𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 "𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔" 𝚣. 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 (![[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.
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[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.]
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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 — 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.
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in this moment, he doesn't care. tomorrow, he might. ]
For the record — [ 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.
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[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.
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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 — now empty — 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 — [ 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 —
[ 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.
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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.
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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 — 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 — 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 — [ 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.