[it's not pathetic. in fact - if embry knew him a little better, or he hadn't written off hawk's insistence of eventually moving to his villa in italy someday as just whining about the job - he'd realize there's something of a deeper reveal buried there. that maybe hawk has his romantic moments too, or he would if he wasn't convinced spending a lifetime alone was the safer choice, both for himself and anyone else he'd fucked up by exposing to his presence in more than a professional context. once upon a time it was tim, who cradled his head and pulled his hair out into the curls he bears in front of embry now, listening to him talk about the beauty of being al fresco and lakeside - taking morning dips fully nude, sipping his coffee on the coastline and thinking about all the chances they'd have to explore the great classics tim was so eager to experience for the first time. but now it's embry he pictures there, washed in sunlight instead of moonlight like in seattle and just as handsome for it.
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.]
no subject
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.]