[ he almost doesn't want to say, regretting even playing the goddamn record because of the swell of memories it brings up. it gets heavy, dragging around the skeletal frame of his past everywhere he goes, but he doesn't know how to not see ash in everything when ash had been just that. everything. ]
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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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.