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[internship]

[ Gwen doesn’t know what to make of Embry Moore. There’s the picture Ash painted, when Gwen was crying over Peter the night they met, of a prince who would always have his heart; there’s Ani’s missive to the Hex Club and Pink Slip banning Embry from both (and, as far as Gwen’s aware, he’s the sole person on that ban list). She means to ask Ash or Greer more about him—or ask Silco about the reasons for the ban—but there’s some weird shyness that’s stopped her short.

Ash is intimidating in a way Gwen’s coming to understand (because it makes her wet, because there are parameters around it, because she can see some of his softness around Greer). Intimidating might not be the right word for Embry, but Gwen gets the distinct sense, from all three words they’ve exchanged, that he doesn’t like her. And she realizes, with girlish embarrassment, that in some fantasy version of meeting Embry she’d imagined he might like her the way Greer liked her, or Ash liked her, some instant affinity slotting into place.

That was naive. She’s not going to dwell on it, which means she gives Embry as much of a berth as is possible in this space that’s really not meant for five people. So she’s surprised when she looks up from her book and sees that it’s Embry, not Ash or Peter or Greer, approaching her with— ]

Oh. [ It’s all Gwen can manage, for a second, when confronted with the sight of her panties in Embry’s fist as the mistletoe’s chill slips down her spine, making her sit up straighter. She’s not dressed for the cold: she’s in a blue knit sweater and white skirt that skims her thighs, slouchy pink knee socks that match the color of the panties she’s very much not wearing.

She wonders if this is—a game? A scene? But Ash hadn’t talked to her about it, and Gwen doesn’t yet know where Embry fits into what they have.

Whatever work her brain is doing to contextualize this, her body knows what the mistletoe means (fingers retreating into her sleeves to try to warm up, thighs pressing together beneath her skirt, nipples peaking with cold) and she can’t help the flush of embarrassment across her cheeks, the way her ears pink at the sight of the pretty lace edge wrapped around Embry’s knuckles. The last set of knuckles they were wrapped around, taken as a souvenir. ]

I gave them to Ash. [ In a manner of speaking. It’s a little humiliating that anyone else knows about that, but she’s trying to stay—composed? Until she can figure out what, exactly, Embry is doing here. Her head tilting, brows knit, ] If that’s what you’re asking?

[hymen]

[ she gave them to ash. yes, and i fucking took them when i went through his underwear drawer, and now here we are. a part of him is keenly humiliated, which he supposes is half the point, when ash knows exactly how he responds to it. like a hungry dog that can’t help waiting for another blow to come, too kept to run away.

he considers tossing the scrap of fabric into her lap and turning away, but his body rebels — and not just because he’s sure ash would send him back. his eyes carve over her ruddy cheeks, moving down to the skirt she wears. he wonders at her arrangement with ash, if he’s barred her from orgasming unless it comes from him, if he wants her pussy bare and wet and available for his use whenever he deigns. what other reason would she have for not wearing something warmer? he knows how this game goes. has played it for years, in closets and hidden corners and on his knees in the dirt, ash driving into him with his hand over his mouth or his belt between his teeth.

jealousy needles him, and with it, the rearing of his spite. the need to flip the tables, because he’ll love ash until the day he dies, but it still pisses him off when he thinks he’s won.

he lowers himself down to his knees. ]

You’re not wearing anything under that skirt, are you?

[ a hand settles at her knee, skimming upward to nestle underneath the white fabric. she’s cold. as cold as he is, with the urgent pull to put his mouth on her to alleviate the numbing ache. no need for introductions, when he’s sure ash has explained what they are. but he isn’t ash in that he doesn’t plan things like this, or explain, or think about the consequences. where ash holds self-control in every hard muscle of his body, with embry it’s the headrush of desire pulling him forward like a collared animal, the turmoil of his emotions mastering him instead of the other way around. his fingers stroke the softness of her inner thigh, closer and closer until he strokes, feather light, the velvet slickness of her cunt. so fucking wet. all ash would have to do is pick her up and she’d take him so beautifully. ]

Put these back on. [ he grasps her ankles, sliding the panties on each leg, one by one. his eyes flick to hers, pale and anguished in the dark fringe of his lashes. slowly, he pulls the underwear up, up, up, tangled around her thighs. ] Lift up.

[internship]

[ Gwen’s a sharp girl. You don’t make valedictorian at Midtown Science or head intern at Oscorp unless you’re sharp, unless you’re capable of both thinking ahead and thinking on your feet.

Embry gets on his knees in front of her, and it’s like someone turns off all the lights in Gwen’s brain. He’s—beautiful, and he’s Ash’s and Greer’s, and he’s on his knees on a plush fur rug by a crackling fire whose heat won’t reach either of them until Gwen kisses him, or he puts his mouth—

Her eyes are wide, a fluttery exhale of a breath that goes visible from the mistletoe’s chill at Embry’s question. Gwen’s on the back foot, uncertain how much Ash has shared with him about their arrangement, and for her part—things with Ash have moved both fast and slow, all unfamiliar milestones that she sometimes wants to blow right through, climb into his lap and sink onto his cock without asking permission. She calls him Daddy and he hasn’t even fucked her yet, because she has to earn it.

Is this something she’s earned? Of course she’s thought about Embry. She knows the sound of Ash in Greer’s bed next door and she’s started to know the sound of Embry, too, and now the three of them share a bed across the room from her, and she wonders where she’d fit. Wonders if Embry would even want her to fit, and the way he’s looking at her now, even as his cold fingers slide up beneath her skirt—

She doesn’t think he does. But Gwen can’t look away from him, holding his gaze as her breath deepens, lips and thighs parting before he’s even touched between them. He’s stroking the only part of her that’s warm, and her forearm flexes where she grips the arm of the sofa, flushed pink across her nose and cheeks from the cold and embarrassment and a bloom of arousal.

He hooks the panties onto her ankles, and that turns one light back on in Gwen’s brain, her teeth chattering around the question, ]

W-what if someone—comes in? [ Because privacy doesn’t exist right now, because Gwen had envisioned working Peter up to all of this with—a nice dinner for the five of them, maybe. A couple more games of cards around the Christmas tree.

The ridiculousness of it hits her, as he gets the panties as far as where her thighs meet the sofa cushions, and Gwen lets go of a sound that’s more hiccup than laugh, voice husky on her next question, ]

Can you at least kiss me before we freeze?

[ But she does do as she’s told. Arches her hips up off the sofa and bumps Embry’s hands, clumsy from the cold, as she takes over, hooking her fingers into her panties to pull them the rest of the way up. There’s a damp spot, already, by the time the fabric’s snug against her cunt again, her skirt bunched up so he can just see without having to lift it. ]

[hymen]

[ he considers the question, quickly going through the possibilities. wouldn't matter if ash or greer walked in, or at least it wouldn't be a shock to find embry on his knees in front of their latest obsession. so that leaves peter. gwen hasn’t told him everything, then. ]

Then we’ll be fast.

[ he watches as she slides her panties back on, watches as the fabric darkens with how wet she is. she doesn’t pull her skirt back down, her bare thighs cold as he runs both hands up, firmly gripping her hips and giving her a quick yank so he’s face to face with her cunt. his cold breath cascades over her, eyes tracking hers, waiting for her to push him away, to close her legs, to tell him that she doesn’t want this.

she doesn't do any of those things. ]

Yeah. [ his brow creases, fingers pressing harder into her hips. ] I can kiss you.

[ he lowers his mouth between her legs, pressing his lips to the soaked fabric covering her cunt. the tip of his tongue flickers out, teasing her swollen bud, warmth blooming in him from the contact, spreading across his cheeks, down his neck, all the way to the tips of his fingers. his cock aches. ]

Did Ash put parameters on you yet? [ his tongue moves hard against her, the friction of her panties making everything hotter between them. ] Are you allowed to come?

[internship]

[ Peter knows the basics, which—as of ten minutes ago, didn’t really involve Embry. Not on Gwen’s side of this strange equation, at least.

She’s convinced she can handle navigating this. She’s not a kid, she’s always managed every adult responsibility handed to her, but there’s something about the close quarters (something about the way Embry is looking up at her from between her legs, the knit of his handsome brow) that tips Gwen close to overwhelm. It used to be just her and Peter, and now it’s her and Peter and Ash and Greer and— ]

Embry. [ On a wavering exhale as his mouth finds her cunt, relief flooding through her with the flush of heat that spreads deeper from each flick of his tongue. Gwen wonders if he can feel her heart beat from there, nervous and embarrassed and so turned on it hurts, her hands moving to his hair for an anchor, gripping a little tighter than she means to. ]

He hasn’t— [ A jerky shake of her head, although she and Ash haven’t exactly talked about Embry within their dynamic. Are you allowed to come feels more complicated than his first question. Gwen’s hips rock upward, seeking the slick heat of his tongue, breathy as she tugs at his hair, ] There aren’t parameters.

[hymen]

[ there aren’t parameters. so maybe it’s that ash hasn’t decided what he wants, which seems unlike him, but then again — ash has never really stepped beyond the confines of their relationship. embry has never known him to want to. he still doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that he does want to, and has. he hasn’t stopped thinking about how ash wants to be fucked, and can’t ask embry to do it. not in the way he really wants.

the fact of it plagues the deepest hooks of his jealousy, pulls and pulls until he’s all bloody and torn up on the inside. and he gets off on that too — having something to be jealous over, to hurt himself on. ash must know that, after all these years. ash hurts him, maybe not altogether intentionally, but there’s a part of him that knows ash likes seeing him like this. and then embry hurts him back. a punishment. a gift. all make-believe and all dead fucking real. ]

He’ll tell you your pleasure belongs to him. Your pain, too. [ through the lace, he sucks her clit like a man starving, his mouth pushing harder against her. his lashes flutter, taking in the sight of her panties soaked with her own wetness and his spit, his eyes glittering darkly with ravenous, possessive need. ] But it doesn’t. Not right now. Right now, it belongs to me.

[ he draws his mouth back just long enough to hook a finger in the wet fabric, pulling it to the side to expose her pink, glistening cunt. his fingertips glide down her silken warmth, stroking her without the barrier of her panties. ]

You’re with me. Not him. [ with a turn of his wrist, he presses a finger inside of her, bringing his mouth back down to suck and lick with renewed urgency. another finger slips inside, curling, searching. ] He hasn’t done this to you. He hasn’t made you feel like this.

[ wrong. existing somewhere between the lines, not dominant or submissive. where he can not only give, but gwen can take. ]