[ the reaction he gets is largely positive, to say the least, even if midnight is still swimming in his own consciousness outside of embry's reach. his clothes are summarily ruined, midnight's teeth and cock pressing into him while he's half-naked and all wanting, though embry's legs close out of sheer instinct, fighting both to stay and leave midnight's tight grip. ]
Midnight.
[ the idiot can't hear him, and maybe it's for the best, because embry doesn't particularly want to have a conversation about this after the fact. midnight's tongue is warm and insistent where it laves against his bruised, bloody skin, sending shivers of pleasure dancing through him, and he cares less and less if midnight actually knows who he is or what he's doing with each passing moment of his mounting desire. it doesn't mean anything. they're not anything, because embry isn't anything to anyone, and it's better this way, without the ruinous weight of expectation or guilt.
he reaches for another flower, crushing it in his hand and flicking the petals away, leaving behind a mess of sticky-sweet honey coating his palm. the resort always provides, like they're stuck in some demented version of heaven where he still can't get god to answer for fucking room service on his floor. he reaches back for midnight's cock, slicking him up in a few swift strokes, and a better man would try again to wake him up, would at least turn around and make an attempt with hands in his hair or fingers on his cheek, but it's well established that embry is not a good man even as the guilt he doesn't want to feel burns in his chest.
he barrels ahead anyway, already naked, already wanting, already halfway there. he guides midnight to press roughly inside of him, pushing back to take him all the way in, too quick to be comfortable, a ragged moan falling from his lips. ]
no subject
Midnight.
[ the idiot can't hear him, and maybe it's for the best, because embry doesn't particularly want to have a conversation about this after the fact. midnight's tongue is warm and insistent where it laves against his bruised, bloody skin, sending shivers of pleasure dancing through him, and he cares less and less if midnight actually knows who he is or what he's doing with each passing moment of his mounting desire. it doesn't mean anything. they're not anything, because embry isn't anything to anyone, and it's better this way, without the ruinous weight of expectation or guilt.
he reaches for another flower, crushing it in his hand and flicking the petals away, leaving behind a mess of sticky-sweet honey coating his palm. the resort always provides, like they're stuck in some demented version of heaven where he still can't get god to answer for fucking room service on his floor. he reaches back for midnight's cock, slicking him up in a few swift strokes, and a better man would try again to wake him up, would at least turn around and make an attempt with hands in his hair or fingers on his cheek, but it's well established that embry is not a good man even as the guilt he doesn't want to feel burns in his chest.
he barrels ahead anyway, already naked, already wanting, already halfway there. he guides midnight to press roughly inside of him, pushing back to take him all the way in, too quick to be comfortable, a ragged moan falling from his lips. ]