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homosexuals) wrote2022-03-10 10:11 pm
homosexuals) wrote2022-03-10 10:11 pm
[MOVIE STAR AU]
MODERN CINEMA AU
hollywood is a place where they'll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul...
no subject
today, he's standing in hawkins fuller's office with an ugly bruise forming along the crescent of his cheek, his knuckles bloodied, his perfectly coiffed hair ruined from the hour he'd spent in makeup. his face will be a problem for filming. a part of him cares about that, concern niggling at him that this is just more difficult on set grave-dirt to heap upon his coffin, but anger transcends his fear. sort of. he feels sick, like the combination of both is crushing his lungs. ]
You said no visitors. [ he hurls the accusation like a blunt object. ] No distractions.
[ his phone has been buzzing for a week with unwanted messages from unlisted numbers, the same old threats leveled at him that he's heard for years. they want money. they want nudes. they want embry to suck their cock. they want embry to get morgan to suck their cock. and if none of these things happen, they're coming to take what they want by force. embry has been threatened plenty over the course of his career; he knows which ones are real and which ones are just blowing smoke, and this one felt real from the jump.
but security is supposedly tight around here. he mentions it to some of the staff at the gates, who assures him everything's safe, and embry goes back to work even though he doesn't feel safe. he thinks about mentioning it to hawk, but hawk seems more irritated by him than anything else, even though he was the one who hired him in the first place β on a fucking whim, he's heard whispered around, eyes darting whenever he passes. he knows his reputation is shit despite the buzz that used to be attached to his name. he's too distracted to care, trying to work and manage his nerves at the same time, and trying to shake off the ghosts of his past choices.
it doesn't work. he has an hour or two to kill while someone rebuilds part of the set, so he tries to catch up on a sleepless night in his trailer, only to wake up to someone touching him.
his first instinct is to revert back to being a wickedly handsome teenager fumbling in front of a camera, trying desperately not to disappoint vivienne moore with another botched audition, not knowing he'd be asked to get on his knees, to open his mouth, to spread his legs, and he'd break into the inner circle that day but also raise a guillotine over his neck that he never knows when might drop. his second instinct is to swing, which he does, hard.
his trailer is a mess, broken furniture and papers strewn everywhere. he doesn't care how good a job they'll do of fixing it up β he doesn't want to go back. his jaw ticks, aching, as he glares at hawk, petulant on the surface, like he's demanding dried mango instead of dried blueberries on craft services. like tmz isn't about to drop a scathing article on embry attacking a security guard and give the movie shitty press before it can even finish filming.
he wipes a hand down his face and winces, suddenly realizing his nose is bleeding. great. fucking great. he pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head up, pacing across the room while only belatedly realizing hawk asked him to sit down. well, fuck him. ]
I don't care what your goddamn people tell you. That guy deserved to get his face broken. [ he shuts his eyes. what if he hadn't woken up? what if it'd been one of his normal days off and he'd drank himself into an hours-long coma? ] He was inside my trailer.
[ he sounds so fucking juvenile, so much like a prissy fucking actor that he actually wants to punch himself. he sits abruptly on the couch, panic filling his chest at the sudden realization that he's about to be fucking fired. he's not even making any sense, and he's bleeding on the clothes he doesn't even own, and he's so. fucking. fired.
he wants to ask hawk to use his phone so he can talk to his manager, which sounds slightly better than i need to talk to my mom, which he doesn't even want to do because vivienne moore is the least comforting person on the planet, and embry can't take much more bullshit today. ]
no subject
it's not that he has a soft spot for embry as he watches him pacing and jittery and bleedy and justifying himself like he's waiting for the axe to swing and hawk to send him packing. it's that hawk knows what he saw in that box office bust - and he knows what he's seen these past few weeks. embry coming in clean, keeping his head down despite the cacophony of speculation both in and outside the gates on smith's lot, and doing his job with little complaint. especially considering he knows their director isn't really the kind of person to call a peach working under. he has respect for that. he has - sympathy, maybe, for watching the life embry's grown up in distantly, even though he suspects he barely knows the tip of that iceberg. but it doesn't take a genius to see that his overbearing mother only has dollar signs in her eyes, and the people around him are probably the kind of vultures to eat their own the second they smell weakness.
rather than command embry to sit again, hawk rises and walks over to the window near his desk, winding it open and before walking over to bar in the corner and tugging out a clean towel and tinkering around to wrap it around some ice. by then embry has tossed himself into the couch looking miserable as all get out, and hawk offers him the makeshift ice pack for his face until he can get a proper medic, sort out calling the police, and deal with all the paperwork. the priority right now is making sure his star doesn't walk off and quit on him. and more importantly: trying to maintain what he'd though was a tenuous thread of trust building between them.]
Put this on your cheek.
[when he does, hawk pulls out a kerchief from his breast pocket - deep maroon to match the subtle pinstriping on his suit. his initials are stitched into the corner in subtle black - hfz.]
And put this up your nose for now. We'll get the medic in here soon.
[he fires off a text to tim to get that to happen sooner rather than later. for now, he needs a goddamn cigarette. he's keenly aware this is a nonsmoking building - but he's mastered the art of disabling the fire alarm, which he does one-handed, before tugging it out of his breast pocket and sitting back down at his desk to light it. something tells him embry won't mind.]
First of all: I did tell you that. And I meant it, but that obviously didn't happen today. So I owe you an apology.
I'm sorry.
[he leans in, gaze level on embry with the kind of sincerity that should leave no question in his mind if he's bluffing.]
Second: did you get a look at the guy? Do you know him? Did security grab him? Any suspicious behavior before this?
[he takes another inhale, sighing before kicking his feet up.]
I want you to take the rest of the day after they look at you. I'll handle the rest of whatever this shitstorm is.
no subject
the questions hurled his way blur together. he's too stuck on the apology, and having the rest of the day off despite being behind schedule, and the bizarre niceness of this whole interaction. but he's never known anything to just be for the sake of kindness in hollywood β he knows there are strings attached to this, that he'll be called to cash in on this favor sooner or later. hawk's name might not be on the production credits, but embry knows that he's the one that runs this set. he runs this entire goddamn lot. ]
I think security got him. [ embry doesn't know, but he's said enough. he can hear vivienne moore in his head: your whole business model is being desirable. this is just part of the job. ] Didn't see his face when I hit him.
[ he's a professional. he might be a goddamn mess, but he knows how to act, and after a moment or two he rises from the couch, calmer than before, because he needs hawk to keep liking him, or at least to keep tolerating him. and nobody likes an actor that they have to worry about and coddle. he approaches the desk, lowering the ice pack. ]
My face is gonna be worse tomorrow. [ the bruise will darken and bloom with time, his cheek reddened and beginning to mottle. the smell of hawk's cigarette mingles with his cologne, a pleasantly burning forest that gives his office a feeling removed from the rest of the harried lot. it's quiet here, with deep wood paneling the walls and expensive rugs spanning the floors. ] We should keep rolling today.
[ even though his nerves are shot to hell and he knows he can't do it without help. he's been clean, really, nothing hard lately, and that streak's about to break the second he gets back to his ransacked trailer. his crumples the handkerchief in one hand, clutching it like a security blanket, running his fingertip along the raised threading of those three letters. hawkins fuller. that part is obvious, and if he were having a better day, or if he knew hawk better, he'd joke about him having his underwear embroidered, too. ]
What's the z for?
no subject
hawk absently tosses the bottom half of the fire alarm on top of his desk with a clatter, listening to the half answers which aren't good enough by a long shot. that there's a question whether security even got this man doesn't bode well, and he fixes embry with a long, unreadable look over the cigarette dangling in his mouth when his phone vibrates in quick succession with a few updates from tim.
man got away - ran through the set and jumped a side fence. no one saw his face, but he may have used a uniform to get by. i've set up meetings with head of security and everyone near embry's trailer and the gate staff to target the breach.
speaking of embry's trailer - it's a mess. we'll need the day to get it cleaned up.
medic is on the way - eta 10 minutes.
should i tell production to close up for the day, sir?
none of it is good news, really, and he taps out a few affirmatives to interviewing staff, closing up, and waiting on the medic. but he does tell them to hold off on embry's trailer. the question is how to break all of this gently so he doesn't spook, or worse - shut him out even further.]
I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I promise. But I think - and you get a say too, obviously - that we'd better move your trailer.
[before there's any protest, which he's somewhat expecting, hawk holds up a hand and shakes his head.]
I know it's gonna be a pain in the ass moving you out this way. Go ahead and get the complaints out now. You're not being punished, if that's what you're thinking, but I'd rather be close if it's all the same to you.
[it's not entirely negotiable, but the illusion of choice is probably better.]
Production's shut down for the rest of the day on my orders. Maybe tomorrow, if that's what it takes. Until we get a better picture of what happened, I don't want you anywhere near this.
[hawk's gaze drops to the way his fingertips trace over the embroidery of his name, noting how striking that shade of red is against his skin. it should be a goddamn sin that even partway beat to shit with his hair tousled and blood drying at the corner of his nose, embry still looks achingly gorgeous. hawk is a man with eyes, after all, and it's not like embry made a career of being bad to look at. there's a wry smirk as he blows smoke out of his mouth, teeth keeping the cigarette perched between his lips.]
Sit back down and stay awhile. Medic is almost here, and they'll get you cleaned up. If the bruising's in bad shape, we'll rearrange the schedule and shoot the apartment fight instead. Set's already halfway built.
Easy peasy.
[no strings. no hidden favors. hawkins fuller isn't like the other men in hollywood, and he's made a name for himself on that. it's the question that has his brows lifting in surprise, not even realizing embry would have noticed or cared. normally he'd have to have teeth pulled for it, but it seems like a peace offering he can give.]
Zebediah. Go on and laugh.
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Sure. [ he slips an easy shrug, because he's savvy enough to know this isn't a battle he can win β but there are still ways to skew this to his advantage. ] I'd feel better being close to this side of things. To you. Everyone knows you run the show.
[ it's an easy enough compliment because it's not too much. it's just factual. he makes a show of letting the tension drain from his shoulders, perching on the edge of hawk's desk, since if it's apparently good enough for hawk's expensive leather shoes, it's good enough for his ass. ]
Zebediah? [ his brow ticks up, his mouth quirking briefly into the shape of a boyish grin β cut short with the way he makes a show of wincing a little at the way it pulls at his bruise. ] I don't think I need a medic. This isn't any worse than your high school bully getting over on you in gym class. But β you think you can do me a favor and get me back in my trailer before they start moving everything around? I left my phone in there and I think the screen's busted. There's also a present for my mother in there I've been meaning to mail out, since you're giving me the day. Some jewelry and personal things.
[ like his stash of ketamine. ]
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of course he's heard rumors. everyone has. but embry's been clean as a whistle thus far, and hawk is not in the business of judging a book by its cover or taking anything more than with a grain of salt until proven otherwise.
so he trusts embry is alright with this arrangement. that he's telling the truth about his simple request. watches the elegant line of his body bend at the waist to carefully sit himself down on the edge of hawk's desk, a hair's breadth away from his oxfords. bold, sure, but he'll let it slide for now. he makes a mighty fine desk ornament, though he's not about to say as much out loud.]
My parents were fairly disappointed I didn't turn out religious.
[hawk offers a teasing smirk, lips pulled up enigmatically and eyes twinkling with the private self-deprecation of the half-truth, pleased to see it made embry smile. but the wince - that doesn't go unnoticed.]
I'm going to have to insist on the medic. It'll be over before you know it - but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Besides, what kind of show would I be running if I didn't take care of my people?
[which embry is now. hawk sucks in another breath, exhaling towards the ceiling.]
Sure. I'll walk you there right after this.
[there's a pause, knowing he could leave it at that, but - ]
What do you get a gift for a woman like Vivienne Moore?
[said with the tone of someone who would imagine she already has everything - the clothes, the jewels, the best reservations in town.]
no subject
There's still time to find religion and make your parents proud. I knew a guy β
[ he stops himself, abruptly appalled that he would bring up ash so casually, a sore spot from his past. it's all easily googleable, his brief but intense dalliance with the nobody actor he'd publicly outed along with himself, though he'd been less concerned about his rampant promiscuity than ash's sudden shove into the spotlight. they'd crumbled after that, because embry wouldn't leave a job that was making him miserable. vivienne moore had buried his grief-induced antics after that, which involved enough drugs and alcohol to kill a horse, and morgan asleep at his bedside at the lake house after he had his stomach pumped.
he tucks his ankle beneath his knee, folding the handkerchief into a messy square and shoving it into his front pocket, blood and all. ]
He kept a Bible by his bed. [ he shrugs, flashing another brief smile. ] It saw everything.
[ fuck. he doesn't need hawk walking him to his trailer like he's a dog on a leash, but to protest would look suspicious. he pretends to think about his mother, his gaze flitting around while he actually wracks his brain for a plan to get his drugs out. ]
Trying to woo my manager now? [ he swings between vivienne moore being his manager or his mother depending on the situation, and right now she's a blend of both β especially if hawk is interested. ] She likes Tiffany plates. And knowing her son has safety and privacy, but not as much as Tiffany plates. I got her a mirror from Paris once and she really liked that. Liked it so much I think it's in storage. It might go nice in your office. I got her a tennis bracelet β I can just go run and grab it. I'll be back before the medic gets here. I mean, it's pretty valuable.
no subject
but hawk also has a knack for seeing those same cracks in everyone else - for finding their weaknesses sometimes before they know it in themselves. it's part of his job, but that's not why he learned how to do it so long ago - it was for his own protection. now it's for everyone else's. so colour him surprised when embry mentions a guy - wondering if it's the same guy (what was his name again? a one hit wonder - ) that blast him as one of the first bisexuals in hollywood in a time when it wasn't exactly transparent. now he's got his pick of men and women, and plenty of fire where there's smoke from the tabloids - though hawk knows plenty of those stories are planted for good pr anyway. embry's? probably not always.
his brows raise in overdone surprise, shaking his head slightly before stubbing out the remnants of his cigarette in the ash tray that's hidden in an open draw on the other side of his desk.]
Everything? Seems kind of risky, depending on what kind of life he lived. Take Tim for example - my PA? He'd probably be fine - about as straight edge as they come, goes to Church every week, the whole nine yards. Good kid.
[kid he says, like it's not just a mere ten years or so between all their ages.]
Me - I don't think my father would ever be proud, even if I had an exorcism.
[not that he sounds upset by the fact, shrugging and tipping up to read his expression. there's still something he can't put his finger on about this whole interaction, this event - he'd expected a tantrum, a threat of quitting, christ, maybe even a call from his mother (manager) by now. he shakes his head though - both at the idea of a mirror in here and embry going on his own.]
I want to see the damage for myself. And - I don't want you walking in there alone. We've had enough surprises for one day, yeah?
[it really is for his safety, and because maybe hawk doesn't fully trust the cops or anyone else to suss out anything awry before he does. he kicks his feet back down, putting both hands on the arm rest and rising while smoothing out his double-breasted jacket and buttoning it in one smooth motion.]
Come on. We'll make it fast before the medic gets here.
no subject
[ he slides off the desk, accidentally knocking a pen to the floor, which he swoops down to recover, making sure hawk gets a view of his ass in his fitted costume. maybe not so accidental, but no one has to know that. ]
Well, there's the minor security breach. That's not your finest moment. [ he can't allow hawk to think he's going too easy on him. he leans over the desk to replace the pen where it won't roll away, then goes to the door, walking with hawk back to his trailer. he tries to look natural, but being escorted across the lot by hawkins fuller after an incident is anything but fucking natural, and everyone they pass knows it.
he lets hawk reach the door first, coming up smoothly behind him, his easy expression replaced by a line of worry between his brows, his wide blue eyes clouded with something distant. his mouth tightens. ]
It's bad. [ he catches a whiff of hawk's cologne, the same scent that clings to the bloody cloth stuffed into his pocket, as he balances on the narrow step. ] I panicked.
[ a tidbit of honesty sprinkled into his act. embry might be the wealthy son of a starlet, but his bad decisions began early at school, where he learned how to fight, and only got better as he got older. he's not great by any means β most boys are bigger and more muscled than him β but what he lacks in heft he makes up for in sheer recklessness.
when hawk opens the door they both survey a goddamn mess β a chair broken, the table overturned, a cascade of papers on the floor. his coffee cup is in pieces, brown liquid staining a script. a stack of books lies scattered. his throat tightens at the state of the bed β the sheets tangled and trailing across the floor, a clear start of where the fight began. he'd left that part out, and doesn't want to talk about it now.
he strides inside, opening the tiny closet and reaching up to the top shelf for a little gift box, which he deposits into hawk's hands. ]
It's got diamonds and pearls. Protect it with your life. [ he smiles again, then turns back to the closet, pulling out a navy sweater and pair of worn jeans that just happened to cost nine-hundred dollars once upon a time. ] Hey, if we're not filming today, I'm gonna get out of these clothes.
[ he's already unbuckling his trousers, letting them hang low on his lean hips, but then halfway through trying to peel himself out of the vest atop his shirt, he realizes they have it pinned to him from the inside. sheepishly, he returns to hawk. ]
Can you help me?
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maybe it's a good thing hawk is utterly distracted by another ping on his phone from tim the exact moment embry decides to bend over, brows knitting together as he tells him to push back from their oh-so friendly, nosy visitor from tmz who's kept the office phone ringing off the hook. when he glances back up embry has set the pen back on his desk, which means he's not a klepto and earns a brusque nod of thanks as he closes the door behind them with a note to his secretary that he'll be back in ten. the lot is quiet with the kind of tension that only comes from a proverbial bomb being dropped and no one wanting to pull its final trigger, so he's spared the greetings and sycophants chiming in as he walks past like a goddamn character from a disney movie on their daily jaunt through town.
it's a longer walk than it should have been to begin with, maybe, and suddenly he's starting to feel a whole lot more responsible as he steps inside and surveys the absolute shitshow in front of him. christ, this is bad. hawk steps aside to let embry in, closing the door behind them from any looky-loos and to preserve some of embry's privacy more than it's already been shredded to pieces today. the signs of struggle, the broken glass - and yeah, the bed that's completely decimated. embry must have been asleep, or laying there at the very least, and it makes his stomach flip with even more guilt at how jarring and utterly invasive that must have felt to wake up to a stranger in or standing over his bed. his jaw flickers, shoulders tense as he kneels down and notes wet bootprints that are clear and concise on the way towards the bed, slid and smeared from the hasty escape back towards the door.
hawk stands back up, hands on his hips for a moment before he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose and try to stave off a wave of dizziness that he feels creeping on him from the sudden shift in balance.]
Look - this never should have happened. Someone's head is going on the chopping block, I can promise you that. Are you...did they say anything to you? Did they do anything to you?
[he turns back, eyes steeled with determination to piece this all together even as he gently takes the tiny box that probably costs more than the marketing budget for a single production. embry's fingers are warm, brushing against his for a moment as he cradles it like precious cargo. which it basically is. he cracks the box slightly to look at the contents, brows raising in confirmation that yes, it's diamonds and pearls. not his taste - and frankly, he's wondering if it's vivienne moore's too - but keeps his expression neutral and mildly impressed.
but it sinks in when embry starts undressing immediately that this might have backfired and been a terrible fucking idea. maybe all his good faith was wrong and this has been a trap to get him in close quarters and point fingers - a he said, he said, sort of situation, as it were.]
Hands are a little full now.
[he lifts the box with a sheepish little shrug, keeping his face fixed solely on embry's face and not the cut v of his hips and slim waist. but it seems rude to leave him hanging and wait for someone else, so hawk carefully sets down the box and steps behind him to make quick work of the pins, hands staying exactly there without any other contact. he picks up the box again with a nod, stepping towards the door again.]
I'll wait outside with this. You need your privacy.
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[ trying to get a read on hawkins fuller is like trying to read his fortune in the goddamn clouds. embry has made his living on deconstructing motivation, emotion, character, but if he put hawk in a script, he'd be fucked. or β he just needs more time. more time watching him, talking to him, observing all his ticks and movements, like the brief flash of unsteadiness he spies that embry chalks up to the grisly state of his trailer, or the way he transforms into all business the second embry asks for help undressing.
he wants to know more, and he tells himself it's not because of any other reason but to stay on top. because hawk can't fuck him if embry fucks him first. ]
Sure. I'll just be a minute.
[ and with the image of hawk's perfectly shaped ass disappearing behind a closed door, his victory is secured. embry leans over, peering through a crack in the blinds to see hawk descending the steps, his fingers swiping across his phone while his other hand carefully cradles the box. the timing couldn't be better.
he dives back into his closet, opening up the vanity drawer affixed to the wall and goes through his collection of watches, opening up boxes until he finds the one that morgan gifted him exactly seven birthdays ago, the one with the broken face that he keeps out of sheer sentiment. stashed beneath the velvety flap is a baggie of ketamine, which he takes a generous snort of before wiping off the vanity, hurriedly changing his clothes, and then stuffing the bag into the pocket of his jeans. the high hits him within minutes, his tension chased away by airy lightness, his muscles relaxing, the tightness in his brows easing.
he leaves his dirtied costume on the rumpled bed, but pauses to retrieve hawk's handkerchief, briefly lifting it to his nose for a deep inhale, blood and all. the metallic scent mingles with hawk's cologne, and he's suddenly annoyed that he'd gotten his way, because in another scenario hawk would have undressed him and something else might have happened.
maybe that's just the ket talking. embry opens the door, grabbing a pair of sunglasses to drop over his eyes as he descends the steps, bouncing up beside hawk and waving his phone. ]
Vivienne wants me checked out by her doctors. [ he shrugs, reaching out to slip the box from hawk's hand to his, though he handles it much less carefully than hawk had been. ] She Facetimed me inside and saw my face. I told her it's not a big deal but she's not happy. I'll see you later, okay? Car's waiting for me.
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at least he lets him leave without a fuss, and spares them both the embarrassment of trying anything. would it be embarrassment, though? it's not that unreasonable that someone as attractive as embry who is, by the very definition, a sex symbol in his day and age - would be comfortable enough with his body to drop to his skivvies on a regular basis and think nothing of it. maybe hawk shouldn't flatter himself and assume anything untoward would have happened. and if it did - professionalism aside, would he be that bothered by the idea of it? god knows he has a type, and embry fits it to a t. but this is all business, and hawk never mixes it with pleasure. the medic is waiting in the lobby of his office, and hawk lets tim know they'll just be a few more minutes until they're back.
there's a sudden motion from the corner of his eye that catches his attention - the blinds moving, and before he realizes what it is, hawk steps in closer and glances up through the gap that's fallen askew from where they'd been partly bent in the earlier scuffle. for a minute he's not sure his eyes are seeing this correctly: embry, fully dressed again, holding something small to his nose and inhaling. or blowing his nose, maybe? jesus fucking christ, what is he supposed to make of that?
drugs are the last thing on his mind. frankly, so is the tiffany box as he turns his back and pulls out a pair of aviators himself to keep the beating la sun out of his eyes until the trailer door bangs open and embry practically catapults down the stairs with an odd enthusiasm. this doesn't seem like a man who just got assaulted - if anything he seems downright chipper, banged up, bloodied and all. embry can't see the way hawk's eyes narrow behind his glasses in consideration, nor can they see the way they drop for a minute to the way those jeans hug his thighs so nicely - which is better for them both.
because now he has caught him in a lie. two, if he's good - and hawk is never anything else. there's a flat smile that drags across his lips: the kind reserved for corporate assholes and the bankers that come by shaking their ledgers at smith when pictures don't exceed their production costs to the right percentage.
why is he trying to get out of something this simple?]
Doesn't matter how nice they truss them up inside - those walls are pretty thin. Awfully fast and quiet for a conversation with Mommy dearest, isn't it?
[yes, mom - not vivienne, not his manager. hawk takes a step closer, nudging down his glasses enough to look at embry over the rim of his glasses with something stern - a warning not to fuck with him and protocol right now.]
And speaking of fast, traffic around here is a goddamn nightmare. So unless you called your car telepathically while you were sitting in my office...
[hawk shrugs, not making an outright accusation.]
Give them ten minutes to look you over and patch you up, Embry.
I'm asking nicely - for both our sakes.
[for peace of mind, for safety, for guilt. do it for me, he almost wants to tack on after what he thinks he's seen in there, but instead he pushes up his glasses again and gestures back towards the direction of his office.]
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No. [ he ignores the blatant accusation that he's lying about talking to his mother. he is. but vivienne taught him how to lie, and one text or even a single word over the phone would be enough to get her on board with his story. ] No, I'm not seeing your medic, because I don't trust whoever you have waiting in your office, just like I don't trust your security, just like I don't trust anyone on your goddamn lot. I don't want to be poked around at anymore than I already have been today, and I don't want to answer anymore fucking questions.
[ there, it's out. the ketamine thins his filter, but he thinks he has a pretty good leg to stand on here after what he just went through, and he's not going to roll over just because hawk has sparkly ocean eyes and hands that look like they could press bruises into his skin β artfully, of course. ]
You can look me over. [ he pushes his sunglasses into his hair, tilting his bruised cheekbone into the yellow sunlight. ] He hit me right here, with his knuckles. It hurt, and I'm gonna have a black eye tomorrow.
[ the sticky taste of repulsion catches in his throat as he lifts the hem of his sweater, revealing several inches of his lean, muscled abs, his body built with all the elegance of a greek statue. ]
He was touching me here β [ he runs the back of his fingers along his ribs. ] When I woke up. He had all his clothes on, but I didn't.
[ he could say more. how it'd terrified him, how he wanted to quit the movie then and there just so he could tear out of the lot and never look back. he doesn't want that now β he wants this role and this movie more than anything, more than even his goddamn self-respect which was lost exactly today when someone broke into his trailer and now he's standing here high again, but there's an argument to be made that it was lost way before now. maybe he never had any to begin with.
he looks at hawk, trying to gauge his reaction. after a moment β ]
Am I off the movie if I don't see your medic? [ he asks this more calmly, his anger burning away with the waning sunlight. he's just tired now, and belatedly realizing he's stepped over a line without a way to backpedal. a spark of resentment flares up in his gaze before he lowers his glasses down again. ] If it's that or firing me, I'll just close my eyes and do it.
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jesus. yeah, it's a lot worse than he thought as he whips off and pockets his own sunglasses, folding his arms across his chest to give embry his full attention. not that it didn't sound like an offer dripping in mild sarcasm - but the it's the least he can do, and he needs to know how bad this really got from his earlier hesitations. his eyes take in the cheekbone, visibly mottled skin peeking through the concealer and heavy foundation that's been dabbed on for the shoot. that's already a goddamn travesty - not that anyone deserves to get suckerpunched, but especially not one with immaculate bone structure that looks carved by the hands of god and relies on it for a moneymaker.
but it's the next part hawk swallows hard at, reluctantly letting his gaze dip down to the even more breathtaking view of sculpted abdomen and lithe figure in front of him. it's not like he hasn't seen it in passing - knowing it's not movie magic when embry's on screen in his past films looking quite that enticing. but seeing it up close and in this context makes his gaze shoot back up, filled with genuine concern and doing his best to keep pity out of it, thinking that might irritate him further. there's no other lines he needs to read between or guess at - though frankly, he wonders if embry would have told him had anything worse happened, god forbid.
against his better judgment, hawk reaches to pull the hem of his sweater back down with a nod of understanding.]
You've got every reason not to trust any of us right now. I get that. Nothing's gonna fix the feeling of waking up like that - so I'll spare you another apology.
But you have my word: I'm going to make this right, Embry. I'm going to get to the bottom of it, and I'm going to make sure whoever did this gets their ass tossed where the sun doesn't shine.
I'm going to try and earn your trust, if you'll let me.
[he tips his head down, expression softening mildly as he watches all the fight seemingly deflate out of his lead. yeah, he's got to be exhausted.]
You're not off the movie. I'm not firing my star.
[i need you, almost slips out from his lips - but he can't bring himself to say it somehow, wondering if it would even mean anything. but his voice lowers again, something that's meant to reassure.]
I'm not making you do anything you don't want to do around here. Take the day - get some rest. I'll call you when we're back on track, okay?
[before he can think better of it, he puts a hand on embry's shoulder, squeezing briefly in passing. and then he straightens up, stepping away and back to business as he puts his sunglasses on again with another easy flick of his wrist. and while he's here, might as well - he fishes out another cigarette, cupping a hand to light it before exhaling off to the side.]
Were you lying about the car? You can borrow my driver for the afternoon if you want to get out of here sooner. He's not very talkative, and I'm pretty sure he's a black belt in something.
[it's a light tease, and hawk lifts his brows with an easy shrug. but the offer's sincere.]
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all of his words seem meaningless, empty promises he's heard before as long as embry remains useful, until i'm not firing my star. that makes something stir deep within the brittle confines of his heart. his fingers tremble where they still clutch the edges of his sweater, and he shoves them into his pockets before hawk notices. ]
I want to go back to filming. [ it's an earnest request, the empty hours of the evening looming before him like a cavernous black hole. he could do anything. he could β and will β burn through the entire baggie in his pocket, and wash it down with some trashy bar's top shelf gin. the sooner hawk calls him, the better. ] The movie's important to me.
[ it's all he has right now. a shot at redemption, at resuscitating his career even if his reputation as a man might be tarnished for good. he can't blow this. ]
It's okay. But thanks. [ the offer sends him back to reality. hawk sending his driver with him would just be a way to keep tabs on him, to report his every move and where he spends his time. embry should just go home, but the thought of facing his empty condo feels like a death sentence. ] Just make sure you call me.
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so hawk calls, and the show must go on.
and it does, for the most part, without much more than minor incident like disagreements over set dressing and costume alterations, a few rewrites and rescheduling the shoot order while embry's black eye heals. the pr machine starts back up again - burgeoning with excitement and actually managing to start driving up significant interest in their little project that could. it's going well - maybe even too well, and hawk's not superstitious, but that usually means the calm before a fucking storm, which he curses himself for thinking about the second it enters his brain. but that's the way it works, and inevitably something is sure to elevate his blood pressure and have him locking the office door to quell the erratic beat of his overworked heart.
it comes eventually in the form of a pretty blonde head, one greer galloway waiting prim in his lobby with a signed contract that has vivienne moore's swooping curl of a signature and has signed away the rest of embry's free time around the city of angels and beyond. she's a polite thing, greer - honestly if she wasn't already signed to one of the best agencies in the country and contracted to warner brother's, he'd figure out a way to snag her himself. frankly she's the perfect sort of rehabilitation for embry's struggling image - a good girl, elegant, well-liked, on the rise. and she needs the edge of a bad boy for her upcoming femme fatale role, so it's practically a match made in heaven. hawk knows there's no business like show business - that hollywood is littered with sham marriages and showmances a dime a dozen.
which is why it's surprising that he feels a twist in his gut watching it all unravel, wondering if embry even got a fucking say in the matter. who is he kidding - they'll probably wind up married or at least actually falling into bed given the spark of interest in embry's eyes and the chemistry he sees immediately heat between them, not an ounce of awkward hellos or polite how-do-you-dos right in front of his fucking eyes. it's probably better for him to settle down and have something to focus on the side that isn't drugs and partying and the temptations that come with the cesspool of this industry hidden among bright lights and unfairly attractive faces.
so that should be good, right?
that's what he keeps telling himself as he scrolls past headline after photoshoot after splash page - people, ok!, just jared, us weekly, deuxmoi - an obscene shopping spree on rodeo drive with embry carrying bag after bag from david yurman, chanel, burberry, hermès, prada, miu miu, jimmy choo and a giggling greer, a night at the la opera in full formal splendor, a weekend getaway to the private beaches in malibu, conveniently taken by drone. it's a fucking whirlwind romance for the ages - the modern day bogart and bacall. people are obsessed, and the phone is ringing off the hook for comments and set exclusives. if it's working half as well as it is for embry as it is for greer - then they've got this whole thing in the bag.
it also means a lot less of embry in his office, which may as well be his home away from home over his trailer these days. hawk is not one to let anyone in without an appointment, but it's hard to say no to his boyishly handsome face and it's not like the conversation is bad while he's poring over budgets and paperwork. he's like a stray cat in the way he takes it like confirmation he can come back and keep doing it - which is why it's a noticeable absence the moment it starts petering out in favor of this circus.
there's gold bleeding into rich orange and pink streaming through his open window - like a paintbrush dragged across the sky as he nudges his office door open with a shoulder and hauls in his briefcase and the takeout he'd picked up to go over a few scripts due later in the week. what he's not expecting is to see feet kicked up on his desk, someone already occupying his chair.
he can't help the amusement that seeps into his voice, the twinkle in his eyes sparkling from the dim light of a breathtaking la sunset.]
Don't tell me your driver got lost on the way to Beverly Hills.
[he tosses his keys onto the desk unceremoniously, setting down a bag from chi spacca in the middle and his leather briefcase in one of the chairs opposite that embry should be warming with his extremely nice ass. or really - shouldn't.]
Aren't you supposed to be opening the door to a Ferrari and escorting Greer into Mr. Chow's right about now?
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like clockwork, his phone starts buzzing again. right at the start of his contract with greer, he'd paid off his stalker and hadn't thought anything more of it, because he'd been too busy high out of his mind to string together a coherent thought. money isn't hard for him. if his movies aren't earning out β which they haven't been β he has a cushy fund from vivienne moore to rely on. but for the past couple of days, he's been getting texts again, this time asking about the lot, and specifically, the lot's golden boy. smith's name might be on the company, but hawkins fuller runs the place β everyone knows that. even the asshole that owns embry's sex tape.
his publicity with greer is going well, so he cancels on her last minute, which is sure to put a bad taste in her mouth, and returns to hawk's office after a long absence. ever since his trailer has been moved across the lot, he's had easy access to the man himself and has learned quite a lot about his habits. like how he prefers scotch. how he has multiple handkerchiefs, not just the one that embry has yet to return. how he never, ever stops working, and that the couch in his office is so comfortable because hawk probably naps there during his endlessly long days. embry has napped there too, because despite being assured again and again of the security of his trailer, sometimes he just can't sleep knowing the door could be shimmied open with just the right amount of force.
speaking of shimmying β he's already tried most of the drawers on hawk's desk, and fuck him for being so goddamn thorough. they're all locked, except for one that has nothing but neat containers of organized snacks, a large amount of which happens to be embry's favorites. he's always half-starved while he's filming, keeping to a strict diet to maintain his lean figure, but he's already polished off a bag of sugar cookies, licking crumbs from his fingers as hawk comes in. the room immediately feels warmer, the fading sun clinging to hawk like a photograph. ]
You know Greer has a boyfriend? [ he has one of hawk's liquor bottles open on the desk, his glass with barely a splash remaining in it. snooping has been fruitless today, so he tries a more honest tack. ] He wants to have a baby with her. Now they can spend the whole night trying. Not really though, since she has a movie to film, but at least they can fuck without interruption.
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[how long have you been in here, he thinks to himself, followed by were you waiting for me? but neither of them are what he actually asks, instead deciding he can probably piece this together. maybe embry did fall for her, and now he's found out she's got her own secrets too, though he can't imagine the downright angelic face of greer's to be tarnished and cruel in turning anyone down. or maybe it's just the way of hollywood wearing on him the way it sometimes bores down heavy on hawk's shoulders. he might be the lot's golden boy, but it took blood sweat, and even some tears to get here. not all of them were his own, and there's a few things he hasn't been proud of - but hawk likes to think he has a decent moral code and mostly errs on the right side of the way things ought to be. there's a difference between casting couches and negotiating better and undercutting the competition - for instance.
speaking of couches: it hasn't passed his notice that the one over in the corner is looking a lot more used these days - and hawk's been too goddamn busy to be the one leaving extra indents and taking a few minutes to himself, so that just leaves one other person with an open door extended. it was the least he could do after something that traumatizing happened, and it was the whole reason for moving his trailer out this way in the first place. it makes hawk feel a little bit more reassured that embry does - or at least did, until greer came along - consider this something like a safe space. his mind doesn't immediately jump to the contracts he's got stuffed neatly in his desk, or the stacks of top secret scripts and notes and rewrites and finance reports behind lock and key. the snacks though - that had been on purpose. seemed rude not to have some kind of refreshment to offer to his number one guest, and since booze was off the table during working hours...
but it isn't now, and he doesn't find himself particularly cross at embry helping himself to either of the empty items sitting on his desk. hawk steps around to the bar cart, picking up another tumbler and snagging the already open bottle and pouring his own glass before tipping it into embry's and giving him a refill. seems awfully rude not to let him sit pretty and indulge in his chosen spot, so hawk steps back around the antique cherrywood and lets himself spill unceremoniously into one of the other seats with a hum, not used to the view from here.]
Greer's not on my payroll.
[not that he doesn't know things beyond contracts and box office numbers - but that's neither here nor there. he didn't know about the boyfriend, but it's hard not to wonder if it came up during an attempted pass. he pulls the bag of his dinner over, sifting through to grab a for and the container with his new york strip, potatoes, and green beans.]
That's real generous of you. But you know, kids are goddamn expensive. The stuff on screen isn't always what brings in the masses - it's the headlines. Of which you two are generating quite a lot.
[there's nothing judgmental about it in his tone, just observational. he shrugs before reaching for his cutlery and taking a bite of his meal.]
She's a nice girl. Are you disappointed about this turn of events, or to what do I owe the pleasure?
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headlines. yeah. embry reads the news about himself despite his best efforts not to, but it's a bad habit once he's reached his fifth glass of gin. ]
Just performing for my two demanding bosses. Mother dearest, and you. [ he doesn't like the sudden look that hawk is giving him, like he's reading him like the pages of a flimsy book β a trashy beach read that he'll discard before he reaches the end. ] Hope the show's kept you entertained.
[ he expected such a contract from his mother, but it'd stung when hawk cosigned it the same day it'd crossed his desk, delivered by greer herself so hawk could have a good look at her. it's just business is what he keeps reminding himself, especially each time he goes rooting through hawk's belongings or lingers overlong just to catch a glimpse of the moment hawk slides the sheaf of papers from his briefcase to get to work. he has a few unreleased script names, but doesn't know if they'll be enough, and keeps dragging his feet on sending anything concrete to his asshole of a stalker.
with his glass refilled, he lowers his feet from hawk's desk and stands, snagging his glass to come around to the familiar couch. it's closer to the armchair hawk currently occupies, and embry drops down onto the soft leather cushions, settling on his stomach and making a show of stretching his spine. ]
Do I need a reason to come see you now? You never asked before. [ he props his forearms on the armrest, leaning over slightly to watch hawk eat. his eyes fall onto the steak, then back up. ] Are you gonna tell Vivienne that I ditched Greer for a night? She doesn't like when I have free time. She doesn't trust my idle hands.
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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.]
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[ he knows, intimately, how easy it is to fall out of favor with the masses, to be forgotten for the next pretty face. it's not as easy as just running to hawk and telling him he doesn't want to, but he likes the thought that it could be. that hawk could shield him from all the bad coming his way. sometimes he lies awake and wonders what might happen if he just told hawk what was happening, what was hanging over his head, but then the sun slowly creeps into the sky and he comes to his senses. he'd be let go so fast he wouldn't even have time to process it. no one wants that kind of scandal tainting their movie. it's not just a sex tape, after all.
it's a lot easier to perk up and stretch out for the offering of steak on the tip of hawk's fork. he forgets he's supposed to make everything a seduction, a sound of pure contentment rumbling from his throat as he licks his lips and swallows. ]
You don't have to tell. [ a rueful smile, then he's off the couch to go refill his glass. ] She keeps tabs on me. On everything. She's sort of like you. This is probably the only place on your lot that she can't see. But don't worry, she only cares about your business as long as it benefits me.
[ he returns with a replenished drink, but this time approaches the chair, lingering for a moment before sinking down to his knees on the expensive rug as if it's the most natural thing in the world to sit at hawk's feet. he leans his shoulder into the chair, resting his cheek lightly against hawk's knee. ]
I like hanging out with Greer. Mostly. [ when there aren't cameras in his face, when they aren't performing like dancing monkeys at restaurants and clubs and luxury shops. ] But I like being in here with you more. It's a break from the noise. You're calm. Like nothing ever touches you. Feels like nothing can touch me in here, either.
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[he shouldn't even bother opening the door to this, it's not like he should care that much, but part of hawk wouldn't mind knowing what fills up the rest of that space. "mostly okay" isn't a ringing endorsement. sometimes he wonders - for all the scandals, the dog and pony show, the circus of fans and the fair-weather faltering of mass appeal...do actors even enjoy it the longer it goes on? he can't blame the men and women that have ultimately faded from the spotlight into lives of mediocrity, even rarer still to work their way behind the camera instead. embry's got the kind of good looks and charm that could launch a thousand franchises, but is that really how he wants to spend the rest of his life?]
So what gets you all the way to "thrilled"? Gotta be more to life - and showbusiness - than "mostly okay". Not to sound like a philosophical prick, but humor me.
[it's not easy for hawk to watch the way embry's mouth falls open briefly, lips wrapping around the steak like it could be something else. humming pleased around it, poised between catlike and utterly tempting even as he doesn't think he's doing anything part of the usual routine. it'd work on hawk - if it was aimed that way. if embry wasn't his employee, just some nameless pretty face in a bar well outside hollywood where people hated the spotlight and wouldn't have a fucking clue who hawkins fuller is. his gaze tears away and back to his food as he cuts off another piece and gets back to focusing on his meal, not bothering to watch as he helps himself to more scotch. he's not really thinking anything on it - about to assure embry that he's not at all in cahoots with his mother and that this can be his own personal hideout -
when everything goes still, hawk tensing immediately at the implication of embry sitting by his feet, leaning against his knee in a way that makes him want to reach down and feed him some more with his fingers or brush fingers through the effortless waves of thick, shiny chestnut hair. it's the second time some compromising position has manifested itself while he's utterly alone with embry, and it should sound the alarms for him to abruptly get up and extricate himself before this becomes a real problem. is it a set-up? or - is he just really that genuine about appreciating hawk's presence?
christ.
there's no answer right away, but hawk opts to do none of the above, instead keeping very still even as he takes another sip of his drink and bite of his food to act as if nothing at all is amiss. like there's not a flood of warmth that's decidedly not related to the alcohol down his throat when embry says he likes being here more than he does having the perfect girlfriend at his side, real boyfriend aside.]
Yeah?
[it should worry him on some level - to read between the lines and consider maybe there's more to things that can't touch embry besides the realities of fickle fans and tabloids and how much money he can pull in to prove his worth. maybe it's not just about the usual pressures.]
Well, you're welcome in here any time. You make better company than most - and I don't say that lightly.
[there's a few bites of his meal left, but he finds himself no longer hungry and uncertain if he should offer them now. instead - he produces a cigarette from the box tucked in his breast pocket, slipping it between his lips and lighting it with practiced ease.]
But you should know - I do what I can to take care of my people. That means you. I made you promises to get you here, and I intend to keep them.
[keep you, is just on the tip of his tongue, carelessly.]
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but hawk had. his mother told him that it was that movie in particular that made him approach her about him.
he's quiet, unsure how to answer the question when the truth suddenly feels so depressing. so goddamn pathetic. why does he jump through these hoops? it's all he knows now, and a part of him loves it. a part of him craves the spotlight, the attention, the head rush of baring himself more intimately than stripping naked, and then the agony of waiting to see where the chips fall β if he's good enough, or if he's just another pretty face made up of broken, jagged parts on the inside. maybe he just likes to hurt. if he didn't, he would've left with ash and fallen into a safe, comfortable life with a man who would make sure he'd never hurt again.
guilt flickers in his chest as it pulls uncomfortably tight, his eyes turning up to find hawk's gaze in the low, yellowed lights. i do what i can to take care of my people. that means you. hawk has been nearly always good to him, and embry is lying through his teeth, even if what he feels right now is genuine quiet, peace, safety. he isn't lying when he says he likes being in this room with him.
he shuffles away the brooding look that threatens to overtake his features, instead rising up onto his knees as the warm smell of smoke curls into the air. ]
Can I have one of those?
[ he doesn't wait for an answer. the cigarettes are easy to pluck from hawk's shirt pocket, sliding one out and clamping it between his lips. then he plants his hands on hawk's thighs, stretching up, his dark lashes halfway lowered as he lifts his chin so the tip of his unlit cigarette can touch the burning end of hawk's.
he's frozen there as he waits for the flame to take, his fingers moving just slightly where they rest. through the fabric of hawk's trousers, he can feel his muscled thigh, can imagine the lean, corded look of him if he were to be lucky enough to get his clothes off. smoke curls above their joined cigarettes, and embry takes a slow drag, watching his flare to life as warmth fills his mouth.
he moves back only an inch, smoke escaping his lips as they curve into a half smile. ]
Being loved. [ worshiped, admired, adored. all better words he should have chosen. ] When my name rolls across the credits, I want people to want to know me. To want to love me. That's what gets me thrilled.
[ it's the superficial kind of love, the kind of obsession where you never really know anyone. maybe that's part of the appeal. he knows what real love can do, and he doesn't want to be destroyed again.
his thumb moves casually enough that he can classify it as an honest mistake, a single stroke down the inside of hawk's thigh. ]
That's what I want you to do for me, Mr. Fuller. Make the world love me.
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he should really stop embry when he feels fingers so close to his heart, fishing around for a cigarette before his palms fall warm against his thighs with a possessiveness he wonders if he might be imagining. hawk should stop it, create some distance and nudge him back with the wave of his lighter and open flame to dissuade him from tipping up with his lips curled around one of his smokes that tantalizingly and pressing them tip to tip. instead, he dips his head down, gaze heavy on embry as he sucks hard and watches the tip ignite in a bright orange that could compete with the raze of warmth bleeding through his windows. he puffs out through his nose, sucking it once more until it takes before hawk is pulling back.
it's not exactly a deterrent as one hand lifts to his own cigarette, back connecting with the chair and just about splaying him out more comfortably - an unspoken acceptance of this current arrangement, hedged with a warning in the exhale he blows directly at embry. you're welcome. you can stay, just don't try anything else.]
Thought this sort of thing offended delicate LA sensibilities and all that health mumbo jumbo. Tim would have these confiscated on the spot if he knew. Your trainer might actually put me in a chokehold.
[casual. easy. avoiding the fact that this is a highly inappropriate position for them to both be in right now - moreso hawk.
but he listens to embry, surprised at the first thing that comes out of his mouth. love wasn't on his mental bingo card - assuming it might instead be something along the lines of pleasing his mother or making money, which aren't invalid by any means. but it's impossible to think about anyone not being able to fall for embry after watching him on screen or from afar, wishing they might know someone quite so striking in both appearance and personality. even hawk found himself wanting to get to the center of what makes him tick after one performance and the look in his eyes splashed across tabloids even at his worse - and god, it makes him sound like some fucking desperate fixer when he'd like to pride himself it's anything but.
there's no response right away, hawk sucking in another breath of smoke and exhaling it straight upwards towards the ceiling in contemplation as he feels one of embry's fingers slide closer to the inseam of his trousers, so fucking tempting and yet just the thing to seal his own demise. instead he reaches down to grip at his wrist, lifting it up and away from his leg without judgment or derision. the same hand instead reaches for embry's jaw, featherlight as his own thumb runs across the strong line of it with a soft smile.]
I intend to, but the truth is - you really don't need me to make that happen.
[a pause, hand shifting again to brush through the swathe of unruly curls briefly before settling back in his own lap.]
They're already hungry for that - to know you.
This?
[his brows bounce suggestively.]
Is going to make them desperate to have you. And then I think my job will be about keeping you on a pedestal, away from prying hands and being picked apart by the ones who don't deserve you.
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My trainer has me on a strict routine. [ besides, one cigarette's not any worse than what he snorted on the way here. ] She keeps my body right. And tight.
[ there's a private little smile there even as hawk stays diplomatically switzerland about this whole thing, assessing him with an almost neutral glint in his eye. it's like fucking cocaine to embry, like daring him to take it a step further, to push a little more, to see how far hawkins fuller will let him go before he's ordered out of his office for misbehaving. even when hawk takes his wrist away and embry thinks for a moment that the scene is over, his hopes fizzle back to life with the graze of hawk's thumb along his jaw, an electric spark traveling in its wake. ]
That's not true. I do need you. [ embry's lashes flutter at the drag of his hair, leaning into the fleeting touch like a hungry cat. it's over far too quickly, hawk's hand out of reach again, and embry wants to dip into his lap and slide his head beneath his empty fingers again. ] Everything's looking up because of you. Because you gave me a chance in your movie.
[ it's genuine when he says it. even vivienne moore's influence had stretched to its limits at embry's undesirable antics β the drugs, the duis, the trashy clubs and his permanent place in the tabloids. he'd skipped out on his therapist so many times that he doesn't even remember her name. it was a vicious cycle β he drank all day and fucked all night because he blew all his auditions and couldn't land a job. he blew all his auditions and couldn't land a job because he drank all day and fucked all night. go fucking figure.
then hawk found him. embry's expression opens in sudden surprise, something raw and real and decidedly not camera-ready bleeding onto his face. it sounds like hawk would β protect him, which is absurd in this industry, because exploitation is the only way to make the wheels keep turning and the money roll in, but there's some desperately lovestruck part of him that wants to believe that if anyone could do that, hawk could.
maybe he should tell him. for a moment, he wants to. he wants to confess that his phone's burning a hole in his pocket, that he's being backed into a corner, that he's already leaked three of hawk's scripts and he'll find out two days from now that those projects are dead in the water before they can even start. maybe hawk can find his tape and destroy it. but he'd have to tell hawk it exists first.
he smiles, turning around to settle back on the rug, nestling right between hawk's legs. the back of his head pillows against hawk's thigh as he blows smoke rings toward the ceiling, one knee lazily drawn up while he kicks the other out. ]
Are you married, Mr. Fuller? [ his eyes glimmer up at him, the curve of his throat on display as he pulls the cigarette from his lips, stretching to reach the ashtray. ] I think your wife would be a lucky woman.