[ halloween is his bag, and the moment he'd uncovered hawk's costume plans, his next move had been obvious. playboy bunny.
he's free of his fabricated relationship, which leaves him with mixed feelings, because he finds, suddenly, that he's back to having long stretches of empty time between work. with nothing to fill the dead air, his thoughts gravitate between two things: his worsening problems, and hawk. it's a lot easier to think about hawk, so dark hair and a smoky mouth tend to fill his thoughts as he blitzes his brain in his trailer, jealous of every moment hawk spends on his other projects. other movies. other stars that aren't him.
it's business, after all. embry is a commodity, a product, and no matter how lovely the shapes he contorts himself into to be noticed, hawk won't bite. embry has replayed their quiet evening a hundred times in his head, the feel of hawk's muscles beneath his hands, the smolder of embers between them, the ghost of hawk's thumb across his jaw. somewhere, it'd gone sideways. his hands never made it into hawk's pants. their mouths never got any closer than a cigarette's length. and yet embry has rubbed his dick raw thinking about kneeling at hawk's feet, wishing he could feel his hands in his hair and his nicotine breath ghost across his skin.
so this is his chance. halloween, where he doesn't have to be himself. where he's excused, to an extent, of the painfully good behavior he's been on, if he forgets that he's making hawk's job miserably difficult on the side. he calls greer despite their recent breakup, because embry is nothing if not pathetic and easily attached, and is relieved to find they still work as friends, and yes, she would be delighted to help him with his costume, and that's how he walks into smith's annual soirée to hoots and hollers — his long legs wrapped in fishnets and heels, his trim torso cinched in leather and silk, an impossibly soft poof of a bunny tail attached to his perky ass.
the cocaine in his system only adds to the allure of his look, his eyes bright and his windswept curls rolling across his temples, having escaped the bunny ears nestled atop his head. he's happy to be amiable tonight, happy to be surrounded by people and the buzz of a good time, but he has eyes only for one man, spying the velveteen coat he'd seen days earlier on one of his snooping sessions around the lot. ]
Mr. Fuller!
[ embry bounces up to hawk, a wide smile on his lipstick-stained mouth, smudged out by greer's fingers and then her lips in a giggly kiss for good luck — and then maybe some other mouths on his way here, because every inch of smith's sprawling estate is a party. his memory is already starting to fragment, color high in his cheeks from the shots pushed into his hands by whistling admirers.
he spins around for hawk like a dog, letting him see all angles of his costume and hoping that hawk is thinking of unlacing his corset later in the night. ]
Did you plan on matching with me? [ he snags the cigar from hawk's hand, making a show of clumsiness so their fingers nearly tangle together before he plucks it away, giving it an imaginary puff. ] Where have you been? You've been so busy I've barely seen you lately.
no subject
he's free of his fabricated relationship, which leaves him with mixed feelings, because he finds, suddenly, that he's back to having long stretches of empty time between work. with nothing to fill the dead air, his thoughts gravitate between two things: his worsening problems, and hawk. it's a lot easier to think about hawk, so dark hair and a smoky mouth tend to fill his thoughts as he blitzes his brain in his trailer, jealous of every moment hawk spends on his other projects. other movies. other stars that aren't him.
it's business, after all. embry is a commodity, a product, and no matter how lovely the shapes he contorts himself into to be noticed, hawk won't bite. embry has replayed their quiet evening a hundred times in his head, the feel of hawk's muscles beneath his hands, the smolder of embers between them, the ghost of hawk's thumb across his jaw. somewhere, it'd gone sideways. his hands never made it into hawk's pants. their mouths never got any closer than a cigarette's length. and yet embry has rubbed his dick raw thinking about kneeling at hawk's feet, wishing he could feel his hands in his hair and his nicotine breath ghost across his skin.
so this is his chance. halloween, where he doesn't have to be himself. where he's excused, to an extent, of the painfully good behavior he's been on, if he forgets that he's making hawk's job miserably difficult on the side. he calls greer despite their recent breakup, because embry is nothing if not pathetic and easily attached, and is relieved to find they still work as friends, and yes, she would be delighted to help him with his costume, and that's how he walks into smith's annual soirée to hoots and hollers — his long legs wrapped in fishnets and heels, his trim torso cinched in leather and silk, an impossibly soft poof of a bunny tail attached to his perky ass.
the cocaine in his system only adds to the allure of his look, his eyes bright and his windswept curls rolling across his temples, having escaped the bunny ears nestled atop his head. he's happy to be amiable tonight, happy to be surrounded by people and the buzz of a good time, but he has eyes only for one man, spying the velveteen coat he'd seen days earlier on one of his snooping sessions around the lot. ]
Mr. Fuller!
[ embry bounces up to hawk, a wide smile on his lipstick-stained mouth, smudged out by greer's fingers and then her lips in a giggly kiss for good luck — and then maybe some other mouths on his way here, because every inch of smith's sprawling estate is a party. his memory is already starting to fragment, color high in his cheeks from the shots pushed into his hands by whistling admirers.
he spins around for hawk like a dog, letting him see all angles of his costume and hoping that hawk is thinking of unlacing his corset later in the night. ]
Did you plan on matching with me? [ he snags the cigar from hawk's hand, making a show of clumsiness so their fingers nearly tangle together before he plucks it away, giving it an imaginary puff. ] Where have you been? You've been so busy I've barely seen you lately.