[hawk's path to freedom in the office and quietly smoking this cigar is blocked off by none other than an extremely inebriated lenny, who seems content to make his father's life as difficult as possible in the press and on the lot loafing around instead of doing any actually helpful or useful work. he also seems to have quite the hard on when it comes to hawk's very omnipotent presence and unofficial reputation as the real manager of smith's favor and fortune in hollywood thanks to his management skills. but it's halloween, and fuck it - lenny looks actually happy for a change hanging with some boxy looking guy playing cop to his black and white prisoner jumpsuit, which he supposes is meant to be a dig at his previous arrest for indecent exposure last year that had been yet another one of hawk's extended headaches.
sometimes he wonders what other people might think he looked like if he decided to fuck it all, let himself commit to someone and not give a damn who or what - preferably someone far away from the bullshit of la and the muck in hollywood. but then he'd be the one dragging them down, and isn't that just the irony of all ironies.
better not to get attached. who knows how fucking long he's got on god's green earth at this rate anyway?
famous last words, that or the very same god he adamantly does not believe in is making a point to test that theory in the form of one unbelievable embry moore.
jesus fucking christ. holy shit.
there'd been a small commotion off somewhere that he'd been distantly aware of, the wolf whistles and hooting and hollering that seemed more concentrated than the usual smattering - and hawk absently finds himself thinking it'll be a miracle for whoever is the subject of that much attention to make it through tonight unscathed. or maybe that's the goal. not his circus, not his monkey - he remembers one year when a porn star had managed to snag a plus one, fully nude save for some body paint and been recognized by several of his colleagues - that had been a real shitshow.
but good goddamn, embry puts her to shame and then some from where he's practically twirling himself on display for hawk. impossibly long legs lovingly encased and offering a peek of silky skin underneath the tights, made all the more enticing by the way his calves and legs look in - heels? his waist looks like it could fit between both of hawk's hands with room to spare, the points of his corseted bodysuit precariously resting along his pecs and making hawk's mouth run dry. that doesn't even cover the way his ass looks mouth-wateringly pert between fishnet and taut, silky fabric and that little splash of white fluff. and none of that has anything on the way his pupils look blown wide, bright and enticing even when they aren't framed by smoky eyeliner and a slash of red across plush lips. hawk doesn't think he's ever seen someone look so unfairly fuckable.
sometimes he wonders if he's imagining the notion that embry occasionally seems to be hinting the person he wants to do that to be hawk. that night in his office is never far from his mind, nor is the way embry seems to keep rising to all his heavy expectations and excel with an ease that is going to catapult him into the desire he craves from an expectant audience.
when he remembers to pick his jaw up on the floor, hawk realizes there's suddenly a lot of stares in their direction - whispers too, that seem to have caught on to the fact that their costumes could have easily been planned together. he clears his throat, very much shoving away the thought of unlacing embry's corset and plasters on an expression that he hopes looks simultaneously surprised and suppressing mortification at the way this has put a spotlight on himself. he can smell alcohol on his breath when he pushes in a hair too close before plucking away his cigar, wrapping his lips around it and giving hawk even more material to work with later when he's alone in bed tonight. he lets himself give a low whistle of appreciation - because it's the least he can do for someone clearly seeking some kind of approval tonight.]
Wow. Somebody went all out.
[his voice is painstakingly neutral, collar suddenly hot.]
What a riot, huh? I mean - what were the chances?
[he gestures between them both, the matching, turning as someone taps him on the shoulder and holds up a camera while gesturing between the two of them. hawk lets out an ah of acknowledgment, sliding an arm around embry's waist as politely as possible and not letting himself think about the way it fits firm under his palm, hovering above one of his cocked hips, flashing one of his easy smolders.]
You know how it is - the show must go on, the devil works hard but Hawkins Fuller works harder - etcetera etcetera.
Was about to go and smoke this properly and head home, between you and me. But I imagine your night is just getting started.
no subject
sometimes he wonders what other people might think he looked like if he decided to fuck it all, let himself commit to someone and not give a damn who or what - preferably someone far away from the bullshit of la and the muck in hollywood. but then he'd be the one dragging them down, and isn't that just the irony of all ironies.
better not to get attached. who knows how fucking long he's got on god's green earth at this rate anyway?
famous last words, that or the very same god he adamantly does not believe in is making a point to test that theory in the form of one unbelievable embry moore.
jesus fucking christ. holy shit.
there'd been a small commotion off somewhere that he'd been distantly aware of, the wolf whistles and hooting and hollering that seemed more concentrated than the usual smattering - and hawk absently finds himself thinking it'll be a miracle for whoever is the subject of that much attention to make it through tonight unscathed. or maybe that's the goal. not his circus, not his monkey - he remembers one year when a porn star had managed to snag a plus one, fully nude save for some body paint and been recognized by several of his colleagues - that had been a real shitshow.
but good goddamn, embry puts her to shame and then some from where he's practically twirling himself on display for hawk. impossibly long legs lovingly encased and offering a peek of silky skin underneath the tights, made all the more enticing by the way his calves and legs look in - heels? his waist looks like it could fit between both of hawk's hands with room to spare, the points of his corseted bodysuit precariously resting along his pecs and making hawk's mouth run dry. that doesn't even cover the way his ass looks mouth-wateringly pert between fishnet and taut, silky fabric and that little splash of white fluff. and none of that has anything on the way his pupils look blown wide, bright and enticing even when they aren't framed by smoky eyeliner and a slash of red across plush lips. hawk doesn't think he's ever seen someone look so unfairly fuckable.
sometimes he wonders if he's imagining the notion that embry occasionally seems to be hinting the person he wants to do that to be hawk. that night in his office is never far from his mind, nor is the way embry seems to keep rising to all his heavy expectations and excel with an ease that is going to catapult him into the desire he craves from an expectant audience.
when he remembers to pick his jaw up on the floor, hawk realizes there's suddenly a lot of stares in their direction - whispers too, that seem to have caught on to the fact that their costumes could have easily been planned together. he clears his throat, very much shoving away the thought of unlacing embry's corset and plasters on an expression that he hopes looks simultaneously surprised and suppressing mortification at the way this has put a spotlight on himself. he can smell alcohol on his breath when he pushes in a hair too close before plucking away his cigar, wrapping his lips around it and giving hawk even more material to work with later when he's alone in bed tonight. he lets himself give a low whistle of appreciation - because it's the least he can do for someone clearly seeking some kind of approval tonight.]
Wow. Somebody went all out.
[his voice is painstakingly neutral, collar suddenly hot.]
What a riot, huh? I mean - what were the chances?
[he gestures between them both, the matching, turning as someone taps him on the shoulder and holds up a camera while gesturing between the two of them. hawk lets out an ah of acknowledgment, sliding an arm around embry's waist as politely as possible and not letting himself think about the way it fits firm under his palm, hovering above one of his cocked hips, flashing one of his easy smolders.]
You know how it is - the show must go on, the devil works hard but Hawkins Fuller works harder - etcetera etcetera.
Was about to go and smoke this properly and head home, between you and me. But I imagine your night is just getting started.