๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ "๐๐๐ ๐" ๐ฃ. ๐๐๐๐๐๐ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homosexuals) wrote2024-01-18 09:11 pm
homosexuals) wrote2024-01-18 09:11 pm
[POLITICAL AIDE AU]
AKA MATT BOMERCEPTION
a diplomat is a person who can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you actually look forward to the trip.
โค ๐โ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ฃ๐
or given the nature in which this fuck came about, maybe it's more than the average batting record after all. it's the kind of statistical factoid that belongs on an inane icebreaker - two truths and a lie, or a drunken tale with a captive crowd at some party that isn't hosting the usual bevy of the political elite that hawkins fuller rubs elbows with these days and can be written off as mere exaggeration brought on by a tumbler of glen mhor. it's also worth pointing out that said fuck didn't occur when embry moore was vice president, but that hardly seems like much consolation when he's standing face to a recognizable face with a man he'd bent in half and fucked within an inch of his life years ago. if there was a less of a mutually unspoken disinterest in real discussion, hawk might have questioned what they were both drinking and running from - even if he'd never answer that a fervent boy with a chestnut brown mop of hair and big brown bambi eyes filled with heartbroken tears was what the bottom of his glass was meant to chase.
they're both far too professional to let anything less than a polite facade and a firm handshake colour the initial interaction, hawk pretending with practiced ease that the only familiarity to his promotion as the vp's right hand man comes from years slaving away in the state department with a tally of the known faces gracing the likes of cnn, fox, and a running ticker of approval ratings these past few months. frankly, he'd still been hoping for an opportunity overseas, not the massive headache a former hookup and the second most important man to the entire country was going to bring along with it. if the rumours are true, hawk might be at the beck and call of one man that'll give his coping mechanisms a run for their money and then some.
delightful.
it's only when embry's security steps outside the heavy, engraved wooden doors with a loud thunk closed and a proverbial death knell on required civility that hawk offers a wry smile extending to the twinkle in his eye, not so cautious that he doesn't also offer a very dry: hope you weren't expecting me to refer to you as "sir". he'd like to think he's older and wiser, that he can put personal matters aside to do his damn job to perfection and try to keep embry out of whatever messes get naturally drawn to pretty faces and plenty of power.
(speaking of faces - sometimes he wonders if he really is a selfish bastard, both immediately clocking the similarities to his own visage and resenting whenever the rest of the administration brings it up like they've been miraculously separated at birth. wondering if his attraction to dark-haired, fair-skinned boys is skewing into the arrogant old familiarity effect - not that he spends much time buying into scientific theories that rely on relationships longer than the standing one he has with his own hand and a variety of discreet out-of-towners every other night.)
something is eating embry from the inside out - that much is clear to hawk behind closed doors. from his own experience, it's not the same thing that happens when boys become men after war, and it also doesn't seem like it's the undercurrent of biting tension between the two of them. the inconvenient way recollections of the specific feel of that lean body writhing underneath his own will pop into his head with the right brush of fingers handing over a confidential manila folio, or the unpredictable waft of cologne when he strides confidently out of a room, or worst of all: the errant waves of hair that fall against his forehead when he's poring over memos at his desk that make hawk want to tip his neck back and pull at it. what can hawk say, really - at the end of the day, he's a hot-blooded american who occasionally lets his better judgment be clouded by his wayward thinking dick. would he fuck embry again?
never say never.
the important part is learning every inch of him, like he might be able to crack open his skull and play chess with the worst of his memories - knowing every dirty secret, every skeleton in his closet so he can protect him from those things coming to bite them all in the ass.
one such skeleton he is apparently getting a crash course to: lyonesse. yeah, he's heard of it. the exclusivity and discretion are top notch, but no establishment trading in favors and intel is gonna sit well with him. it's ripe for abuse no matter what claims are made otherwise. and yet - here he stands in an impeccable three piece suit, blood red tie at his throat and gaze scanning the room from behind the rim of a strong scotch and drinking in the schmorgasbord of political who's who that anyone would envy on their invite list. thank god they allow smoking in here, because the next thing he does as he passes through the wood-paneled hallways of the foyer is fish one out from his inner pocket, gold lighter gleaming in the dim atmosphere as an array of half-dressed men and women filter in and draw his first puff in a gray stretch that beckons towards the rest of the glass fortress.
his gaze shifts sideways to his charge - wondering if it's his first time, if he does this often, if it's his version of the cozy corner's hunting ground to blow off steam.]
You know, we never quite clarified if I'm off the clock or not here.
[as if that's a thing that happens anymore. he sucks in another breath of smoke, lips blowing it out sideways.]
I just want to be clear - at least, before I go giving you some unsolicited advice.
no subject
less, when he's with ash. which has been the entirety of the past year, clandestine moments behind closed doors, in private hotel rooms, in clubs, in ash's bed. a string of the happiest moments of his life. it's been a month since ash pressed a ring into his hand and embry bucked like a spooked horse, and now ash has someone else and embry is back at the club where ash broke him a hundred different ways and he'd loved it.
here, with his new aide. he's never been disliked by anyone on his staff before, because embry is categorically liked by everyone on the basis that he is charming and sexy and has a pair of wintry blue eyes that puts the fucking sky to shame. however. hawkins fuller is, to put it kindly, too goddamn nosy to have a hope of ever seeing embry in a decent light. he's here to make his job easier, not to gaze upon the empty carnality of his wretched soul and silently judge him for littering his life with poor decisions.
that's what it feels like to be watched by hawk. that, and to be constantly reminded that he let him fuck him, the memory jolting him to frustrating unease every time his shadow falls over his desk. it's not like hawk is not still attractive โ he is โ but with embry now drifting, completely unmoored, he's decided to go back to basics and resume being the one doing the fucking when it comes to men. ash might have trained him as a sub in his own way, but that doesn't mean he was ever, at any point, good at listening. ]
You canโt tell me youโre not used to working long, hard hours.
[ embry grins sumptuously at his own joke, because really, itโs fucking funny as shit. he crosses the few steps between them, taking hawkโs wrist and guiding the cigarette to his own mouth for an overlong drag. he quit smoking right as he entered politics, but damn if he doesnโt miss it. he leaves the question annoying unanswered. ]
I feel like youโre gonna give me that advice whether youโre on the clock or not.
[ his eyes follow a woman gripping a collar in one hand, and when she looks over her gaze hooks on hawk instead. literal fucking tragedy. embry lets him go, ripe with jealousy in a way thatโs become all too familiar lately. ever since ash decided to love someone else โ and sure, maybe he forced his hand at that, but itโs always been a lie that embry doesnโt love him back, even if he sells it so fucking well every single time โ embry has felt extraneous in his own skin. ]
She wants you, from the looks of it. [ what he wants is a drink, so he flags down one of the silent servers hovering about for their best gin. ] Thoughts?
[ because he doesnโt know much about his aide, and heโs been too distracted to take a vested interest in finding anything out, other than he passed a background check to make it into the white house, and his cock clearly works. ]
no subject
no. no - not at all, or he wouldn't be here in the first place trying to protect him from himself.
even if he'd rather not be spending his night here babysitting when he could be dealing with his own demons in a dark motel with a nameless someone facedown and taking them with a brutality that would never be enough to make him forget softer nights and sweet stolen moments.
hawk wishes he had a drink in hand, enough that he might take a swallow, pursing his lips in a sidelong salute and carry on the double entendre that embry finds oh so amusing. there's an energy resonating off of him that means he's either in a good mood or a very poor one - hawk's frustrated that it's taken this long and still sometimes is too hard to tell the difference.]
I don't recall any complaints about my endurance in the past.
[not from embry, and certainly not from anyone else. as if he sticks around long enough for more than one round anyway. not if he can help it.
there's a blink of surprise when his wrist is grabbed so freely, fingers feeling the barest brush of embry's lips as he sucks in on the bitter taste of nicotine before letting it go and exhaling in an oh so casual gesture that's a step too intimate for his tastes.]
Those things'll kill you, you know.
[do as he says, not as he does, obviously. and that's not the only advice he'll be giving, but first - hawk follows up with the same waiter not least of all to avoid the eyes that have landed on him as he puts in a request for a hard scotch, neat, and make it a double. his fingers itch to have it occupying his hand now, so he'd have another reason to ignore someone hardly his type in more ways than one. and no, he's not particularly interested in elaborating on any of those thoughts with his - boss, essentially, even if it's difficult to think of the younger man like that.
so hawk goes and does what he's best at: he puts on the mask, letting the icy twinkle glint in his eye and oozing all the charm he can muster as he tips his immaculate jawline in her direction as acknowledgment that he sees her, he knows what she wants, but there is a simple reality that he is far too much for her to handle. certainly not because the appendages she's equipped with aren't the kind that makes his own stir - never that.
and because embry so graciously sidestepped his own question, hawk does the same, turning away from the woman's disappointed gaze to lean in and murmur low near the shell of his ear, enough that it won't be overheard over the light classical music and minimal chatter.]
Look - you can do whatever it is you need to do, work out whatever you've got going on - but it probably shouldn't be here.
[and privately? hawk definitely doesn't think it should be with a stranger. but he's not getting paid nearly enough nor is he remotely close to embry on that level to say as much. not that it would be an offer, per se - but the thought doesn't have him shutting down as immediately as he would if one of his no-strings nights showed up on the spot. it's be a hell of a lot neater, for one thing.]
no subject
not that he'd minded. in his inebriated memories, it was fucking good. he thought he might actually die, which had only made it better.
they haven't talked about it. it feels like the right decision to just let it sit between them instead, simmering, building. why address anything when you can ignore it? it's not like he's going to fuck his aide. ]
I can interview your longest fuck about your endurance, if you'd like. I'll present the data to you on a spreadsheet.
[ thank god for gin. the servers bring both of their drinks at the same time, and hawk's hand looks good around a scotch, just as it had looked good around his cock, and embry wishes he had the whole fucking bottle instead. ]
I stopped smoking when I started campaigning. I was advised to cut out all the vices I could. [ smoking was the least of them. ] I used to have to walk a mile to the nearest village to get smokes when I was on base.
[ hawk does... something, wherein he silently dismisses the woman and gets in embry's space in a fluid movement, and he despises how his body reacts, how he feels hot and itchy and too tight all at once. his cock stirs like it's never gotten an ounce of attention before. a flush creeps up his neck, peeking out of his collar. he feels almost dizzy with need, like being back at lyonesse puts him in the kind of space where he'd let anyone do anything to him. where he has let ash do unspeakable things to his body until his mind quiets into blissful, silent peace.
only ash had understood the specific lines to cross to break him, and embry would fight and complain and always, always lose. he misses his losses now. ]
I'm already here. We're already here. [ he wants to stick to his resolutions, be the big fucking asshole this time and feel powerful. isn't that how ash got everything he wanted? he knows it's a spiteful thought, because ash doesn't have a shitty bone in his body, when embry is all shitty. with his drink already almost empty, he takes hawk's cigarette again, this time just plucking it from his fingers. with smoke curling from his mouth โ ] Just pick someone.
no subject
(is that what his life is destined to be reduced to? life before and life after tim laughlin? the center of it all, the boy that made him break both their hearts? so much for all the milestones of a career in washington.)
the undercurrent of tension that highlights each of their interactions has just enough of an unpleasant zing that hawk knows there's no way embry has forgotten that night. which means they're both just trying to be professional about it - as they should. and yet: working as an aide, for all intents and purposes, is the equivalent of being administrative assistant, therapist, blackmailer, maybe hitman, and then some all rolled into one extremely close and personal role that often veers farther left than the only democrats left with bite in the senate. this is bound to come out at the worst possible time, or blow up in both their faces if they don't deal with it somehow. what that means and how they do it - hawk doesn't have a goddamn clue.]
I'd really rather you didn't.
[because it would be tim, and with the way embry nearly downs his gin and grabs for his cigarette again he cannot get mixed up thinking about that right now when something self-destructive is in their midst.]
Besides, I think you'd have some trouble tracking them down, on account of the fact that I haven't got a clue who they were.
[rolls off the tongue easily, and maybe a little smugly - convincing to anyone but himself as his chest tightens thinking about the memory of soft kisses against his ear and a warm body curled in his arms. hawk takes a good swig of his own drink, still more measured than embry's because at least one of them needs their wits about them tonight, christ, and it doesn't look like it's going to be the younger man.
especially not when he practically tenses up as hawk enters his space, just shy of impropriety, and notices that despite the mood lighting, there's a pointed flush against pale skin that looks good enough that hawk might like to lave the flat of his tongue hot against it before opening his mouth and biting hard. something tells him this is absolutely not his first rodeo, nor is it hawk that's the one making him outright nervous or jittery or whatever the hell this is - so maybe it's someone he's expecting? a bad experience he's trying to conquer? or is it who or what he'd been chasing away that night they first met?
far be it for him to kick a man while he's down - at least, not this one - so instead he just watches the plume of smoke out from his lips, wondering what those other vices might have been and who else on the base got to see them, and glances around the room again as if he's actually making a stab at surveying it for them.]
For me?
[a pause, to let him think he's gotten away scot free.]
Or you?
[he leans in again, gaze deliberate as it falls down the narrow bridge of his nose onto the delicate profile before him.]
Because there's only one person here you can trust right now, and I doubt you're ready for that conversation.
no subject
[ it's not a threat, just another funny joke that earns hawk a wiggle of embry's brows over the rim of his glass. the cia keeps his secrets, too โ like all the times he's shown up at ash's door to get flogged and fucked and tenderly kissed, or the fact that they're outside lyonesse right now. who'd have thought he'd be a whole ass adult and still doing the walk of fucking shame.
but he is. ashamed. he's ashamed of how he's reacting to hawk's close proximity, ashamed of what he still wants now that ash is effectively gone. he's fed himself the lie that ash is the only man who could treat him that way, that what they had was just special and different, that they fed each other's needs in a way no one else could, but now ash has someone so much better suited to serve him, and embry still has the same itch, the same ugly voices in his head that need to be silenced. he's not special. he's just the same bad, empty person he's always been.
he replenishes his drink, as if a fresh glass can keep him from drowning. ]
This is a private club. Why're you so skittish? [ better to answer his questions with more questions, as embry moves away, shotting his entire drink and grimacing as he sets the glass on a passing server's tray. ] You're right, I'm not ready for any kind of conversation. Go find somewhere to put your dick.
[ he walks briskly down a dimly lit corridor lined with rooms, the lights tinted a purple hue, and stops short at one, a flash of silvery blonde hair catching his eye. a wig, probably, but he doesn't care, because the woman he locks eyes with looks enough like greer to his gin-addled mind that he's happy to step inside. none of the rooms have doors, just a lavish bed, and it's the last thing he's concerned with, on the greer lookalike in seconds, kissing her against the wall while she yanks at the front of his trousers, loosening his belt to slip her hand around his hardening cock. embry groans, turning his head while she licks her hot tongue down the side of his throat, and his eyes flutter open, half-expecting ash to be standing there, but despising the little part of him that hopes that hawk followed. ]
no subject
[it's not meant to be judgmental, because god knows these men are trained and have seen much worse than a cocky kid half their age getting his dick sucked dry in some 50 shades enthusiast's wet dream. but the longer he can keep him from doing something stupid, the better - not just because this isn't exactly how he pictured spending his evening, but because hawk is old school even for his in between age and genuinely doesn't trust the likes of a place built on trading secrets. doesn't matter how secure their vault is - anyone can be bought. servers can be hacked. hard evidence can be infiltrated and stolen.
but right now he's focused on the likelihood that embry knows how to hold his liquor in the same way all pretty rich boys learn to do by fourteen, sixteen so they don't embarrass mommy and daddy at the estate during family holidays. but maybe tonight's an exception - making it more and more palpably clear this is drinking to forget, drinking to lose himself in something. drinking in a way that's surely going to end with hawk dragging or carrying him out of here, and fuck if that doesn't bring back some uninvited memories about a boy gulping scotch just to try and understand why hawk liked it so much, sitting in a joint not that much hazier than this looking for affection in all the wrong places. christ, they're nothing alike, and yet he still feels haunted by it all the same.
hawk steals back the cigarette while embry has his little tantrum, sucking down the rest of it and giving him a few seconds to storm off and confirm he does in fact want to be chased before he stubs it out into good baccarat crystal and rises in one fluid motion. the hallway beckons with just enough light to illuminate every misdeed happening inside the doorless rooms. men and women stretched out on the beds, on the floor, some on their knees - is that the ambassador from finland? huh. but embry's lithe figure is impossible to ignore even as he's plastered himself against a blonde in some shitty wig, looking like the kind of dreamed-up fantasy that any good old american boy would fall prey to.
of course he followed. not least of all because it's his fucking job and he considers himself still on the clock, but because maybe he's tired of watching embry run. so he steps inside too, setting his drink on top of an ornate dresser that must contain a multitude of sin in its drawers with a clink and folding his arms in casual observation.]
Didn't know you were much for blondes. [hawk tosses a mock-sympathetic look to the woman in question when she looks up in mild surprise at the visitor, shaking his head slightly.] No offense, I'm sure you're a doll.
[the only available seating is across the room, and he's waiting to gauge embry's reaction before making any additional moves inside and wondering if he's lost the plot himself here. call it a hunch, but fucking this faceless girl doesn't seem like it's going to get him what he's looking for. nothing in here probably is, and maybe it's the traitorous twitch of his own dick or the memory of what embry looks like splayed out for the taking - but hawk would like to think maybe he'd at least get a little closer than this.]
no subject
and hawk across the room, watching it all. resentment abruptly wells in him like a freshly bleeding cut. hawk had fucked him when he was just like this, once, years ago. same song, different refrain. still pathetic.
he untangles himself from the girl, his dick throbbing in his trousers, feeling restless and spent all at once. she gets the hint, casting him an almost pitying glance before leaving the room in a haze of gold, and embry's chest tightens at how much she looks like greer in that moment, proud and strong and so perfectly able to follow instructions โ everything suited to ash's tastes, and everything embry failed to be.
he stumbles to the bed and drops onto the pillows in a miserable heap, his liquor-guzzling abruptly hitting him. he feels too warm, his clothes trapping heat against his flushed skin, and when he slides his hand into his trousers to wrap around his cock, he finds his fingers slick with pearly wetness leaking from his tip.
maybe there's something about being drunk and sad that makes him horny. ]
You're gonna have to tell me your type. [ he watches the smoke curl from hawk's lips with a shameless stroke of his hand. ] My type is everyone. Life's easy for me.
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somehow embry manages to make even a drunken stumble look effortless and begging for debauchery, flopping unceremoniously in a heap of expensive fabric and tousled hair that hawk knows is asking for trouble, yet does nothing to discourage his own cock from slowly starting to fill out. hawk pushes up off the doorway, hands loosening as he takes the few steps forward with the own easy swagger and hips jutting forward in his stance at the edge of the bed. it's a real shame he can't see that gleaming wetness at embry's tip with his pants hanging loose around his waist and fly still buttoned up - but hawk still offers a lazy smirk, eyes glittering with the game of all this.]
So easy you're here playing with yourself. That part of your preference too?
[nothing to say about his own preferences, but he reaches forward in one smooth motion, slow enough that embry could stop him at any moment to circle around his wrist and bring it up to his lips, the flat of his tongue laving hot against embry's palm and tasting the salt and sweat with a low hum as he licks against it, wetting it even more as a courtesy for him. he lets go, tipping his head towards the tent underneath the finely woven wool of his fly.]
Go on. Get yourself out. You can thank me later.
no subject
in this moment, he doesn't care. tomorrow, he might. ]
For the record โ [ his breath huffs out of him as his wet hand wraps around his yearning cock, dark hair disheveled as he squirms erratically on the bed to wiggle his pants just so, freeing himself. ] I'm not listening to you. I was doing this anyway.
[ he is not taking orders from hawkins fucking fuller. in fact, he's not taking orders from anyone ever again, because he'd tried with ash and failed spectacularly. he isn't meant to be anyone's submissive. he isn't meant to be anyone's anything. ash had clocked him with scathing accuracy that night so many years ago in prague. he's sebastian flyte, meant to die drunk and alone. it seemed romantic at the time, and now it just seems sad.
his free hand snakes out, clumsily landing at hawk's hip. the heel of his palm drags down, past the neat folds of his trousers, right to the fork of his thighs, where he confirms his suspicions. ]
You can probably still go find that girl. [ he digs a blunt nail down the seam of hawk's fly, tracing the line of growing hardness he feels there. ] You can't have me.
no subject
[it's the kind of placating tone one uses with a delusional child - sure you'll be president one day honey, yes santa claus is real. embry's not taking an order, jacking off alone and bitter was always the plan coming to the most elite sex club this side of the us, if not the world. even the most well behaved of boys have their slip-ups, though hawk is trying desperately not to think about the perplexed fissure between tim's brows in confusion the first time he'd given an order before realization sunk in and he'd scrambled to comply. this is decidedly not that - something tells him embry would sooner bite off his dick than jump at an order without proper incentive.
you can't have me, and that just makes hawk's dick twitch harder, gaze harder as he lets embry take his time feeling him out without more than a lazy flutter of his lips in another amused smirk.]
You know, blondes aren't really my thing.
[they're absolutely not. dark hair, pretty faces, boyish builds and corded muscle - he'll take that any goddamn day of the year. but having embry now would be a colossal mistake for their personal and professional relationship. not to mention he's drunk and might have some feelings about that in the morning - not exactly the kind of predicament hawk needs in his life now or ever. risk mitigation already failed in coming here, he might as well kiss his future promotion somewhere sunny and european goodbye if he sticks around now.
and yet.
he takes a step back to keep embry's wandering hand at bay, instead leaning down and reaching to wrap around the hand still lazily stroking at his cock. very carefully he moulds his own around it, slowing it down and applying more pressure with a torturous twist of his wrist at the tip. his voice is low, a molten murmur that would be better pressed against the shell of his ear to watch him shudder with it.]
Wouldn't dream of it.
You're just playing with yourself, that's all.
no subject
a breathy moan whispers past his teeth, the dark stain of his lashes fluttering shut as his hips rock into hawk's palm. it feels like nothing is separating them, like his own hand isn't even there. he imagines his straining cock squeezed right in hawk's unforgiving fingers even as he squeezes himself tight to prolong the fantasy, his other โ now empty โ hand curling into the sheets when it would rather be unzipping hawk's fly. ]
I know.
[ his mind is wandering to all sorts of carnal, filthy places, like hawk crawling between his legs and taking him into the serpentine heat of his mouth. ash used to make him really, really work to get his dick sucked, but god, it was fucking worth it every single time, and he hates that he's thinking about it now, because he's pathetically hard and practically weeping into his palm over absolutely nothing as if he's never, ever had sex before in his life. he loosens his grip on his cock and curls his fingers, hawk's hand like a shell around him. ]
Can you โ [ he chest rises around a breath, his thumb stroking the edge of hawk's finger before slowly sliding back, damp fingers circling hawk's wrist. he holds him there for a tenuous moment, embry's heartbeat hammering in his ears but somehow only feeling the barest flutter of hawk's pulse against the pad of his thumb. his mouth stubbornly refuses to form the word please without being beaten, bitten, or ridden into submission. ] Hawk โ
[ he switches their places, curling his trembling fingers over hawk's, tension spinning through him when he presses hawk's palm against his aching cock. a little mewl escapes him before his throat bobs in a hard swallow. ]
Harder. [ christ, even when giving an order it sounds like he's fucking begging. his fingers slide down to hawk's wrist again, the ghost of a touch, unsure and tender at once. ] You know how. The way you like it.
no subject
he remembers the way embry bit at him, vicious enough to make hawk work for it. slamming that lithe body up against the pretty penny of wall paneling in some expensively convenient hotel, feeling those legs wrapping around him and the swell of his ass goading him with every grind to get his dick out and fuck him into submission. done and done - hands fisted in his hair, pretty face pressed up against filigree patterns with embry bent in half and fucked hard enough to leave bruises against his slim hips. he'd broken his own rule that night - not satisfied with just one round, another in the bed that had sheets with a sinful thread count. his clean exit was a little muddied that night, and at the time he'd just chalked it up to more stress to blow off, the loss of something that had been the most consistent thing in his life second only to his own hand.
his attention is rapt on the way the change envelopes embry - the softness of his touch, as if unsure, and christ, the noise spilling from his lips - his thumb lifts in a moment of exceedingly rare fondness to stroke against his wrist lightly from where he's reversed their positions.]
Yeah, I know exactly how. I gotcha - c'mere.
[his fist squeezes around embry, neither hard nor light nor rewarding - a wordless command, just wait as his other arm lightly pushes him upwards into a brief upright position, only so he can knee up onto the bed and replace the pillow, propping embry up against his chest. it gives him that much better of a view - his face, his leaking cock, and it lets him nose in hot against that perfect jawline and up against the shell of his ear, a warm exhale against it as he settles in comfortably. much better.
slowly his thumb shifts again, pressing firm against the tip and dragging the blunt edge of a nail through the pearly stickiness of his slit and down the tender line of his sensitive frenulum. there's a breathy laugh, enough of a bite to it that he's not gone totally soft as his fist finally curls against his thick shaft with just the right amount of pressure and pumps him in quick succession without warning.]
Christ, look at you. So fucking wet already.
You know, if you think I'm gonna let you cum easy, Embry - think again.
no subject
it's not hawk's maleness that bothers him, but the mysterious fucking unknown of all of this, that embry talks to all of his other partners and specifically works out who's going to be fucking who, and it's usually embry on top โ except for when it came to ash, who toppled him into the dirt and has kept him there ever since, but that's not relevant right now. what's relevant is hawk's torturous touch, dragging a shudder out of him, that hawk is jacking his sensitive cock hard enough that he could spill in under a minute โ but everything that comes out of his mouth makes embry remember that he's a goddamn asshole. ]
Shut up. [ embry squirms, caught like a fucking rabbit in a trap. it's impossible to miss the gleam of wetness slicking hawk's fingers, or his wrenching desire to lick them clean. ] You didn't even want to come here.
[ the accusation is leveled in a strained voice, between puffs of breath. he didn't want to come here and he sure as hell hadn't given much evidence in the way of wanting this before this precise moment. maybe it's all a game to hawk, and unfortunately his fingers feel too good for embry to care.
he tilts his head back, nestling in the crook of hawk's shoulder, throat bobbing in a hard swallow. should he beg? christ, he wants to, he just wants to fucking cum, but instead of speaking he tilts his mouth to lick a hungry stripe along the side of hawk's throat. ]
The faster you let me โ [ his breath comes damp and hot against hawk's skin, his pleasure-addled brain trying to strike a bargain. ] The faster I can get you off, too.
โ starry, starry night.
he takes a full bottle of macallan 12 instead, his other favorite.
maybe he's just being sensitive from the way his phone has been buzzing all night with notifications about ash and greer's party โ and his noted absence. he stops looking once the photos start rolling in, at least until after the house grows quiet, the moon a fragment of silver in the sky, a jagged reflection on the glimmering surface of the lake. he can't sleep, and not even the gin helps. hawk has already gone to bed, disappearing into the black hole of the guest wing, and morgan is nowhere to be found, her room empty.
his phone feels too bright in the dark, his gray trousers collecting grass stains as he sits on the bank of the lake, swiping through a photo gallery. the white house is decked out in some tacky 1920s theme that ash probably loves โ he looks impossibly handsome in his suit, greer radiant in pearls and tassels, and their laughing faces make embry's lungs swell to bursting, the bottle clutched between his knees. it's the end of something, an end that he chose, and still he keeps checking his texts, thinking that ash might reach out, that he might tell him he misses him or that things would be better if he were there, but the night is painfully silent. he hovers briefly over hawk's name before swiping away from that, too.
picture after picture slides across his screen until his eyes blur, and then he has to pause to collect himself, his hand over his face as he inhales deeply, because crying at his mother's fucking lake house in the middle of the night is goddamn pathetic even for him. ]
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it's easy to put on the charm - shake hands, smile, compliment the food and decor and even a few forward grips of his cheek, examining him like a specimen that's wound up at a lab, cloned from one of embry's ribs. yes, hilarious - he could fit right in like one of them, couldn't he?
the tension with morgan is palpable, and hawk can tell early on it's partly play-fighting, partly jabs that are more outright vicious than some of the shit he looked down the barrel of in italy. with family like that, really - who needs enemies? he notes the conscious lack of gin, making a note to stop by the liquour store in town tomorrow and grab something for embry's sake - suffering this level of preteniousness for however long they're sequestered here is just adding injury to insult.
speaking of morgan: the woman isn't subtle. not a convincing drunk either - even if hawk indulges it with the absently placid smile he plasters on in the face of the homophobic, impolite, and irritating. sleep it off in here, yeah. don't worry about it - on your side, 'atta girl. wouldn't want to wake up with vomit in that pretty hair of yours. he'd already been exhausted from putting on his best behaviour, reminded strongly of the few times he's come back home since walking out all those years ago and immediately feeling stifled by the decorum of it all. christ. at least he's only got a dozen other rooms to choose from, though he wonders what's in embry's. is it still decorated like his youth, the way estelle fuller has kept his like a memorial to the sensitive boy he once was, all the things he cared about tucked away in the closet?
nevermind - he doesn't want to sleep. he wants a fucking cigarette.
what he's not expecting is to see the vice president of the united states of fucking america sitting at the edge of the lake without a bodyguard in sight, immaculately handsome profile illuminated only by the shimmering sliver of moonlight and bright light from his cell phone. hawk is quiet, not necessarily trying to sneak up - but there's no missing the bright, unmistakable colors of tabloid photos embry is scrolling through. is he...crying? fuck.
hawk clears his throat a few feet away, giving him a moment to compose himself if he wants before he easily saunters up the rest of the way, unceremoniously plopping himself down next to his charge. he's in boxer briefs, a striped cotton-flannel robe tied loosely at his waist from where he'd been interrupted from having a staring contest with the ceiling. he tugs out a cigarette and his lighter, shoving the rest of the box into the front pocket before cupping the flame and puffing at it until it catches. he's quiet through the first inhale and exhale, watching the smoke rise up into the night sky and drift off into nothing.]
I'm really starting to see why you wanted the hotel room.
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Please. You fit right in.
[ he thinks his mother might actually like hawk, which is a concept he's still processing. maybe it's the terrifying similarities between them, like the fact that both of them would probably drop a body down a ravine and casually uber a coffee order to the office on their way back.
his nose wrinkles, looking up at hawk with extreme distaste in his not-quite-drunk eyes. ]
You smell like Morgan.
[ morgan has a very distinct smell. specifically, dior. sometimes chanel when she wants to masquerade as classy. embry silently fumes that he can identify his stepsister's fragrance so swiftly and with such precision, and it isn't jealousy that bites at him (or at least he's not admitting to that tonight), but general aggravation that he is, apparently, the only one not getting laid. hawk doesn't like blondes, after all, so morgan fits the bill. morgan looks just like ash, which has been an eternal thorn in his side since he discovered their connection.
he considers walking away when hawk settles beside him, uninvited, but the enticing scent of cigarette smoke washes morgan away. he thrusts the bottle of scotch toward hawk and holds out his other hand for an exchange. ]
You like scotch. [ his eyes are too bright beneath the glow of moonlight, a soft, snowy blue. ] If you're gonna fuck my sister, let me give you some advice. She wants you to spank her. Hard.
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and that's why isolating him any further, feeling like he doesn't have an ally in all this is the exact opposite thing he wanted out of this little field trip. hawk shrugs casually, expression mild and a little teasing.]
Word of advice, if you wanted me to misbehave we need the backstory straight before we land the jet.
[he taps lightly at his cigarette, turning to offer embry a smirk with a hint of wickedness in his eyes.]
But we've still got time to ruin breakfast.
[sometimes he forgets how perceptive embry is though - cloaked in the way he floats through the halls of every party he attends, the wry sardonicism and wit that rolls right off the tongue, and the seeming bevy of men and women eager for his attention. someone like that should piss him off with the ease in which they can afford to be themselves, consequences be damned - but he finds it never does. which is why it catches him off guard that he somehow knows about his sister's midnight traipse into the guest wing.]
Not by choice.
[his tone is cautious, but clear about the fact that it was very much an unwelcome intrusion.]
Your sister should really keep her day job. Acting's not in the cards - and she's not a convincing drunk.
[hawk shrugs, taking another inhale and shaking his head slightly as smoke seeps out the side of his mouth.]
Tucked her in and came out here. Wasn't expecting company, but - the devil you know, right?
[his hand shifts, extending to give over the cigarette to embry and let his fingertips brush as he grabs the bottle by the neck. he takes a quick swig, right when embry lets that bomb drop before letting out a hard laugh.]
I'm not fucking your sister. Not my type either, in case you're taking notes.
[his eyes shift sideways, stealing a glance at how handsome his company looks even disheveled, eyes rimmed red.]
The spanking is a whole different ballgame, though.
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embry takes a drag of the cigarette, bracing himself with lungs full of smoke. there's something about being back home that makes him feel equal parts vulnerable and safe. even if vivienne moore might never be proud of him or understand his predilections, at least he knows she'd never abandon him because it would look awful in the press. ]
Mr. Fuller. [ he smiles, his nose pink, the cigarette lingering near his lips. ] Are you coming out to me by saying you don't want to fuck my sister? More importantly, what are your thoughts on spanking? There's always time to misbehave, and you can draft up the backstory on the jet.
[ hawk is still a mystery to him, irritating at times but reliable, and it strikes embry in that moment that there's nothing steady in his life but him, not since he lost ash as his one solid pillar, the sun, the stars, and the whole goddamn sky gone in one fell swoop. it's more pathetic than it is inspiring, but he's grateful all the same that he isn't alone so he doesn't have to contemplate crawling into the lake anymore. ]
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but even if he hasn't said as much and it's just their witty banter, of course embry seems to want a straight answer. hawk tips back another swig of the bottle, watching the smoke flow out across the lake, almost black where the moon's light can't catch it, and shoving down the thought that he'd like to shotgun it right out of his mouth on the next blow.]
Well shit, I left the rainbow thong inside.
[it's dryer than the sangiovese he'd had with dinner, but there's a glimmering little twinkle in his eyes as he turns to look at embry head on with a smirk. there was a time where he would have denied it - come up with a lie that would immediately squash any doubts where his preferences might lie, but considering their track record of 2-0, those aren't odds he thinks he can beat. and embry's had enough bullshit to swallow tonight, if his phone and morgan are anything to go by.]
I've been known to have a firm hand. Something about watching a brat count out what they've earned...makes for better manners. A civic duty, really.
[that's only half a joke, and he shakes his head with a low chuckle.]
And your thoughts on the same, Mr. Vice President?
[it's not that he's trying to lull embry into a false sense of security, or even make light of whatever the fuck he was sniffling about in the sand. but asking him straight on seems out of the question, and maybe this is the least he can do to make him feel less alone for now. he'll reassure himself later he's not getting soft - he's doing his damn job.]
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he could tell hawk about ash. he could tell him that he wanted to marry him, that he had the chance, twice, and fucked it up both times. merlin's words stick in his mind, gravel in his throat, and the desire passes. the less people that know the better, and besides, he's kept this secret for so long now that he wouldn't even know where to start to undo it. he's a bad lover, and even if there was a chance it wasn't a defect of his personality before all of this, it sure as hell is now.
there is one thing he can share, though, something that hawk might find out sooner or later if they end up back at lyonesse one day. ]
If my partner wants it. I aim to be the best. [ he shrugs, tilting his mouth skyward and attempting a smoke ring. ] Don't get any ideas in your head, but I used to go to Lyonesse with a friend who was training to be a dom. I'm not so much into labels, but he needed someone to learn on, and I didn't have anything better to do.
[ hawk doesn't need to know that it wasn't a friend, it was ash, and it was after jenny's death, after embry had been wandering out in the cold for seven years while ash was happily married, and he'd been desperate to be back at his side and was happy to be beaten, whipped, and fucked into submission as part of ash's education. he'd sworn his allegiance to ash all over again, pledged to stay with him no matter what, and ash had to go and ruin it all over again with another proposal for embry's heart. a heart he can't give without destroying everything they've built.
so of course ash had gone and found someone more willing to be loved. embry turns his attention back to hawk, still puffing on the cigarette as if he has no intention of returning it. ]
I like the fight. I wasn't very good at the submitting part. [ he offers hawk a sidelong grin. ] Too bad about Morgan. She's a brat and she likes to count.
โ with broken glass beneath my feet.
there's a moment right before bed where he thinks they both might slip, where he lingers outside of ash's door and lies to him that he's been fine, he's been happy, that he's happy for ash, and ash's strong fingers ghost along the shoulder of his blazer and he calls him his little prince, and embry wants to start bawling right there in the hallway. it's a testament to his fortitude that he doesn't, that he instead goes back downstairs to the hotel bar after ash quietly shuts the door in his face, drinks himself blind, sends hawk a text that saying nothing but fuck you, and then passes out in his bed.
they board the jet in the morning, embry wearing sunglasses and speaking in single-word sentences courtesy of his hangover. he gets back to washington around midday and is informed that hawk never showed up. it's then that embry takes a moment to read the daily brief sitting ignored on his desk along with a condolence card he's expected to fill out with senator smith's name embossed across the top, and two and two suddenly fit together. guilt sinks like a stone directly to the pit of his stomach.
he unsends his fuck you text, despite the "read" message beneath, then asks someone to get him hawk's address. why hadn't he just said something? he knows little of hawk's life and even less of his upbringing, but he does know that hawk worked for senator smith and considered him more than just a mentor. it's almost odd to think of hawk revering or respecting anyone, but it just makes the itch worse, makes embry's sordid curiosity grow.
it's been nearly two full days since he's seen him, the longest they've been apart since hawk was hired, and he isn't answering his messages. not that embry has sent anything of substance โ merely hey after unsending the first message, also left on read โ but his concern grows enough that he shows up to rap on hawk's (unnecessarily expensive) doorstep late at night, chinese takeout from down the street clutched in one hand and bottle of macallan 12 in the other. ]
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there's not much that can bring life to a grinding halt for a steadfast, consummate professional in dc like hawkins fuller. but suddenly the world stops in his own narrow space and he realizes it keeps on going for everyone else - a million miles a minute while he goes through the motions of donning the uniform he didn't think he'd have to pull out for the next decade. it's always kept neatly pressed, medals shined and angled just so out of respect for the longtime benefits it's afforded him - but now all he can think about is the man that pulled him out of the fucked up spiral he'd been stuck in after watching two of his men get blown to bits, pieces of them left permanently in velletri as a sacrifice in blood and flesh to carpathian separatists.
he remembers senator smith spending hours of his precious time in that cabin, a cozy thing in upstate delaware that looked like the shit straight out of a thomas kinkade painting. whiskey by the fireplace, talking hawk through nightmares, sending him food, getting him the best doctors and surgeons and helping him muscle through a recovery that was more than just bone deep. it took a long while for his head to feel screwed back on straight, but god - that wasn't even the extent of his gratitude for senator smith. how does he describe someone that was the father he never had, one of the few good men in washington? thank christ he's not the one on eulogy duty when he can barely keep it together in the privacy of his own home.
it's a somber affair - him picking up lucy and mrs. smith, leonard stumbling in sometime later and managing not to cause a scene until the reception at the country club after the fact. there is a sliver of hawk that knows it was an admittedly unintentionally shitty thing to do - abandoning embry when he's to fly with ash, leaving him stranded without a buffer to soothe the rough edges from whatever the fuck it was they'd had in the past. hawk has never gotten the full story, just bits and pieces from embry in moments of vulnerability shared between the two of him. and for a few moments when he fires off his out of office notice, a part of him thinks about adding context. one of the last men i respected in the entire fucking world just died. or even just a simple i need a few days, sorry.
the fuck you is succinct and earned, hawk reading it lazily from where he's been sitting on his couch nursing half a bottle of whiskey in honor of the deceased. it's been years since he's passed out on his couch without dragging his sorry ass into the obscene bed he's curated over the years for himself - but when he wakes the next day he counts on embry not turning up to the office at all, knowing he's no good to anyone in this state. tomorrow he'll pull himself together before anyone notices - coiffing his hair, putting on an extra spritz of cologne to cover the alcohol and pack of cigarettes he's burned through, wearing one of his best suits and a borderline garish tie to take the attention off his bloodshot eyes and muster up a consistent joke he'll repeat like a mantra to anyone who comments on the unusual pattern.
embry notices anyway, but hawk disregards his hey in much of the same state the following afternoon. he's switched back to scotch, about a quarter of a bottle left even if he at least still has the dignity to drink out of a tumbler since he wasn't raised in a fucking barn. there's a few moments of clarity between drinks where he hesitates over the call button on embry's name, thinking better of it before scrolling down to tim laughlin, wondering if he'd even pick up or if he was smart enough to block his number. that one gets passed over too, with the briefest recollection that his mother had called, though he's in no state to return that one tonight. so his phone gets unceremoniously chucked next to the well-used ashtray on the table, hawk tipping back his head and feeling the shift of his unkempt curls as he stretches his arms across the top of navy velvet and closes his eyes to make the world stop spinning for a moment.
he drifts off enough that he thinks he's misheard the knock at the door, ignoring the way dark eggplant silk is practically hanging open from where it's loosely tied at his chest as he eventually rises and doesn't relinquish the grip on his drink. he should think twice before opening the door in this state, too much fluidity in his movements, eyes red-rimmed and jaw tight when he comes face to face with none other than the vice president of the united states. the smell of chinese reminds him he's eaten very little over the last twelve hours, suddenly ravenous despite the roil of guilt and feeling like he's been caught.]
Hi.
[his voice is rasped with disuse and the telltale sign of too many cigarettes washed down with the burn of alcohol.]
Foggy Bottom is a long ways away from the Big House.
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[ so a man died, an important one, but what the fuck? hawk smells like the bottom of a barrel, and embry has no real experience with grief. he doesn't remember his dad, dead and gone and replaced by morgan's before he was two. if his mother ever died โ though he can't imagine vivienne moore being anything but immortal โ he would stand at her funeral and deliver the eulogy like a dutiful son should. he would shed some tears, probably, but he's shed more tears kneeling at ash's feet than he ever has on his family, and maybe that's part of the reason why he's a supremely fucked up man today.
he pushes past hawk, who should not be in such a debauched state all things considered, and heads for his kitchen, putting down his goods and sliding his unopened bottle to the furthest corner of the counter in a very pointed manner. ]
This is from me, but you can't have it. [ from his blazer, he slips out a creamy envelope made of textured paper. a very nice card, from very nice people. people who should probably be here instead of him. ] This is from Ash and Greer. Sorry for your loss.
[ fuck, he sounds like an asshole. embry's never been good at taking care of people, that's always been ash's job and he's picked up exactly zero skills from hovering in his proximity for over a decade now. osmosis is clearly bullshit. he turns to the food, banishing his casual wonder over hawk's tousled curls while spreading out boxes and plastic containers. he opens a carton of noodles, snaps a pair of chopsticks in half to stick inside, and pushes it toward hawk. ]
Eat something before your goddamn stomach lining deteriorates.
[ he takes hawk's glass away without asking, throwing back the contents in one swallow. then he escapes again, because hawk looks fucking sinful in silk, and also so goddamn sad that embry doesn't know what to do with himself. he suddenly has a brief and unwelcome stab of understanding of what ash must have felt like each time he looked at embry himself, with all of his chips and cracks and bitterly jagged edges, and how much of a toll it must have taken to put up with his horrible fucking melancholia for as many years as he did. at least hawk has a reason.
he drifts away to give hawk a chance to eat, wandering through his apartment in silence. it's tasteful, almost like his own, except there are little pieces of himself scattered about, like maybe this space is the one safe place in all of america and that's why hawk has never asked embry over. he lifts a little glass snow globe in his hands once, setting it back down carefully, then spots the old record player sitting by the wall, the corner of his mouth curling with sudden surprise. after thumbing through the collection of vinyls, he makes a noise and lifts one out. ]
An Hour With Johann Strauss? [ he looks at the worn cover, his heart giving a complicated little flutter. ] I haven't heard Strauss since I was in Prague back during my deployment. I went for a week for R&R.
[ and โ god, there's so much more he could say, like how he'd orchestrated fucking morgan to fuck ash, and how he'd taught ash how to waltz one night, and how he'd first heard the words little prince from him then. embry slides the record from the case and fits it into the player, carefully lowering the needle. strains of music drift up as he walks over and plucks one of hawk's abandoned cigarettes from the ashtray, lifting it to his lips for a drag. ]
I would've gone with you. [ to the funeral goes unsaid. ] If you'd asked. You could've said something. You didn't have to go ghost on me.
[ i was worried also goes unsaid, his eyes cutting to hawk. the bottle of scotch sits on the table by the sofa, which embry picks up and drinks directly from before setting it several extra feet out of hawk's way. ]
Take the rest of the week. You look like shit.
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hawk doesn't know what to do with an envelope from ash who he knows isn't a fan and greer who he's met only a few times to count on one hand, so it gets set aside as he instead eyes the more useful thing that embry's brought, which is scotch that he's started associating with the man himself considering the bottle they'd shared in seattle and that he's started to pour more frequently for reasons unknown. but of course he's an asshole about it, because that's what he does best - and honestly, if it were any other day hawk might take it in stride and watch embry float through the circular gallery room off into the kitchen and follow with snark of his own. but it's not any other day, and this was supposed to be his own private pity party - no guest list.
unfortunately he is starving, and he pads barefoot through the gallery following the wafting smell of teriyaki and wontons with furrowed brows and his fingertips itching to wrap themselves around the glass embry has helped himself to and stolen his scotch from. there's a stony glare leveled at him over the noodles, even if his stomach betrays him with a quiet pang and the thought that he could at least offer a thank you - his family would be appalled at the lack of manners.
it's not until embry saunters away towards the dark and moody den of the living room that's been his solace since getting back from the funeral that he allows himself to begrudgingly pull out the chopsticks and take a few bites of noodles, which taste like mana from the gods at this rate. grateful as he is, it feels ridiculously childish to be bossed around like this and spurs him to shout out gruffly around a mouthful just to be petty:]
Please, make yourself at home.
[this whole thing makes him feel exposed, like he's under a goddamn pane of glass to be studied at embry's leisure and picked apart. every trinket, every memento, the few frames he has along the mantle and in his office - all of it feel like pieces of shrapnel that are suddenly digging into his skin and trapping him here under the weight of all his failures and most intimate secrets.
like the record player, the collection of jazz hits and romantic ballads that the kind of man his father wanted him to be would be embarrassed to even know the name of, let alone keep in their possession. hawk stabs his chopsticks back into the box, pushing it down on the counter among the makeshift feast that's been splayed out for him even as he's tempted to crack open that bottle. he shoves down the urge, knowing it'll just earn him more nagging as he takes in embry slotted amongst his things. even with all his wounds feeling split open and raw, there is a part of him that doesn't hate the way he seems to fit right in among all the things that hold secret, special meaning - the kind he'd never sacrifice by making known to the rest of the world. something in him softens from outright prickly to cautious civility.]
Not a bad place for that. Mine was in Milan.
[not that it was particularly meaningful - getting himself acquainted with as many forward european men as he could manage, not even realizing it was the last hurrah before the tragedy of velletri would strike. strauss came long after that though - a gift from lucy that didn't hold much sentiment on its own until he pulled it out one day and watched a certain boy with floppy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses run his fingers reverently over the cover before putting it on during one of their few overnights to lull them into a quiet moment together on his couch. he swallows thickly, hating the way it must flicker across his face and threatens to well up in his eyes.]
Yeah, Strauss. From a friend. Didn't have the heart to throw it away.
[if his entire body wasn't threatening to shake apart and hawk wasn't feeling like one wrong step before utterly crumbling, he might steal that cigarette back and tell embry he's been a bad influence. that he was on his way to quitting and his lungs will thank him later - keep him alive a little longer so he doesn't fucking lose another person he cares about.]
I get it - duty calls. Ghosting you wasn't the intention.
[for leaving you to deal with it on your own, is his own unspoken admission. his mind drifts to the thought of embry next to him in his own dress blues, or more likely he'd err on the side of fashionable and just wear some sinfully slim fit tux - zegna, or maybe armani. embry would have arranged car service for the smiths, a separate one for the two of them where maybe hawk could reminisce over all the things america was losing with one less senator and one fewer good man over a glass of honorary whiskey.
but he looks up sharply at that, eyes narrowing and tone borderline offended.]
Look, I'll be back tomorrow. I didn't think you'd be in the office today.
[you weren't supposed to know about any of this.]
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I'm assuming that friend wanted to dance with you. Do you enjoy a good waltz?
[ over the years, he's snuck a lot of dances with ash, always just the two of them in rooms hidden away from the world. ash has only gotten marginally better over the years, but even so, embry misses it. ash dances with greer now, and it feels like getting horse-kicked in the ribs every time he has to stand in ash's periphery and pretend he doesn't wish it was still with him.
he runs his fingers along the velvety back of the couch, his insides twisting into a casual bundle of nerves. what does one really do for a man that's lost someone? he wasn't great when ash lost jenny โ he'd served as more of a container for ash's grief, a willing outlet he could ride and slap and choke his pain away on. somehow that feels absurd with hawk, but so does his one nice offering of a brief leave of absence, hawk's disdain strong enough to wither the balls of a less experienced man. ]
I don't want you there tomorrow, moping around and looking like shit.
[ he looks devastating with his hair begging to be touched, the obscene silk of his robe exposing all manner of lean muscle. christ, he shouldn't be having these thoughts about a man grieving, but he'd let ash fuck him to near unconsciousness shortly after jenny's funeral, so it's not like his track record supports his overall sense of morality. ]
I wouldn't have been in the office today if you'd said something. [ embry loses steam at how fucking bratty he sounds, punctuated by strauss. ] Just take the week. Go see your family or something. Visit a church. Take a walk beside a babbling brook. Invite some stranger over, play them this record, and dance with them. Or just fuck them.
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he doesn't even realize he's staring until embry opens his mouth and snaps him out of it, hawk looking away and rubbing at his jaw with the realization that he hasn't shaved since the morning of the funeral either, stubble starting to prickle through.]
Depends who it's with, but if you're asking whether or not I know how - of course I do. I'm sure you've had your fair share?
[he can picture it easily even if he has no clue it's not what's on embry's mind in this moment - pretty girls and even prettier boys on his arm, spinning round and round for a moment to gaze into blue eyes and feel the weight of them in a perfect dip. it makes something swoop uneasily in his stomach, fondness maybe, or if he wants to ruin the moment - the sudden urge to vomit from the pause in drinking and the shock of real food hitting his stomach.
except then he opens his mouth and sours it again, telling hawk he looks like shit even if he knows that's probably a given right now.]
Right, because I've got such a reputation for moping. I'm more offended you think I don't clean up nice.
[he's trying to keep it light, but it still comes out gruff and a little more monotone than usual. jesus christ. but even he can't help the derisive noise that comes out of his nose and is followed by a laugh, timed perfectly with the airy notes of liebeslieder.]
Zero for four.
[he'd rather spend an hour under carpathian torture than set foot inside a church, see his father or any of his extended family besides his own mother, who won't appreciate seeing him in this state, and absolutely not wandering around the countryside to find some fairytale stranger to romance. five as in fuck one, well...maybe. except - ]
I don't make it a point to dance with strangers.
[but there's something funny in the way he looks at embry, because he's not one, and the pointed swell of music seems to articulate what goes unsaid.]
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I learned to dance before I even learned how to ride a bike. It was an important skill so Vivienne Moore could parade me around at her galas and I could get my ass pinched by older women all night.
[ which wasn't funny then and doesn't particularly land well now, either. or course, morgan had gotten it bad back then too. vivienne moore's perfect puppet children from birth. it's no wonder they're both so fucked, though he'll staunchly maintain that at least he's not as big of an asshole as morgan is.
he flicks the dregs of the cigarette back into the ashtray, pointedly not looking at hawk. he does clean up nice, and he does disheveled with flying fucking colors too. he could show up to the office with bedhead and every man, woman, and non-binary staff member would want to fuck him, embry included, although embry would be excluded on account that they've already fucked. honestly, he should be glad for it now. who the hell wants to have sex right after someone's funeral? (he does.)
he almost lifts the needle from the record. almost. but he doesn't, letting the notes play their sweetly painful melody. ]
What about with the guy you work for?
[ having completed several avoidant turns around the room by now, he finally drifts back toward hawk, a panicked thrill moving through him when he meets his gaze and realizes hawk is watching him. it's even worse up close, where he can see the rough stubble at his jaw, the shadows sketched around his bloodshot eyes. he should keep arguing for hawk to stay home, but there's no need to waste his breath when he can just bar him from the office for the rest of the week anyway. he could reach out and tug his robe open with one easy pull, and he wants to, but there's something else he wants more.
he reaches down and clasps their hands together, surprisingly warm, and slides his other hand to hawk's shoulder. his chin lifts, his icy gaze hesitant. ]
You're the woman. [ embry has more experience leading, and he's the one doing the asking, even if it's not in so many words. ] I paid my dues with years of getting my ass pinched, remember? I get to lead.
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he wishes the cigarette wasn't dwindled down so he could snatch it back and take a deep inhale, though at least embry isn't looking at him right now to see the complicated emotions flickering on his face in a moment of exceedingly rare vulnerability. all of this is foreign to him - the tight, palpable tension between them and the way he's desperate for embry to get to the point of whatever this visit is, whatever they've unironically been speaking around.
and then he's up close, eye-to-eye and surely taking in every imperfection hawk has let seep out through lack of care. but he's still hawkins fuller - and that means he's got enough confidence to stand up straight, tip his chin with the tiniest of smirks and brush back a few errant curls that have flopped forward onto his forehead before letting his hand slip easily against embry's warm shoulder and take the position he's been tasked with.]
Far be it from me to disregard all your previous waltzing woes. I'm just the guy working for you - whatever you say, boss.
[there's a hint of his usual playfulness, still a little tired sounding even as he musters it up and lets his fingers flex lightly against embry's hand.
but a part of him can't resist - leaning in close in a motion that could just be closing the gap and preparing for the first three-count, instead murmuring near his ear.]
But isn't the man supposed to put his hand near the waist? Go on, then.
[he can play woman, sure, but somehow even in a state of severe fucked-up-ness he can still find it in him to seize the upper hand and take the metaphorical lead. but he's pulled back enough to watch every flicker across the contours of embry's face, drinking it in like a replacement for the scotch he's tried to drown himself with all night.
christ, he's too goddamn handsome for his own good.]
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but his hand is in a perfect place for this: to slide easily into the unkempt curls he's been fixating on since he walked through the door. his knuckles first brush the line of hawk's jaw, the crescent of his cheek, relishing the rough burn of overgrowth, and then he's in his hair, coarser where it clearly hasn't seen a brush in days, and then softer the deeper he pushes in. it's like pressing against a crack to widen it for a rare peek inside. hawkins fuller, real man.
he still smells like his cologne, some spiced, woodsy scent, and scotch and smoke, and all of it feeds directly into embry's brain just like how strauss is assaulting him now. the temperature of the room increases by several degrees, maybe just from body heat, and embry wants, wildly, to pull away, even as he notches his hand at the top of hawk's ribcage and forcefully shoves their hips together. his cock twitches, and he ignores it. ]
That's better form. [ he leans back, his spine curving in a graceful arc. if hawk wants him to be the goddamn woman, he'll be the goddamn woman. no one's going to best him at the viennese waltz while johann fucking strauss is watching. ] Try to keep up. The last man I did this with kept stepping on my toes.
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thinking about it now, it doesn't seem to brush that rigidly against embry's. there's a certain flow they've established that works for them - both smart and well-versed in reading between the lines when it comes to ulterior motives and the agendas hidden in a place like dc. but it's always dangerous for him to think like this - about the future, about something more than just drunken escapades and the two of them pushed to their limits and forced to find some kind of solace in places they pretend not to want.
it's why he doesn't pull away, instead letting his eyes slip closed for a moment and tipping into the touch first against his skin and then into the mess of curls that have long since been freed of the heavy styling creme he used for the funeral. yes, he is human after all.
his gaze slips down to where their hips are practically pressed to each other, knowing full well that might get a few points off if they were in a real ballroom about to glide across it instead of his living room, reeking with scotch and smoke and the fragrant scent of a spruce candle he'd thought to try burning earlier just to look at the flame fluttering and try to feel something. he does now - particularly with only two thin layers between them of silk and woven cotton against his own cock.]
Well in that case -
[his eyes are sparkling in the dim light, fixed firmly on his new dance partner and enough of the pall of mourning lifted with the cascade of notes coming through the record player.]
I'm not paying for the scuffs on those. Just in case.
Kick off your shoes.
[normally he'd leave it unsaid - but his voice softens a little as he waits for embry to do it and push them back against the wall.]
Stay awhile.
[and then his own leg shifts out, bare, as he starts the easy mental count of one, two, three and carefully begins leading embry across the parquet wood of his floor. it's light and easier than he thought it would be, and he's a little stiff himself, but all things considered it could be worse.]
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he obeys without thinking of disobeying, and that bothers him only after he's already moving in his socked feet across hawk's floor, quiet syllables rumbling through his head. stay awhile. no idea what that means, except that the door is far away now, and he's glad he came because hawk needed someone and doesn't seem to have anyone. not that embry is in a spectacular place to judge. ]
You're not bad. [ it's better than admitting that he's good, that embry feels the thrill of his lost enjoyment returning to him like a cresting wave. ] Better than โ
[ ash. fuck, he almost said his name, panic needle-sharp in his throat. he swallows, blinking too-bright eyes as his gaze drops to hawk's mouth. ]
Better than I expected.
[ it isn't exertion that has his breath quickening, but something else that blossoms like a stain inside of him, a senseless want taking hold the longer he keeps himself in hawk's orbit. so what if he's already used up his one chance to fuck hawk? he doesn't need to do that again, although he wouldn't turn it down. but there are still things they haven't done, and it's probably because hawk has no desire to, but embry finds that he does, because for all their tumultuous ups and downs, ash had spoiled embry with his kisses and then ruined him by taking them away.
hawk is no better, pointing out that embry should be kissed, and then just. not. embry knows, logically, that hawk doesn't want him in that way. that the sheen in hawk's eyes is because of shock and mourning and scotch. that the music and their mingling breaths and the firm press of their bodies isn't helping a goddamn thing right now. he should untangle himself and walk away. he's under no obligation to listen to hawk anyway.
instead he leans in, his heart in his throat, and catches hawk's lips against his, timing it as they round an armchair, his fingertips crushing silk as his palm slides out to hawk's back. ]
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but he's not alone now. because embry came, and despite all the things that hawk knows make him too smart for his own good, grating at best and downright infuriating at worst - he's still here, unprompted. on some level that must mean he cares. this doesn't feel like a pity offering, and even if it were maybe for once he doesn't give a shit because it's good and it stirs at memories that have long been dormant under the surface. it doesn't feel like there's strings he can't have attached and a heart to break - it exists outside of all that, even if it's just for this one simple moment waltzing in his living room with the man he works for but never below.
this is all terribly intimate in a way that should make him send embry backing or run for his own door to go to a bar and find a stranger, take those suggestions 1-4 after all and give him a win. except all it does is make him draw in closer - unable to pull himself away from staring at those plush lips that are begging to be kissed by someone sweeter than him. maybe that's who he danced with once upon a time, because it couldn't have been all old ladies. whoever it is doesn't matter to hawk now, not as he hears the soft hitch of breath and watches that vulnerability peeking through, beautiful and ripe for the taking.
only this time there's no initiative on his part - instead it's embry who closes the gap, and it sets hawk into a sudden frenzy of motion. the hunger he feels is no longer for the chinese sitting long forgotten in his kitchen, instead more of those nimble fingers against his body where his own slide around embry's waist and draw him in impossibly closer. all that so he can tip him back in a final flourish of a dip - using it to deepen the kiss and let one palm shift up to cradle the back of his head and tease against the soft hair tickling the back of his neck.
fuck, how did he go this long without ever doing it before? he'd meant what he said, that embry ought to be kissed often - but a part of him knew this would be more addictive than all the alcohol and cigarettes in this condo combined. hawk groans against him, tongue slipping inside his mouth with a sensual curl against embry's, tasting the velvet warmth of him so he can commit it to memory.]
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it's a struggle to come back up when all he wants is to be horizontal now, but he swings upright only to stagger into hawk, mouths clashing, finally unknotting the front of his robe to allow it to hang open. his hands roam across bare skin, pressing his fingertips into all the lean, hard angles of his body, tracing the sharp cut of his hips and the rough trail leading between his legs.
abruptly, his mind catches up to him like a steel trap snapping shut. he pulls back like hawk's touch physically hurts, pink-cheeked and panting, the distant look in his eyes slowly focusing back onto the objects in the room. the record player. the armchair. the ashtray. hawk. he licks his lips, swallowing. christ, he is not okay.
stay awhile. like hell he will. ]
I've gotta โ [ what? find a bottle of gin? jump in front of a goddamn bus? the record's still playing, and it feels like someone's tugging the bow of a violin directly across his nerve endings. ] I'll see you Monday.
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this is new territory for them both, and even in the midst of his grief-addled state hawk knows it was bound to happen sooner rather than later. much as he tried otherwise, he actually likes embry even on his worst days, and god knows he's more than his type from an aesthetic standpoint. hawk wasn't wrong about embry needing to be kissed and kissed often either, and his hands move around his waist once they're upright to start the slow traipse back towards his bedroom. there's a growing desperation to all of this he's seized by - whether it's a sudden will to make the most of this in light of what's happened around him in the last two days or just the fact that embry cared enough to come make this visit and draw him out of that shadowy well of despair, he doesn't know. he's not sure he cares either, and he's more than tempted to heft embry up into strong arms -
until he pulls away, looking like a fucking startled deer in the headlights. hawk's expecting an apology, maybe hesitation at the timing of it all - but that's not it at all.
his brows furrow briefly, except he can't muster the sharp judgment he'd normally push embry towards the right answer with in his current state. instead he just looks a little wounded, the wide sliver of his chest under the robe now hanging open rising and falling in a soft heave as he tries to catch his breath and understand what the hell this is.
why's he running? it's just him. it's not like this - means anything to embry.
does it?]
That's it?
[it comes out with less sardonicism than he'd like, sounding somehow small and a little distant instead. that doesn't suit him at all, so he steps in and reaches gently for one of embry's wrists, fingers curling around it with a light squeeze and a soft stroke of his thumb inward.]
You want to go, then I can't stop you.
But tell me why.
[why you don't want this now.]
And if you don't want to, then I'll just see you tomorrow anyway.
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it's a cosmic fucking joke, all his faithless years catching up to him yet again as some shitty deity in the sky points and laughs and shits directly on his head.
he's still desperately thinking of something to say, still repeating the same mantra from when ash had asked him to marry him both times โ please don't make me do this โ still trying to remember how to breathe in the face of hawkins fuller looking like a man down in front of him when hawk touches him again, his thumb stroking the erratic thrum of his pulse. embry feels the floor drop out from beneath his feet, but none of the other benefits, like disappearing from the fucking room. ]
Don't fucking ask me what you already know.
[ because he should say no. he should leave. hawk just lost someone, and throwing himself into his arms is the last thing he needs. when ash had lost jenny embry had sworn his fealty to him in every way imaginable, because he thought it was he'd needed, or at least he'd told himself that at the time, but really, embry had been so fucking lonely for seven years that he would have done anything to be back in his arms. anything but give ash what he'd really needed, and he still can't, and now look where they are.
he can see it all again with hawk, down to the fucking waltz.
the stroke of hawk's thumb lances fire against his skin, unimaginable heat. he should hold his ground, pull away from hawk's hold, do the right thing for once, but he stays where he is, because he can't help but feel like anything he does tonight will twist the knife further, just in a different direction. it's like being in carpathia all over again, his sister burning in a church and a bunch of kids dying on a boat and trying to minimize the damage to both. ]
You can stop me. [ take what you're owed is what he would say if ash were before him. it's what he wants to say now. ] I'm the one that came to you. And I said you're on leave until Monday.
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maybe he's misread the entire situation and there was nothing there at all, just a convenience when it was needed and things have gotten too goddamn real now. maybe hawk's the one who backed himself into a corner and doesn't even realize it, pushing him too far to a point he didn't even realize was crossing a line. ash is the farthest thing from his mind right now in this state, instead taking a rare moment to look inward and take the blame for something he'd easily right off or see through.
don't fucking ask me what you already know, he says, and for a moment hawk's brows pinch in irritation that he doesn't fucking know - maybe he doesn't know anything anymore because that's how he feels in this moment.]
I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do.
[how tragically ironic they're both being plagued by the ghosts of lost love and don't even know it - hawk feeling a pang of dรฉjร vu even as the words come out of his mouth, remembering when he'd offered it to tim who just wanted to know him. only tim wanted more that hawk couldn't give him, here...maybe embry needs less. maybe he doesn't want anything at all.
then why the fuck did he come here in the first place? is what the rational side of his brain supplies. push him.]
And I certainly don't want you somewhere you don't wanna be.
[if he were in the proper spirits, he might offer a shitty ultimatum - get back over here and i'll take leave until monday. he's not a good man and he's not sure it's enough to start trying, but today he just can't put the puzzle pieces together on his own. his eyes can't hide it though - something desperate to understand, to culminate this back and forth at an inopportune time because nothing they've done has been anything less than fucking messy and wrong and maybe that's alright after all. his thumb shifts over the delicate inside of his wrist once more, along the veins and brushing up past the cut of his sleeve.
stay.]
You've got no obligation to me, Embry.
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I want to.
[ the admittance comes in a hoarse rasp. christ, he wants, and he doesn't know if it's the edge of loneliness or if he's just attracted to grief. maybe he's just drawn to how familiar all of this is, slotting hawk into a place he shouldn't be.
he shivers at the slow brush of hawk's thumb, his eyes falling shut as he practically stifles a moan at those words. no obligation. it's the worst thing he could say, because it's absolution from his sins. it's permission to not give a damn about what's right or wrong. it feeds into his worst impulses and darkest desires, his carnal fucking lust for hawk to ravage him and for embry not to give a fuck how it makes either of them feel afterwards.
someone just died. he tries to keep repeating that, but hawk is so close, and so nearly naked, and if he just kisses him again, he can pretend just for now that he isn't alone, that he still has a little piece of ash's love.
fuck, it's wrong โ and embry does it anyway, drawing hawk in with both hands cradling his cheeks until their mouths are pressed together once more. they'd taken steps toward hawk's bedroom before stopping, and now he pushes them toward the door with urgency. ]
I don't care where. [ breathless, between biting kisses, one hand slipping the fabric of hawk's robe down his shoulder. ] Fuck me or I'm gonna fuck you.
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has embry wanted it all this time? cloudy as his judgment and overall assessment of things is at the moment, hawk thought he'd made it fairly clear that he wasn't about to kick him out of bed if it happened again. so maybe a few handjobs and banter that would get either of them in the papers facing an eeoc violation isn't the clearest form of communication - but still. they aren't like the tim's and ash's of the world taking things at face value. for the first time since embry has set foot into this apartment and perceived his weakness, his sadness, his feelings - hawk actually cracks a smile. fleeting, brief, but enough to bring back a little bit of light to his eyes if embry can catch it.
before launching at hawk and resuming the best fucking part of this visit, anyway, and he responds in turn - not wasting any time with small talk or mincing words as he hungrily meets embry's mouth and even lets himself nip on that plush bottom lip to feel it thicken under his perfect teeth. his hands busy themselves peeling off his jacket, letting it catch at the bend of embry's elbow so he can briefly pull away and do what he's wanted to since embry walked in the goddamn door - slide down to his hips and then below the pert curve of his ass, encouraging him to wrap his legs around hawk's waist so he can lift him up in an easy heft.]
'Atta boy.
[his head tips back, curls following suit and robe halfway hanging off his chest as he carries embry back through the living room and the rounded gallery - into the sanctuary of his bedroom. it's warmer than the rest of the house, both more and less curated in different ways. but he's hoping there's not much time for sightseeing when he unceremoniously drops embry onto the bed and resumes yanking at his expensive designer jacket with little care for what dry cleaning will have to happen in the future that he'll inevitably be tasked with.]
Get rid of this shit.
[said breathily as hawk climbs on top of him, caging his body in and dipping to kiss hot along his jaw while he pulls off the tie and yanks open buttons to give himself better access.]
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but hawk hasn't realized that yet, evidenced by the eager drag of his mouth as embry's spine sinks into the bed. he's still rotating along hawk's axis, happy to be whatever he wants if it means getting what he wants, which is every part of hawk pressed directly against every part of him.
he has principles against following orders, but undressing aligns with his own wants, so he strips between desperate kisses and panting breaths, his clothes tossed to the floor piece by piece. he pulls at hawk's robe too, already mostly off his body, but he's mesmerized by the shimmering silk sliding off his tense, muscled frame. the fabric pools around embry's bare legs, tenting over his erection. embry crushes a handful of silk in his fist, his eyes fluttering with dark anticipation and unbridled lust, and, while staring directly at hawk, jacks his cock with silk as smooth as water. ]
Hope you don't mind.
[ embry lets out a breathless chuckle, tapering off into a moan as his hand drags upwards, the plummy silk wrinkled and beginning to stain from his leaking cock. there's a spark of defiance in his eyes now, like even if hawk does mind, embry wouldn't necessarily care. he wants hawk's attention on him, whether it's good or bad or even knowing it's not something he should be pursuing at all, not when hawk is hurt and embry keeps hearing ash in the strains of music still coming from the other room. he was battered before he even walked in here, has been since the moment he realized ash was about to be ripped away from him again, and now that he suddenly has a chance to feel alive once more, he's too selfish to give this up, too.
hawk's robe is a crushed mess in his hand, his hips rocking against the ball of silk, soft and messy and visceral at once, and he could come just like this if he wasn't so keen on hawk fucking him. ]
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(the helpful, still witty part of his mind supplies that he can finally prove himself to be a face man once and for all, god bless america.)
his grip shifts to get embry naked as fast as humanly possible, palms greedily cupping along his immaculate abdomen and the supple flesh of his ass, trailing down to toned thighs and hooking both hands under his knees so he can spread them apart and get a good view at his pretty pink cock already hard and practically dripping with need. fuck, he's gorgeous, and hawk sucks in an audible breath, burying himself against the juncture of embry's neck and shoulder to inhale the scent of sweat and cologne, nipping at his jugular like a hint of the way he's tempted to mark him up.
at least, until he feels his robe pull off entirely, catching on something part of the way down.
oh. well doesn't that just zing straight down to his own dick, twitching with want. his nostrils flare around a breath, eyes boring straight into embry's as his hand reaches down and nudges the other man's away, wrapping around silk and the sensitive flesh beneath and sliding it in a slow, deliberate motion to drive him as wild as hawk feels right now devouring it. the pace picks up slightly with a low, appreciative hum, hawk leaning down to steal another filthy kiss before he answers.]
Not at all. You gonna leave me another present, huh?
[he's got every intention to fuck embry, but there's something appealing about watching him fall apart first - get loose and boneless and fucking beautiful under him with bliss. his hand picks up speed, twisting the soft fabric around the damp spot he can already feel under a thumb. his free hand grips at embry's waist hard enough to bruise, encouraging him to keep grinding up into it, to let himself get needy while hawk's got him right where he wants him.]
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Shit.
[ his hips jerk into the warm press of silk, and then he's soaking it with a shudder, coming embarrassingly fast as if he's never had sex in his life. the truth is he hasn't had actual sex in months now โ staunchly not counting whatever happened at lyonesse โ not since ash proposed and embry saw his life flash before his eyes and felt his heart go leaden in his chest. he hasn't been himself, returning to the familiar husk that he transforms to when he's detached from ash's side. it's not that he doesn't want it, but that he can't imagine anyone else's dark hair and piercing eyes and kingly jaw but ash's, and even when he thinks he can try to close his eyes and pretend, he just ends up scraped out and hollow before he can even begin.
and then there's hawk. hawk, who's always around, with his own set of dark hair and piercing eyes, and this aura of fucking mystery that embry can't quite crack. he's a distraction, but a welcome one, because embry is tired of drowning in his own sadness. for once hawk might be sadder than he is, and embry is horribly, spitefully glad for it, if only for a split second before guilt lances him and he remembers what a shitty fucking human being he is. he buries the sound that keens out of him just beneath hawk's ear, fisting his hair in dark curls and pulling him down, half for fear that hawk might see the truth on his face. ]
Changed my mind. I want to fuck you, with your face in the sheets, until your ass is raw. [ he sounds almost tender as he says it, hazy from his orgasm, his panting breaths warm against hawk's stubbled jaw. he rolls his hips into hawk's, the damp silk crushed between them, shivering at the sensation. ] I want to come all over you and make you clean yourself up.
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Yeah, yeah, come on - that's it. Let it all out for me, oh yeah.
[there's a slightly mocking chuckle that slips out in between it all, watching embry's hips writhing for more and knowing it hasn't been long at all to have drawn this out of him. maybe hawk doesn't know he's gone without - god knows he hasn't entirely, though it's not like he's got much free time these days - but he knows how long it's been since his hand was in a similar position and they did this together, which is surprisingly more than he thought it might take. maybe he should be offended it took senator smith dying to bring them back together like this, but that would mean admitting to something he's not sure exists between them at all.
it really is a shame when embry pulls him down and makes him miss whatever his face beautifully contorts into, blunt crescents of his nails scraping against his scalp lightly as his fingers tug at soft curls as eagerly as hawk watches the eggplant silk darken with a growing wet spot. he pulls it off, absently wondering if he's going to save it as is or take it to the dry cleaners with no explanation and a fist full of extra bills for discretion and extra treatment. frankly, the former is more appealing than he'd like to admit, and hawk nearly shivers at the delicious noise embry stifles against his skin while considering the option of it. all that before his lips find another spot on his neck, laving his tongue across it before nipping lightly with a low noise of approval.
he pulls back ever so slightly, if only because he wants to get a good look at the mess he made without a barrier now even if it was one that was expensive and elegant - fingers trailing across the glistening remnants of his orgasm and lifting to his own mouth to lick it away like an expensive hors d'oeuvre. he'd do it again if everything didn't grind to a halt with embry's sudden interest in switching it up, and hawk pulls back further with something unreadable in his expression, gauging if this is just a joke to him or if he's really serious.]
That's supposed to be my line.
[his hand trails absently up the line of one of embry's thighs, across his waist and up toned abs to tweak at one pretty pink nipple before reaching to cup his jaw with an equal amount of surprising softness to match what he hears in the younger man's voice. it'd be a lie to say he wasn't seriously considering it - even if only for a fleeting moment. even if embry is only the second man to be invited into this bed, and even if he'd be the second to take him apart from the inside out like that. but embry's not the only one with a detachment he's trying to maintain, a heart that's hardened unwillingly.
so he does what he always does, even if the smirk doesn't wholly reach his eyes this once.]
I think the lady doth protest. Or at least, project.
[that doesn't stop him from returning the slow grind, skin against heated and hard skin with a low groan.]
Maybe I want to see you this time.
[his finger tugs up from that immaculate jaw, grazing across plush lips and pulling at the bottom one until he feels the wetness of saliva before pushing inward and seeing if embry will take it or bite down petulantly.]
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his eyes sweep open when hawkโs fingers pry for entry, and his brain goes for defiance even as his lips part willingly, tongue cushioning hawkโs fingers. they taste like smoke and sex, his own semen still dampening his skin. his breath cascades across hawkโs knuckles, his chin lifting to get a better angle to suck obscenely, tongue curling around each finger. if hawk swapped it for his dick right now, he'd take it without complaint โ much complaint, anyway โ his desire a hard, glittering jewel within him just waiting to be plucked. his throat rumbles around a soft groan, turning his head slowly to slide hawk's fingers free from the clamp of his lips. ]
You're stalling. Whatโs wrong, afraid youโll like it?
[ itโs gratingly romantic, in a way, every languish touch, like hawk wants to learn embry, commit him to memory. embry finds he wants to do the same, to trace hawkโs sharp lines and angles, to know who touched him before and how he likes to be touched best so that embry can win his favor โ even while embry shares this moment with a ghost of a memory, a flash of green eyes and dark hair and a presence so overwhelming he shudders. he leans up to catch hawkโs lips, kissing him again with a desperate, needy edge, his hands roaming across the lean muscles of his shoulders and back, and โ there. his fingertips snag on an old scar, maybe unfamiliar to most, but he knows immediately what itโs from. ]
Is this from the war?
[ between his hushed tone and the music filtering in from the other room, he could be back there now, stealing moments in an unfamiliar bed. back then he had to be so careful with ash, and nothingโs really changed if he thinks about it. this all feels tenuous with hawk, like with one misstep they could remember all the reasons they shouldnโt be here at all. ]
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he wishes he had a cigarette. instead, he dips down to shut embry up for a minute with another kiss and try to gain composure from the moment of silence that's lasted a beat too long and the spasm that surely washed across his face, too hard to miss this intimately close with embry underneath him. he pulls back, voice low and rough and hating that it seems like he's still stalling and ignoring the other question.]
Yeah.
[his saliva-coated fingers bypass the rest of embry's immaculate form underneath him, only so he can ghost across his barely dried cock and cup around his balls, teasing at the tempting part between his thighs without any real inclination to breech him just yet. maybe he wants to see how much a fight he'll put up for what he supposedly wants, or so hawk doesn't have to feel guilty denying someone else one thing they've asked for quite so plainly in his bed. can't you just take me to dinner? tim had asked him with an earnestness he'll never forget.]
I was a sergeant. Velletri - I know I told you that before at least. Me and four of my men were ambushed by a squad of Carpathian bastards weeks before we were supposed to get shipped home.
[hawk's jaw tightens hard, eyes narrowing to avoid growing misty even as he knows his cheek is clenched and he must look painfully obvious in blaming himself for all of it.]
I took as much of it as I could up front - all the big guns - doctors told me it was lucky it tore right through.
[it's funny too, how years have passed and the smell of gunpowder and smoke and blood never really feels like it's fully left his nostrils.]
Two of my best...they weren't so lucky. Probably still pieces of 'em scattered on the Cisterna Campoleone, Christ.
[he shakes his head, desperately wishing he could wrap his lips around a filter right now. and sure, the story could stop there, but he's a fucking runaway train now and why not just finish it off and let embry know what he's walked into? give him a chance to walk out while he can.]
Senator Smith got the best surgeons for me without a word - I had maybe a dozen operations or so. Little cabin up in Delaware to recover, but we both know it's never just about letting a body rest.
[there's the ptsd, the self-loathing, the night terrors - the general way he'd felt unfit to come back to polite society for some time. but he shrugs it off, glancing up at embry and utterly deadpanning:]
Sexy, right?
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he realizes abruptly that what embry has felt without him, twisting endlessly in the wind, is what hawk feels right now with senator smith suddenly gone from this world. he doesn't know what it's like to care for a father figure, because he doesn't remember his own father, and is ambivalent at best toward morgan's. but he knows what it's like to hurt, and to need someone, and for them to be gone.
hawk's wayward fingers pull a ragged breath out of him, and embry decides that whatever hawk needs tonight is what he'll give. after jenny died, ash had demanded almost more than embry thought he had in him, nearly to the point that he'd considered, briefly, that they might need a safe word after all. he doesn't have any real evidence that hawk could be the same, but he does know that he can't leave him alone, and more importantly, he doesn't want to. ]
Yeah. Real sexy.
[ but he says it in a way that says a dozen other things, like i understand, and i still have nightmares, too, and i'm sorry. he knows hawk knows whatever's on his record better than embry himself, the skirmish he'd been caught in, the bullets he'd taken, how ash had carried him on his back to safety and made all the major american news outlets in doing so. he just doesn't know what happened in the darkness of the carpathian woods that night, and embry intends to keep it that way.
he answers the rest with a hand on hawk's jaw, his fingers running along the rough growth of stubble before drawing him into a kiss, deep and insistent, pressing his tongue into hawk's mouth as if he can touch every single part of him. ]
Changed my mind again. [ he whispers into hawk's mouth, pressing his hips up into hawk's hand. ] Take everything you need. I'm good for it.
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there's a man in there somewhere that he would have been, if it weren't for his father and kenny and the world they live in. in some ways, senator smith had cemented that too - the notion that real love does nothing but bring pain to the people you care about. vulnerabilities of any kind are a risk that are too fucking high to pay.
which is why it's a terrible idea to let himself go down this route with embry. to have already broken one of his cardinal rules - kissing him like the air in his lungs was a natural resource that only passed through embry's plush lips. confiding war stories in him that not even his mandated government therapist ever knew the full scope of. but something about all of embry's sharp edges and hidden layers makes hawk want to unravel them piece by piece - even if he knows they're likely wrapped up in ash and greer. normally pretty faces and tragic pasts would make him run clear the opposite direction, but for every amount embry bristles at his sometimes overbearing professional responsibilities that aren't entirely for the sake of the job, there is something alluring that makes hawk want to get closer.
like right now, when he arches up against the hardness hawk's had ever since embry stripped out of his suit and kisses him with a heat that's contagious - that has hawk pressing down against him, fingers feather light up his rib cage while his free hand cups at the nape of his neck to deepen it. god, he could do this all night. nearly as addicting as the numbness that comes from the bottom of a bottle of scotch these last few days - better, if he's honest with himself.]
Yeah?
[it comes out in an amused rasp that's only half-authentic, a little smirk that doesn't fully reach his eyes. this is so different than their first go around - all rough, sloppy and without a care for anything beyond pleasure pricked with an edge of pain. but this? it's intimate. hawk already knows he wants to do this the right way, slow and measured where they can both fall apart and feel raw both mentally and physically when it's all said and done. it's why he reaches over to his nightstand, fumbling with something in the top shelf before his fingers come back glistening.]
Might wear you out, you know.
[he trails his clean hand down embry's front until he reaches one of his thighs, pressing it upwards to spread his legs a little further. there's a pause, like he wants to say something - and he does, maybe, if he wasn't so goddamn wounded and fucked up and trying to hold it together. instead he dips down again for another hungry kiss, nipping at embry's lips and making his way down along his jawline the moment two slick fingers press against the tight furl of his hole and start to push in. it's not soft, but it's more than he did for him the last time, that's for damn sure. hawk hums, low and almost amused at how tight he feels as he laves his tongue along embry's jugular in lieu of something lewd.]
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but it is a good time for this โ for him to spread his legs wider and take hawk's fingers with a low grunt, his pulse fluttering against the hot press of hawk's tongue at his throat. he bears down until he feels the base of hawk's knuckles, savoring the sudden burn and eager to be stretched out for his cock. if hawk doesn't fuck him โ christ. embry might actually have to fire him. ]
It takes more than you think to wear me out.
[ but hawk is talented. the second he starts curling his fingers, embry sees sparks, his spine arching off the mattress as hawk plays him like a goddamn instrument until his body sings and embry is gasping for breath. his cock weeps between them, and embry sneaks a hand out to squeeze at the base, staving off his pleasure so he doesn't come again as embarrassingly quick as before. blindly, he curls his fingers around a fistful of hawk's dark hair, pulling him down for a hot, messy kiss, his hand letting go of his own cock to seek out hawk's, wrapping a firm hand around his length for a hard stroke.
itโs fascinating to look at him like this, to see hawkins fuller with lust painted across his agonizingly handsome face. embry traces the line of one dark brow, then swipes his thumb gently at the shadows beneath his red-rimmed eye, as if he can erase the evidence of his grief. the best he can do is kiss him again, his hand lazily jacking his cock to draw this out, to chase away everything theyโre trying to forget โ ash, the senator, the mistake theyโre making.
hawkโs fingers brush up against something that has embry shuddering into the kiss, keening out a curse as he very nearly gives up his attempts not to come, cruelly abusing the sensitive slit of hawkโs cock in retaliation with a grind of his thumb. ]
Shit. Fuck me, Hawk. [ the kiss breaks as he turns his head away, squeezing his eyes shut. ] Come on. Please.