[ he hasn't been this happy in such a long time. his career has been a dead weight shackled to his ankles, making every step feel like a hundred, leaving him frustrated and exhausted with himself — disgusted with himself, if he's telling the truth, of how far he'd fallen and how with every passing day his star seemed to get dimmer. no amount of morgan's cruelly sensible advice or vivienne's harsh love could get him out of the circle of destruction he'd found himself in, not until hawk saw him and said that one, i want that one.
and now he's here, in a starring role, dancing with smith's golden boy who seems only to have eyes for him. it can't possibly be real. every whisper hawk breathes into his ear skates shivers down his spine. his mouth feels dry from everything he's taken tonight, but he thinks that can be solved by kissing hawk, although — he can't. he can't. they're not there yet, even though he wants desperately to be. he wants desperately to just be his, to be his star and his muse forever, to act in every part he finds for him, to make hawk bigger than all the other producers out there, because he's better than all of them. smarter. harder-working. more handsome by a long shot. he makes embry forget all the troubles knocking at his flimsy door.
hawk presses into him, seemingly by drunken accident, but embry smiles and strokes his fingers against the short hairs at the nape of his neck to steady him. or maybe just because he's wanted to do that all night. ]
Only a little sore? [ his voice lowers to a playfully silky purr, words meant only for hawk to hear. ] Do your worst, Mr. Fuller.
[ he keeps his fingers gently at hawk's nape, gliding along his skin and brushing at his pulse which he finds erratically fast, out of the norm for hawk's usual steely demeanor. could it be that embry's finally having a real, honest, longstanding effect on him? they reach the edges of the room, where embry stops at the banquet table to help himself to the spread of elegantly spooky finger foods all doused in red dribbles of sweet sauces to emulate the look of blood. he pops a cherry in his mouth and works his jaw for a moment, then sticks out his tongue to offer hawk the stem wrapped in a bow. ]
You're the only one I want to dance with. [ hawk looks hot around the collar, a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples, so embry offers him one of the little flutes of sparkling water nearby. ] Drink this. Do you want to go sit down?
[ he's already pulling him towards the next room, pushing him into the closest empty seat, a comfortably plush, armless chair. embry looks around for another to drag close, but they're all annoyingly taken — then he does a double take when he realizes how many people are making out in this room, straddling the other guests and grinding straight into their laps. his cock reacts instantly, blood rushing to his groin while his face heats up, lightheaded from the visceral changes his body insists on putting him through. ]
Hey. [ maybe hawk won't notice a thing about their surroundings. gently, he tips his fingers to hawk's jaw, lifting his chin. ] Think I need another drink. You want one?
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and now he's here, in a starring role, dancing with smith's golden boy who seems only to have eyes for him. it can't possibly be real. every whisper hawk breathes into his ear skates shivers down his spine. his mouth feels dry from everything he's taken tonight, but he thinks that can be solved by kissing hawk, although — he can't. he can't. they're not there yet, even though he wants desperately to be. he wants desperately to just be his, to be his star and his muse forever, to act in every part he finds for him, to make hawk bigger than all the other producers out there, because he's better than all of them. smarter. harder-working. more handsome by a long shot. he makes embry forget all the troubles knocking at his flimsy door.
hawk presses into him, seemingly by drunken accident, but embry smiles and strokes his fingers against the short hairs at the nape of his neck to steady him. or maybe just because he's wanted to do that all night. ]
Only a little sore? [ his voice lowers to a playfully silky purr, words meant only for hawk to hear. ] Do your worst, Mr. Fuller.
[ he keeps his fingers gently at hawk's nape, gliding along his skin and brushing at his pulse which he finds erratically fast, out of the norm for hawk's usual steely demeanor. could it be that embry's finally having a real, honest, longstanding effect on him? they reach the edges of the room, where embry stops at the banquet table to help himself to the spread of elegantly spooky finger foods all doused in red dribbles of sweet sauces to emulate the look of blood. he pops a cherry in his mouth and works his jaw for a moment, then sticks out his tongue to offer hawk the stem wrapped in a bow. ]
You're the only one I want to dance with. [ hawk looks hot around the collar, a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples, so embry offers him one of the little flutes of sparkling water nearby. ] Drink this. Do you want to go sit down?
[ he's already pulling him towards the next room, pushing him into the closest empty seat, a comfortably plush, armless chair. embry looks around for another to drag close, but they're all annoyingly taken — then he does a double take when he realizes how many people are making out in this room, straddling the other guests and grinding straight into their laps. his cock reacts instantly, blood rushing to his groin while his face heats up, lightheaded from the visceral changes his body insists on putting him through. ]
Hey. [ maybe hawk won't notice a thing about their surroundings. gently, he tips his fingers to hawk's jaw, lifting his chin. ] Think I need another drink. You want one?