[that's the funny thing - hawk hasn't been this happy or even hopeful in a long time either. sure, there's been fleeting moments that have bolstered him like promising numbers for the studio and earning smith's admiration. but everything has felt fleeting - as fickle as the public's attention span and just another reminder that he's got to keep working harder, faster in case his heart gives out and he never gets to do the one thing that will cement him as a fixture in hollywood in his own right. someone who made it better. having embry at his side feels like finding a diamond in the rough, overlooked in his own right until hawk plucked him up, gave him a good polish and reminded him that it doesn't matter what happened in the past - all that matters is that he keep shining and he'll earn that adoration and get back up on that pedestal.
but embry feels like something one-of-a-kind, somehow an oxymoron for the way he can play sultry bad boy in the papers and come into his office with a wounded innocence that begs for protection. the worst part about it is he's got hawk wrapped around his finger and doesn't even know it - because hawk would put himself on the line to make sure embry gets to be the star he deserves. to see him on top of the world, to chase away whatever darkness eats at him from the inside out and draws him into the recklessness he's fallen into before. but he hasn't done any of that lately, which has to count for something. has to mean he's finally coming around into his own, that there's a contentment here he's willing to keep chasing. hawk has never been one to fall for a simple pretty face - because honestly, there's plenty of those in the city of angeles that are a dime dozen. but somehow, in the slow stupor that's working over him as he watches embry cup at his shoulders and murmur into his ear in a way that makes a shudder run down his spine in a liquid ripple of want - he realizes he's gone and done it anyway.
there's little he can do to deter much of anything right now, nodding along in an agreeable state to whatever embry wants, because embry should get anything he asks for when he's standing there looking like sin in heels. so hawk lets himself be tugged towards the food, idly picking up a ladyfinger that's meant to resemble and actual finger before embry sticks out his tongue in a way that sends his pulse skyrocketing. fuck. he reaches for it before he can think any better, stupidly getting a brief feel of warm wetness on his fingertips.]
Oh, very impressive Mr. Moore.
[it comes out in lazy drag, complete with a half-lidded smirk as he takes the water gratefully and sucks it down with the same enthusiasm he'd taken the shot. his heart feels like it might beat out of his chest and take its place among the table of crude and creepy snacks, free for embry to pick and pry at his leisure since it already rests in his delicate hands. yeah he needs to fucking sit down and try to get his shit together - this isn't like him at all. he should get out of here, maybe go to smith's office or one of the unoccupied rooms upstairs to try and smoke the cigar and get out of doge.
that doesn't mean he has to leave embry to do it. but he's already being lead away somewhere, a little quieter, a little darker, less bodies colliding and making him sweat. he sinks down into the chair, head lolling back and eyes slipping closed for a minute in brief relief until embry makes him meet his gaze again, fingers light and practically electric against his jaw. have his lips always looked so goddamn kissable?]
Forget about the drinks for a second. C'mere. Sit down.
[there's only once place to do that without armrests, even if his brain hasn't fully processed the repercussions of that with a tap to one thigh.]
no subject
but embry feels like something one-of-a-kind, somehow an oxymoron for the way he can play sultry bad boy in the papers and come into his office with a wounded innocence that begs for protection. the worst part about it is he's got hawk wrapped around his finger and doesn't even know it - because hawk would put himself on the line to make sure embry gets to be the star he deserves. to see him on top of the world, to chase away whatever darkness eats at him from the inside out and draws him into the recklessness he's fallen into before. but he hasn't done any of that lately, which has to count for something. has to mean he's finally coming around into his own, that there's a contentment here he's willing to keep chasing. hawk has never been one to fall for a simple pretty face - because honestly, there's plenty of those in the city of angeles that are a dime dozen. but somehow, in the slow stupor that's working over him as he watches embry cup at his shoulders and murmur into his ear in a way that makes a shudder run down his spine in a liquid ripple of want - he realizes he's gone and done it anyway.
there's little he can do to deter much of anything right now, nodding along in an agreeable state to whatever embry wants, because embry should get anything he asks for when he's standing there looking like sin in heels. so hawk lets himself be tugged towards the food, idly picking up a ladyfinger that's meant to resemble and actual finger before embry sticks out his tongue in a way that sends his pulse skyrocketing. fuck. he reaches for it before he can think any better, stupidly getting a brief feel of warm wetness on his fingertips.]
Oh, very impressive Mr. Moore.
[it comes out in lazy drag, complete with a half-lidded smirk as he takes the water gratefully and sucks it down with the same enthusiasm he'd taken the shot. his heart feels like it might beat out of his chest and take its place among the table of crude and creepy snacks, free for embry to pick and pry at his leisure since it already rests in his delicate hands. yeah he needs to fucking sit down and try to get his shit together - this isn't like him at all. he should get out of here, maybe go to smith's office or one of the unoccupied rooms upstairs to try and smoke the cigar and get out of doge.
that doesn't mean he has to leave embry to do it. but he's already being lead away somewhere, a little quieter, a little darker, less bodies colliding and making him sweat. he sinks down into the chair, head lolling back and eyes slipping closed for a minute in brief relief until embry makes him meet his gaze again, fingers light and practically electric against his jaw. have his lips always looked so goddamn kissable?]
Forget about the drinks for a second. C'mere. Sit down.
[there's only once place to do that without armrests, even if his brain hasn't fully processed the repercussions of that with a tap to one thigh.]