[yeah, it's admiration. there's lust too, if embry or frankly anyone were to know the signs to look for. the way his glance lingers just shy of a little too long, his hand squeezes ever so slightly around his waist, his heartbeat quickens and his pupils widen without any chemical enhancements every time he brushes against him or looks in his direction. frankly, he'd be worried anyone who didn't have a little lust over embry right now was without a pulse given how goddamn delectable he looks, but that's the part that worries him more. he'd promised keeping him out of grubby hands that didn't deserve him, initially meaning the masses - but the truth is? this room is full of men and women who are a hell of a lot worse and equally shouldn't even be allowed to breathe the same air as him.
or maybe not, if the way things are going lately around the studio. but that's not what he wants to think about now - not when even embry seems to have noticed and is probably feeling something akin to neglect. it makes hawk's lips twist into a mild frown as he gauges the sincerity in embry's sparkling eyes, brighter than any flickering flame on the candelabras littered around the house for decor. it's not a joke when there's so much truth to it, and honestly it really only hits him now that he can't quite recall the last time he saw embry curled up on his couch for a cat nap or dropping in between takes. the terrible thought crosses his mind that someone knows about this clandestine feeling he has for his star - but that would be absurd. there's nothing concrete.
which is why it doesn't hurt to offer embry the softest, most sincere smile that's usually only reserved for his mother.]
Alright, alright. [hawk puts his hands up in mock surrender.] I'm all yours.
Wouldn't be fair to abandon you here anyway - the crowd's not as stuffy as you might think.
[as if anyone in hollywood would be anything less. hawk lets embry glom onto him and lead the way, ignoring the eyes that follow and must be assessing if their matching costumes were intentional or not. he's too busy trying to still the heavy thrum of his heart, fluttering like a fucking hummingbird every time embry inches closer into his space and angles in to speak that close to his earlobes. there's an incredulous laugh, a soft shake of his head.]
A drink for us, sure. The dancing though - I'll think about it.
[it's the politest way he can offer a half-hearted decline, because no matter who was asking, hawkins fuller doesn't really do dancing. it doesn't even occur to him to watch embry get their drinks, not that he can really see it through the crowd at this point, because it's smith's party and theoretically his bartenders, and embry is for all intents and purposes, his star. no one has ever tried to fuck with hawk until this asshole leaking scripts, causing chaos at their front gates, and spilling industry secrets. they've got nothing on him directly, but they can still wreak havoc elsewhere.
embry makes sure he doesn't have time to sulk and let his thoughts go sour though, not one of the high-backed velvet chairs open up and hawk slumps into to wait and wonder what the hell he's getting himself into. he'd really like that cigar right about now, still hanging loosely between two fingers as his other hand wraps around a drink he would normally not be caught dead gripping. well - when in rome.]
To you, Mr. Moore. For making my job almost too easy. And - to a night without expectations. For either of us. Cheers.
[down the hatch - it's simultaneously bitter and sweet all at once, definitely not the solid aftertaste of a fine whiskey or a scotch. his manners won't let him pull a face, even if he drains the glass and immediately sets it aside so he won't have to think about sipping from it again.]
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fuck, even his thoughts sound possessive and unhinged as all get out. he's never been this protective over one of his own stars - but maybe that's because most of them, for all their messes, seem to have some form of a solid support system. embry seems like he's left strung out to perform or dry, what with his distant sister and mother and no word on his father or stepfather. maybe it's the sentimental part of him that he tries so fucking hard to bury, but hawk knows what he saw when he watched that war-time movie. it's the same drive that has been stretched out beneath his feet, that is so easily stealing the spotlight here at a halloween party - and it sounds like the clichΓ© of just another exec duped by a pretty face, but embry is special. there's a connection he's never felt with anyone else, and he'd like to think if nothing else he's a goddamn good judge of character.
or maybe not, if the way things are going lately around the studio. but that's not what he wants to think about now - not when even embry seems to have noticed and is probably feeling something akin to neglect. it makes hawk's lips twist into a mild frown as he gauges the sincerity in embry's sparkling eyes, brighter than any flickering flame on the candelabras littered around the house for decor. it's not a joke when there's so much truth to it, and honestly it really only hits him now that he can't quite recall the last time he saw embry curled up on his couch for a cat nap or dropping in between takes. the terrible thought crosses his mind that someone knows about this clandestine feeling he has for his star - but that would be absurd. there's nothing concrete.
which is why it doesn't hurt to offer embry the softest, most sincere smile that's usually only reserved for his mother.]
Alright, alright. [hawk puts his hands up in mock surrender.] I'm all yours.
Wouldn't be fair to abandon you here anyway - the crowd's not as stuffy as you might think.
[as if anyone in hollywood would be anything less. hawk lets embry glom onto him and lead the way, ignoring the eyes that follow and must be assessing if their matching costumes were intentional or not. he's too busy trying to still the heavy thrum of his heart, fluttering like a fucking hummingbird every time embry inches closer into his space and angles in to speak that close to his earlobes. there's an incredulous laugh, a soft shake of his head.]
A drink for us, sure. The dancing though - I'll think about it.
[it's the politest way he can offer a half-hearted decline, because no matter who was asking, hawkins fuller doesn't really do dancing. it doesn't even occur to him to watch embry get their drinks, not that he can really see it through the crowd at this point, because it's smith's party and theoretically his bartenders, and embry is for all intents and purposes, his star. no one has ever tried to fuck with hawk until this asshole leaking scripts, causing chaos at their front gates, and spilling industry secrets. they've got nothing on him directly, but they can still wreak havoc elsewhere.
embry makes sure he doesn't have time to sulk and let his thoughts go sour though, not one of the high-backed velvet chairs open up and hawk slumps into to wait and wonder what the hell he's getting himself into. he'd really like that cigar right about now, still hanging loosely between two fingers as his other hand wraps around a drink he would normally not be caught dead gripping. well - when in rome.]
To you, Mr. Moore. For making my job almost too easy. And - to a night without expectations. For either of us. Cheers.
[down the hatch - it's simultaneously bitter and sweet all at once, definitely not the solid aftertaste of a fine whiskey or a scotch. his manners won't let him pull a face, even if he drains the glass and immediately sets it aside so he won't have to think about sipping from it again.]