[well, they have something in common. hawk doesn't like the insinuation he's been demanding - that he's cut from the same cloth as a shark like vivienne moore. don't get him wrong - he's got nothing but respect for the woman, but it's lessened by the fact that she's probably a fucking nightmare of a momager, and she'd thrust both her kids into the spotlight at a young age. there's a reason people turn to drugs and booze and fast cars and warming the beds of one after the other - and it isn't usually because of a stable upbringing or real happiness at their lot in life. he'd fucking hated having to sign that contract. vivienne didn't deliver it in person, of course, but her neat swirl of cursive was there as sharp as if the ink had barely dried, and frankly - hawk didn't have a good enough excuse looking at greer and her track record to veto it.
does embry resent him for that?]
I'm not the kind of person to push for showmances. They're a tool like any other, but that's all they should be when they're organized by someone worth their salt for a star who agrees to it.
[there shouldn't be a power imbalance, they shouldn't be shoved unceremoniously on someone that doesn't want to do it - no matter how good it might uplift an image or paint a desired picture. it feels like one step above escorting.]
So if you don't agree, you should tell me these things.
[hawk doesn't look at him when he says it, not wanting to make him feel like he's being treated like a child that can't make his own decisions or like he's fucked up. it's just - a peace offering, he supposes. reassurance that embry is always gonna be his top priority, for better or for worse.
but finally he watches him retreat from the desk, shifting over to the couch and sprawling out like he owns the damn thing, catlike in the way he arches his back. when hawk swallows his next bite, it's not just the steak he feels like he's got to wash down his throat - there's a sudden dryness at how exceedingly enticing that looks. sometimes he wonders if embry is unaware of the effect he has on regular mortals in the world - if he remembers his stunning good looks can leave the less practiced speechless. hawk catches the line of his sight, spearing another bite of steak onto his fork and tipping his head to the side before extending his hand and offering it to embry, wondering if he's still hungry or if he's on some stupid vegan diet until the next shirtless scene gets filmed.]
You don't. But this isn't exactly regular hours.
[nothing in his voice seems bothered or complaining about this fact, however. but he balks a little at the last bit, face scrunching into incredulity as his shoulders twist and he turns to give embry an appraising look.]
Do I look like the kind of man to call Vivienne Moore for a Friday night chat about her son's social life? I'm not a tattle-tale.
Relax - take a load off. You've been a busy man, and I haven't seen any reason to worry about idle hands from you.
no subject
does embry resent him for that?]
I'm not the kind of person to push for showmances. They're a tool like any other, but that's all they should be when they're organized by someone worth their salt for a star who agrees to it.
[there shouldn't be a power imbalance, they shouldn't be shoved unceremoniously on someone that doesn't want to do it - no matter how good it might uplift an image or paint a desired picture. it feels like one step above escorting.]
So if you don't agree, you should tell me these things.
[hawk doesn't look at him when he says it, not wanting to make him feel like he's being treated like a child that can't make his own decisions or like he's fucked up. it's just - a peace offering, he supposes. reassurance that embry is always gonna be his top priority, for better or for worse.
but finally he watches him retreat from the desk, shifting over to the couch and sprawling out like he owns the damn thing, catlike in the way he arches his back. when hawk swallows his next bite, it's not just the steak he feels like he's got to wash down his throat - there's a sudden dryness at how exceedingly enticing that looks. sometimes he wonders if embry is unaware of the effect he has on regular mortals in the world - if he remembers his stunning good looks can leave the less practiced speechless. hawk catches the line of his sight, spearing another bite of steak onto his fork and tipping his head to the side before extending his hand and offering it to embry, wondering if he's still hungry or if he's on some stupid vegan diet until the next shirtless scene gets filmed.]
You don't. But this isn't exactly regular hours.
[nothing in his voice seems bothered or complaining about this fact, however. but he balks a little at the last bit, face scrunching into incredulity as his shoulders twist and he turns to give embry an appraising look.]
Do I look like the kind of man to call Vivienne Moore for a Friday night chat about her son's social life? I'm not a tattle-tale.
Relax - take a load off. You've been a busy man, and I haven't seen any reason to worry about idle hands from you.
[little does he know.]