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au inbox; psl now
au; jakob alvida
USERNAME: kboy88
text ❖ audio ❖ video
au; jakob alvida
USERNAME: kboy88
text ❖ audio ❖ video
au; jakob alvida
USERNAME: kboy88
text ❖ audio ❖ video
au; jakob alvida
USERNAME: kboy88
text ❖ audio ❖ video
no subject
but koby doesn’t run, doesn’t disappear in the middle of the night but instead shows up at the plane, sunglasses on, expression mulish (it’s the goddamn middle of the night still, what kind of fucking plane leaves before the sun’s even up). so that means means that either his red flag senses are fucked to hell and back, or he actually thinks that being fought over like a favorite toy is…kinda hot.
or maybe he’s just waiting for embry to admit he’s just fucking with koby’s expectations, his hopes and dreams, his life. he hasn't yet, hasn't jerked the rug out from under him, so koby shoulders his duffel and sticks his headphones on and slumps onto the plane. air force one is no party jet – there’s secret service and attaches and the literal president of the united states there, after all. not really time to plop himself in embry’s lap and demand attention. really, all koby needs to do is be quietly unobtrusive for the however-many-hour flight over the atlantic.
which is, of course, why all he wants to do is corner embry in the bathroom and suck his soul out through his dick. the giddiness of defying alvida, the thrill of potential, the memory of just how thoroughly embry had fucked him senseless -- it all combines and makes it almost impossible to stay in control. koby wants to make a scene, see how far he can push his new (employer? john? sugar daddy??) until he breaks.
he doesn’t. koby has some self-preservation instinct, so he keeps the glasses on and doesn’t look up from his phone for nearly the entire flight. he watches embry through the mirrored lenses and he keeps one leg crossed over the other and he doesn’t say a word, and the only time he moves is about an hour from landing, when he gets up and disappears into the bathroom for a solid ten minutes. it’s anyone’s guess why, but when koby emerges, he’s flushed and satisfied-looking, and he looks over the tops of his glasses at embry just long enough to catch his eyes.
and smile.
once in DC, koby settles into his too-plush, too-fancy suite, exhausted and wired and waits patiently to either be summoned or pounced upon – let embry set the tone, the dynamic, the precedent for how they’ll interact. pretty woman or some king solomon kinda fantasy, whatever – he can adapt to whichever.]
no subject
he spends the rest of the flight pissed, throwing himself into the papers despite the throbbing in his head. he’d like to take his frustrations out on koby, to shove him between his legs so he can choke on his dick, and then turn him around and fuck him across one of the leather seats. the longer he sits there though, the more he simply wants koby to be sitting there with him, balanced on his knee while he goes over reports, his warmth shearing away his bitter loneliness.
he doesn’t do any of those things, though. he gets called straight into a meeting upon landing, so he puts koby and his fucking orgasm face up in the four seasons and leaves him there for the rest of the day and into the night, two agents posted on his floor to politely dissuade him from running off. it isn’t until the next day that one of the agents walks into koby’s room and places embry’s black card on his bedside table, then presents him with a new phone, which currently has embry’s number flashing across the screen. mr. moore would like you to answer. ]
You’re moving in tonight. [ in lieu of any kind of greeting or apology for the full day of radio silence. ] You need to go buy clothes and have them sent here. Nice things. You have appearances to keep up.
no subject
and part of koby wants to – go over, sit by him, distract him or let him take out the frustration that crackles over his stooped shoulders like a veil, a cape, something heavy dragging him down. embry radiates jealousy, bitterness, as tangible in the plane as it had been spread out on the couch, pressing it into koby’s mouth with every lingering, deep kiss. he can still taste it on his tongue, the entire ride home.
that urge fades to annoyance, to frustration, to anger the more hours pass without any word, though. koby lets himself wait an embarrassingly long amount of time in the lavish suite, freshening up like some idiot waiting for a date, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching the door, before it registers he’s not fucking coming and then he rolls over and screeches into the pillows at himself, because it’s the first fucking day, you fucking pathetic idiot. he crawls into the pajamas he brought, burrows under the blankets and lets the jet lag knock him out for a few hours.
the agent steps in – the less nice one, the one whose polite demeanor had faded rapidly when koby staggered out of the room at three am, sleep schedule fucked to all hell and told him to get me some goddamn room service i need to go puke my soul out. the nicer one had maybe cracked the slightest fraction of a smile, so he’d been the one koby had let see the best view of him naked, shedding the clothes in the doorway and heading to the shower. but he hands over the phone, and embry’s already talking and koby’s not quite still in fury, but he’s sure as fuck still annoyed, and he momentarily debates just going fuck you and hanging up.
but that’d mean staying in the suite alone longer, and koby’s not gonna make a good housepet because he needs something to do, even if it’s get fucked over embry’s desk, and that might be off the table if he tells the ag where he can stick his fancy new cell phone. so instead he sticks the call on speaker so he can stick it upside-down in the front pocket of his pajamas and wander over to the minifridge.]
Hi, how are you, nice weather we’re having. [bending over, koby swings the door open and frowns at the four different room service meals he’d mostly picked at throughout the night.] You don’t even know what my clothes look like, how d’you know they’re not nice? [he grabs the half-finished shrimp cocktail, heading back to the bed and tossing the phone into the unmade sheets.] Unless this is a really shitty attempt to ask what I’m wearing? No offense, but if it is, you really suck at this, boss. [a pause, biting into a shrimp.] Sir? Mister AG? Daddy? Forgot to ask.
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So you don’t want to buy anything? I’ll just have your measurements taken and shop for you, then. [ he’s climbing into the back of a car, the street noises abruptly cut off as the door shuts and the engine purrs quietly. ] I know what kind of underwear you look best in. Want to see my choices?
[ his mouth pulls into a brief smirk, settling into the leather seats with the phone to his ear, the indignation bleeding into koby’s voice. the idea of him calling him any of those things is absurd — and hot, if he thinks about it. ]
I’m not your boss. That would imply you actually have a job beyond sitting around looking pretty. [ which is, frankly, a very important job and one koby excels at. ] But if you’re offering, what are you wearing?
no subject
[then, after a beat long enough to inflect the perfect balance of frustration and carelessness into his tone:] That where you’ve been all day? Picking out underwear? [the eyeroll's almost audible, on a muttered:] Democracy at it’s finest.
[the shrimp’s gone and the service agents have retreated back outside the room, so koby sprawls on his back in the tangled sheets and listens to the soft muted sounds of a car, an engine – traveling to or from some office or meeting or top-secret government thing.] If you’re not my boss, I’m gonna need to fill out my green card paperwork again, and I know you’re a kinky fuck, but you’re not that sadistic, are you?
[rolling over and grabbing for the remote, koby flicks on the television and answers smoothly:] An edible thong and a maid costume, obviously. [but then, as the blare of the tv flicks from talk show to infomercial to telenovela, a couple taps and koby sends a comparatively tame photo, at least to start. nevermind that embry's quite literally been inside him, he gets a carefully-pg-13-rated photo to start. the ass shots are for people who don't ignore koby for fourteen hours.] No, I’m kidding, nothing.
no subject
[ there are some pieces he’s already purchased that koby has no say in wearing, but he’ll bring those out later, once he’s comfortably moved in and they’ve christened several surfaces in embry’s condo. his thoughts shift briefly to the logistics of koby’s residential status, picking up on the concealed note of concern. sure, he can be koby’s boss on paper if it means his honey-sweet cunt is available to him twenty-four hours a day. he’d moonlight as his father or uncle or fucking husband for that. ]
I’ll set up a meeting with my lawyer. He’ll walk you through the paperwork. Consider yourself employed.
[ the picture comes through next, and embry’s eyes flash with interest as he admires the soft lines of koby’s body, remembering the silken warmth of his skin, the wet heat between his legs. his cock twitches, his perfectly tailored pants suddenly tight. ]
Was the plane ride the last time you came? [ the little shit. he’d looked so smug, coming out of the bathroom all flushed and satisfied while embry seethed in his seat. ] Or have you been misbehaving in your room over there? Thinking about when I fucked you. Hoping that I’d be by to do it again. Which one would you want first, my mouth or my cock? Feel yourself and tell me if you're wet.
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You know, if I’d realized you were that into exhibition, maybe I would’ve paid more attention to you on the flight over. [honey-sweet, adding to the fantasy, because that has to be all it is, because that sort of shit only happens in movies:] Gonna Pretty Woman me? Buy out the boutique for an hour so I don’t gotta worry about being quiet if you wanna fuck me?
[lawyer, paperwork – legal stuff, serious shit. koby’s breath hitches, stomach flip-flopping, attention honing in.] I, uh – need a couple things in writing. Medical things. Alvida’s always – paid for that. [one of the tightest leashes she holds, the threat of cutting off the hrt supply, of sending koby backwards. she’d paid for surgery and consultations and name changes and everything, but she'd kept telling him you wanna be a boy, you gotta work like a girl, reminding him how tenuous it all was. how dependent on his obedience, his submission – she’d made him, she owned him, she could take it all away, if he didn’t obey. there’s a bolt of righteous frustration at the idea of transferring that leash from one person to the next, but – koby’s basically penniless now, except for whatever cash he’d had in his suitcase. he needs that leash.
maybe with embry, it would be better.]
Hmmm, maybe you should ask your secret service agent. [koby lets go of the tight, heated thoughts, relaxes into the way embry’s voice goes darker, deeper, honeyed like it had been against his mouth on the couch at ash’s party. his head slips into it, tongue slipping over his gums, memory of the drugs and the booze and the way he’d been fucked-out and pliant by the time embry got to him. koby rolls onto his back, lets one knee knock to the side, spreading his thighs on the still-damp wad of the towel over tangled sheets]
You left me in a fancy hotel room with a showerhead that has seven settings. Yeah, I’m wet. [but he slips a hand down, obediently, thinks of embry’s mouth there, thinks of the too-much, throbbing, heated feeling of coming on his tongue so quickly after coming on his cock.] Mouth first. You’ve only had the sloppy seconds version of me. [a huff of a laugh, covering the bolt of heat because koby is wet, wetter than a voice usually makes him, but – it’s the memory of that night, the coke-keen sheen to the recollection. that’s all. that’s it.] You’re a good, strong, American guy, right? Gonna do your best, so I don’t have to ask for help warming up next time?
no subject
[ his tone is light, teasing, but with a promise attached — that he is very interested in this scenario. he pauses briefly, considering the power he has with koby’s medical needs at his whims. but he’s been forced into psych wards and rehab before, stripped of all agency just because of one or two instances of embry can’t be trusted, a strike he’ll never forgive his lying, conniving mother for. it’s a card he won’t play — and yet he files it away all the same, just in case. ]
I’ll pick up where she left off. As long as you don’t fuck me the way you fucked her. [ he smiles, injecting sugar into his voice. ] Don’t worry, doll. I love the way you look. But feel free to keep thinking it was your sparkling personality that got you here.
[ immediately distracted by the image of koby getting himself off in the shower, he presses the heel of his palm to the bulge of his cock, his breath rumbling through the phone. he suddenly wishes koby was not across town and instead was right on his knee, where he could press his fingers into the slick, wet heat of his cunt, stroking him into a shivering, keening mess.
jealousy sparks to life at his words, fiery and explosive. ]
You did fuck my brother, didn’t you? [ not exactly newsworthy, when ash had fucked half the guests in attendance. probably more. ] Tell me the truth. Put your fingers in your cunt and tell me the truth.
no subject
embry won’t be in his position forever – ash is midway through his term, so another six years tops, right? koby failed US history because why would he care about all that. but he’ll carry the prestige for the rest of his life, remain a household name, and money can’t buy that. so, when embry pitches sour, slips in a warning twined with sweetness – don’t fuck me – koby knows damn well the role he’s meant to play.]
I won’t. [kitten-soft, not even taking the bait about his personality, not pointing out that this is only the second full conversation they’d had, and the first without a good couple thousand bucks worth of coke up both their noses. because that low, gritty, hungry tone is back, and koby remembers the way that voice had felt, rumbling across his oversensitive skin, dragging down between his legs.
and so what if it’s jealousy getting embry hot – what matters is he’s interested, and that’s a hell of a lot better than sitting ignored in a hotel room for the rest of the weekend. so koby settles back against the pillows, slips his free hand down between the shower-damp spread of his thighs and does as he’s told –] Probably. I fucked a lot of people. Nobody except you made me remember them in the morning. [he lets it linger, sweet, almost shyly earnest, then –] Except your brother.
[a slow inhale, fingers pressing into the wet, welcome warmth, slicking to the knuckle, in case embry wants more pictures, in case he shows up and doesn’t want to waste any time. in case he wants to hear koby get off to the memory of ash fucking him. the exhale is more moan that air, the rustle of sheets, the curl of one bare foot against the sheets. breathy:] Oh...y-yeah. I remember him too.
no subject
he hears the rustle of movement through the phone, the telltale exhale of breath. koby following commands. fine. a clink of metal as embry loosens his belt and unzips his fly, not a glance spared for the back of the driver’s head, staring studiously forward in the front seat. ]
I know what I did. [ he remembers every moment of his evening with koby, despite the noxious mix of drugs in his system. the way he tasted. the sounds he made. the feel of him clenching around his dick. his soft little pleas when embry lorded alvida’s power over him. ] What did Ash do? Tell me. You’re already wet about it.
[ he doesn’t explain beyond that. doesn’t explain that anything ash did with him, embry’s done, too. he has enough leverage over koby that he doesn’t have to dance too far from the truth, even if he won’t admit to his sins outright. ]
Do you wish it was him that noticed you the way I did? [ a bitter, hateful question, more poison than words. he knows what anyone’s answer would be. he’s always second best, always chasing after his big brother’s shadow. he also knows how far of a drop it is from koby’s window, how no one would miss a naked whore with barely an identity to speak of. it’s suddenly the most important thing, life or death, that koby wants him. desperation bleeds into his voice, his thumb pressing hard against his weeping slit. ] Do you?
no subject
He didn’t look at me. [it’s quieter than he means it, softer, coming from a more honest, raw place. because embry had. embry had looked and seen and wanted and koby knew damn well that maybe that wasn’t a good thing, maybe being seen and wanted by a man like embry could only lead somewhere bad. but that didn’t erase the fact that spread out naked and trembly and strung out beneath embry, feeling him look and look and see had been the one thing about that night that koby remembered in crystal-clear clarity.
so, fingers working slow, careful, just enough to keep him wet and primed and open in case – in case embry felt like having another look – koby elaborates, like he’s been told to. the words are simple, straightforward, an accounting of the facts in unemotional black-and-white:] He bent me over the table and fucked me with his hand on my neck. He got me off and came on my back, like you came on my stomach. Not inside. And he didn’t look at me. [a shaky, ragged inhale, a twist in the sheets, remembering embry’s hands, eyes, body on his, searing and inescapable and shattering.] You did. You did.
[and so, softer, breathy:] No, I don’t. Because he wouldn’t have. [understanding, in a sideways way – people don’t seek out a boy like koby if they have any real other options. he’s for fucking in dark rooms, in seedy clubs, in the backseat of limos parked outside hotels he’s not allowed inside. they push his face into the leather seat and get off like jerking off, quick and dirty and shameful, because he’s young, because he’s a sharp-mouthed boy with a whore’s cunt, because he’s miserable and trapped and can’t make them stop. and embry could kill him tomorrow and nobody would know the difference, but he’d looked at koby and that would be true forever and ever.
koby repeats it, more firmly:] So. I don’t. I don’t wish it was him. [a pause, a little huff:] What I wish is that you were here so I could show you what a dumb fucking question that is.
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his misery just makes him harder, his eyes burning behind his closed lids. despite the fact that ash’s dick has been inside koby too, he finds he still doesn’t want to hang up the phone, doesn’t want to tell his driver to turn around. doesn’t want to just abandon koby the way he should. if he was smart, he would. why take on the baggage of some fucking whore from across the world? why even look at him? embry has already made too many promises for no other reason than to assuage his own loneliness — although he’s not being entirely truthful there, because even without the sick pleasure of owning a thing stolen from beneath alvida’s nose, there’s something about koby that did make him look. something that makes him want to keep looking. ]
I’m coming up.
[ it’s the only warning he gives, the car already parked and embry shoved back into his pants, stabbing at the elevator buttons until the doors open to the agents stationed on koby’s floor. he walks past them without a glance, swiping a card to get inside, koby’s shower-damp body spread out on the bed. embry wrests his belt open before he even gets to the bed, the mattress dipping as he pulls koby in by the hips, entering his wet cunt in one rapid shove. ]
You’re damn right he wouldn’t have. [ a pained growl, a callous snap of his hips. from this close, his eyes are rimmed in red, tension tightening his jaw. ] Ash wouldn’t give a fuck about you, and I promise he doesn’t remember your cunt.
[ but i do, a hard breath stuttering out of him as drives into koby, caging his body in. there’s something lethal in his gaze, something razed and ruined, his eyes glittering like cracked ice before he dips down and crushes his mouth to koby’s, one hand sliding between their bodies to thumb at his clit with quick strokes. he’s so warm and wet from whatever he’d done in the shower, from the slide of his own fingers while they spoke on the phone. so fucking perfect. ]
What about now? [ between the hard rock of his hips, his brows drawn tight as his eyes slit open. dual ends to his expression. dark, hungry, lost in his own gaping want — and still uncertain, as if he isn’t prepared for what koby could say. ] Still don’t wish it was him instead of me?
no subject
and he’d do it again. because there were bruises on koby’s thighs in the shape of the greediest, hungriest hands that had ever touched him, and when he dug his thumb against the tenderest, throbbing parts of those marks, it was perfect, it was the antidote to too many years on his knees in windowless rooms, hands in his hair, some tourist’s dick barely reaching halfway down his throat, a monotonous buzz of boredom. even the ones who paid to leave marks did it with limp wrists and cringing, paunchy sunburned men who knew alvida would ruin their lives if they broke her things.
but – embry hadn’t flinched, hadn’t hesitated, had let all that ugliness spill up and out and sear itself into all that bare flesh, because he knew the only person koby belonged to was him, even before koby knew it himself. there wasn’t any going back after swallowing and opening his mouth for more. there never would be – especially when embry says –]
You’re – what? [off-guard, off-kilter, he’d thought a couple more photos, the breathy rasp of embry finishing on the other side of the phone line to carry him until whenever he missed fucking in person. and there’s no answer, but there are footsteps in the hall and the door swinging up and koby sits up for a moment, warmed and flushed and something going fluttery in his chest, something so fucking dangerous, something that was worse than whatever he could feel hollowing him out whenever he remembered embry’s taste on his tongue.
but his knees knock apart, spread, offered, and there’s no resistance, nothing but the warmed-up, slick heat of his waiting, willing cunt when embry plunges inside, that and the way koby reaches, welcoming, fingers sinking into embry’s hair for a moment, something welcome back, something i missed you in the gesture. and he’s so fucked, he is so fucking fucked, but embry fills him to gasping, to arching his back and slotting his knees tight on either side of still-clothed hips, and it’s so damn good.]
Have you – asked? [it’s punctuated by a whine at the rough thrust, the too-deep burn that makes koby shudder beneath the thoughtless weight of embry pinning him to the bed. it’s a stupid thing to ask, because embry looks wrecked, tormented, tortured, and koby’s fingers slip free of his hair, touch the line of his jaw, callused fingertips coaxing the tension out, that soft while his words are goading, daring:] Or are you – scared of the answer?
[and embry’s mouth on his feels obscene, because you don’t kiss whores, you don’t crush your perfect toxic mouth to one that’s been fucked more than it’s been kissed, it’s not how it goes, and it makes koby feel more human, more here, and that means the deep, punishing thrust of embry’s gorgeous cock inside him feels so damn good that koby moans into that kiss, stuttering breath when embry’s fingers find his clit, slip just-right around it.]
N-No. [gutpunched out of him, one hand cradled at the side of embry’s neck, the other finding the shoulder of his shirt, caught again by the fact of him looking, looking, looking, and koby’s mask slips, something carved-raw in his face, in the hitch of his chest when he gasps out:] D-Doesn’t – matter if he remembers me. S-Still gonna b-be no. [there’s little to no chance ash would, but if he did, if he offered ten times what embry can for koby in his bed instead – he may be lying to himself, to them both, but koby thinks no, no, no.]
no subject
No. [ the word comes out like sandpaper, surprising even embry himself that he’d answered at all. would he ask? he wants that to be no too, but he knows better. he knows he would, because the press of the knife is too tempting to resist, ash’s inevitable answer a sword gutting him wide open. he stills at the unexpected touch of koby’s fingers, tracing a line of fire along his jaw. ] I don’t want to talk to him about you.
[ a sudden, scathing truth. you’re mine, and i’m not sharing you with him. not when everything else in his life has been inexorably tied to ash, when his heart has been tied to him and he’s never had anything for himself. he leans down, bites another kiss to koby’s bee stung lips, his hips rocking again, this time with less of a punishing pace, though just as hard, just as deep. he groans against his mouth, breathing in deeply to stave off his cresting pleasure, gathering tightly at the base of his spine. ]
He doesn’t get to see this. You. [ in a voice twisted with thorny jealousy and lust — ] He doesn’t get to see what I see. He doesn’t get to kiss you. He doesn’t get to fuck you the way I do.
[ not like this. he slides his wet fingers from koby’s cunt so that he can grip his jaw, his thumb resting on koby’s cheek, tilting his face toward him as he moves his hips. embry’s gaze nearly shutters, his eyes neat slivers of cut ice surrounded by the dark frond of his lashes. ]
I’ll always remember. [ you. grinding against him, his breath comes out in a shudder, his mercurial anger seemingly gone, replaced with molten need. mesmerized by the broken open expression on koby’s face, cursed with it. it’s not personal with ash, not at those parties where his dick makes the rounds, but with embry — everything is personal. his bitterness. his growing obsessions. all of it so sharply felt, knives in his gut, thorns in his throat. ] There’s isn’t a thing about you that you can hide from me.
[ his hand moves from koby’s jaw to his throat, caressing his damp skin, feeling the flutter of his pulse. he tightens his grip, squeezing. ]
Come for me. Now.
no subject
cause there’s silk under his back and designer shampoo scenting his hair and the attorney general of the united states is gorgeous and hungry and satiating himself with the eager spread of koby’s legs, the shuddering grip of his cunt, filled so right, toe-curling goddamn romance novel kinda good. he doesn’t have to, doesn’t need to, embry’s not going to stop fucking him now unless he’s the literal devil, but koby’s not a pillow princess on principle, damn it, and if he’s getting good dick, he’s giving good pussy in return, so he arches his hips and works against embry’s deep, thick, raw thrusts and squeezes tight and throbbing around his perfect cock to make his breath shudder and stutter, to undo him.
and embry says no and he doesn’t get to see this, and it’s not an act how koby’s whole body shudders, how his hazy eyes go bright, raw, snapped open like he’d been back at the party, embry threatening to call alvida. and he still could, he could change his mind, send koby away, back, abandon him once he’s bored and – he will, he will, hisses the darkest, most aching parts of him. koby surrenders the most vulnerable core of himself and it’ll end up shattered, because that’s what happens to boys like him.
but now – now embry’s kissing him greedy and messy, now embry’s grabbing his jaw, fingers slick from koby’s own cunt, lifting his face and there’s no hiding, no escaping, and i’ll always remember sears like a brand and koby doesn’t look away, doesn’t try to escape, surrenders, surrenders as long as he can, one hand clutching embry’s shirt, the other sinking into his hair, and he’s gone, gone, gone. he’s nothing but need, but want, but satisfaction found in embry moore staking his claim and looking him in the eyes like he matters.]
Okay. [soft, nearly tender, told he’ll be flayed open and seen completely and not caring, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of embry’s neck, like there’s a risk he’ll look away. the hand slips to his throat and koby’s sky-blue eyes go hazy, heavy-lidded, arching up to press the pulse, the gasp, the breath of him into embry’s grasp and he squeezes and for me and there isn’t a thing koby wouldn’t, right then, anything, anything, and he’ll hate himself for it in the morning, but right then he comes undone, comes apart, comes on embry’s cock with a choked-off, pleading, sobbing sound that’s almost his name.
and it’s – good, god, it’s good, but it’s almost over which means – and koby’s knees hook over embry’s hips and his grip tightens and he’s shuddering and shivering and soaking embry’s cock, and all he can think is – don’t go, not yet, not yet. and it doesn’t come out like that, but the hand in embry’s hair moves, clumsy-soft against his neck, curling there in a silent, clutching gesture that koby scarcely realizes he’s doing. stay stay stay it pleads, silent, desperate.]