, he's not from an important family. He's not like me at all. [ ash is good and noble and powerful, the last hero embry knows, the only man he wants to lose to. ] He's from Kansas. Everything he has, he earned. No favors. No friends in high places.
[ just that asshole merlin pulling strings to tatter embry's heart for ash's sake. he takes a sharp drag, then slides swiftly in the space he's been eyeing, right between hawk's legs where he's perched on the low lounge seat. ]
I think lavender's exactly your color. [ his eyes skirt along the planes of hawk's body, from his open collar, the first sheen of sweat beginning to gleam on his skin, to the way the cut of his trousers cling to his thighs while he sits. embry's hand snakes out to glide along his knee, moving up to the center of his thigh while his gaze settles on hawk's face again. ] In the 1940s there was a purge of gay people in government, fueled by raging homosexual McCarthy. It was a witch hunt. People's lives were ruined. Anonymity was your greatest protection, and because of that, you can't even go back to the history books and read about these people. You can't measure that kind of loss.
[ his hand resumes moving, higher and higher until he reaches the fork of hawk's legs, casual as he adjusts his cigarette with his other hand, smoke escaping between his words. keeping his eyes on hawk's, he palms his cock through the fabric of his trousers. despite the smoke getting to his head (and under his skin, and straight to his own cock), he can feel a sort of palpable tension in hawk, like now he really has mapped out his own exit to the door even though he can feel his cock responding to his touch, too. ]
I know about having to hide. [ the higher he goes, the more he has to keep his heart under wraps, and now it doesn't matter because it's all broken and ash is getting married. with the flick of his fingers, he has hawk's fly open, dipping inside. ] But not like those guys in the forties do. They spent more time looking at exits than at the men in front of them.