[it's not that he wants to insult embry's dignity or force him into some sort of role he'd really balk against - but ironically, there's a part of him that wants embry to stop pretending to be something he isn't. hawk won't judge him for it - falling to his knees for a man, begging for the sweet wash of bliss in a moment of heady sexuality, letting his body shift into an elegant line as he takes a different position. there's nothing inherently weak in any of it - if anything, it takes a hell of a lot of power and bravery to live an honest truth. it was one of the things he both loved and dreaded about tim, the way his own inevitable lifestyle and defense mechanisms accumulated over years of hiding and thinking at least three chess pieces ahead would never slot together with it.
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.]
no subject
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.]