[this would be a hell of a lot easier if he could read minds, or if embry would stop being so goddamn nihilistic about himself and what his own presence means in the context of this - thing they've yet to define. safe to say it's long since passed a simple one-off or even just meaningless sex to stave off the stress of the job. no it isn't love, and it's sure as shit not a relationship in any sense of the word...but it's some purgatory between having caught real feelings and actually giving a shit what happens to embry when he's not around. thinking about him behind closed doors, and when he's sharing a bed with the guy past just fucking. it's funny he's maybe met the one person more emotionally constipated than hawk's been told he is by marcus - wouldn't he have a field day writing about this one.
so maybe the way he sets down his glass is a little louder than it needs to be. maybe his motion to grab a second one is faster, more agitated in the way he does it. it might be petty or telling on himself, but he thinks he has every right to be a little pissed off at the way embry's picking and choosing when to let ash be the light of his goddamned life. maybe the part he's most bitter about is that he has a sneaking, sinking suspicion that's something that will never go away, and it's not like he wants to replace it, but it'd be nice to know that the first person he's opened himself up to in any capacity since tim laughlin actually gave a shit about what that means. at least, before he screws his head back on straight and realizes how stupid it is anyway. embry could have his pick of anyone, the way hawk sees it. ash, probably greer, the woman at the conference - majority of the attendees too, while they're at it.
fuck, he feels a headache coming on. this is why he hates entanglements, why he should have just fucked him once and maybe let lyonesse slide and never let himself get in this deep.
(he'd started reading the book, knowing it wasn't left behind on accident. the highlighted pieces don't seem like coincidence, and it might have been foreplay tonight if - )
hawk turns smoothly, even though there's something sharp in his eyes as he slides the second tumbler of scotch across the surface of the bar with the indication that embry can come get it himself.]
I'm the one that warned you, if I recall.
[not a told you so - not by a long shot, because he doesn't like the thought of embry getting cornered or whatever the fuck happened that secret service apparently didn't have the sense to keep her at arm's length. unless embry let it happen on purpose, which is a very real possibility. even so, it doesn't really rankle hawk the same way thinking about him spending his entire goddamn privileged life pining after a man that may very well want him back if those lingering looks in the hallway are anything to go by.
but then his excuse sinks in, and - huh, he hadn't expected it to sting that bad. hawk plasters on his very best smarmy smile, the kind that doesn't reach his eyes, in which the sharpness has died out, and is reserved for homophobes, general annoyances, and the old windbags without a sense of reality who make life miserable for the rest of their constituents.]
All's well that ends well, then. Not a big deal.
Don't suppose you remember her name. Just to dot all the i's and cross our t's.
[strictly business, and whenever embry comes up to retrieve his glass, hawk will shove his own in a brusque clink against it without pretense to drain his own.]
[ it's becoming increasingly clear that he shouldn't have come. that maybe hawk had been hoping for that specific outcome. there's still time for embry to pick up his coat and walk out in a mockery of pretense that he ever had the upper hand here, and instead he claims his drink as if he isn't annoyed and a little spurned that hawk hadn't walked it over to him like he normally does. but — he deserves that, doesn't he? and a part of him sinks into the familiar comfort of his own self-loathing guilt, that he's the one that fucked this up, and didn't try very hard not to. hawk should've known it was coming, but then again, hawk doesn't really know embry. not the way that ash or morgan or any of the other people who know to leave him alone because he's not worth the time. ]
I don't remember her name. [ the lie comes easily, small and paper-white. his past entanglements are no business of hawk's, and irrelevant to boot. ] I just remember how it felt to fuck her. Good, but no need for an encore this many years later.
[ he takes a generous swallow, turning his eyes sharply to hawk as warmth spreads down through his chest. he's mad. fine. anger isn't new, though this string of desire and contentment has dulled his senses into thinking — what? that he and hawk actually have something? he should have tried harder to push hawk onto someone else at lyonesse. if there's anything embry should have learned by now, it's that he isn't made for anything real.
not that this is real. it's just... really fucking good sex, is all. good enough that ash's name has spilled from his lips, knocked out of him like a desolate curse. hawk has a way of prying him open that he should be far more alarmed about. ]
Something on your mind, Hawk? [ embry tips his glass again, his throat bobbing as he drains it in another few gulps like it's cheap beer instead of top shelf scotch. carelessly, he sets the glass down and pushes into hawk's space, defiance written into every line of his body. ] Something you want to say?
[ his mouth is like a dare, hovering close, liquor sweet, only the faintest stain of red smudging the edge of his lips. by their sides, his hand brushes hawk's fingers, gentle, before grasping his wrist in a punishing grip, holding him there like he expects hawk to disappear. ]
[no, maybe hawk doesn't know embry the way ash or morgan or greer or any of the bevy of others like red lipstick woman knew embry. but he'd thought he was getting at least an honest piece of it all the same - whoever embry was deciding to be without all of them breathing down his neck, or without having to look up at maxen fucking colchester from his feet in worship like modern idolatry. he's had the decency to keep tim out of this (even when embry won't), and yet the man still keeps a grip on him that has done more than intrude. one wrong text, the right move in bed - and there he is again, reflected in those baby blues like he's in the goddamn room orchestrating the whole thing. maybe he's a little fed up. he'd been willing to let it slide when he was too bruised over the loss of senator smith to protest, grateful to have company in a moment of unbearable weakness as one of the pillars of his entire world was torn down - but now?
now it's back to the real world, and he's not willing to play so nice anymore.
not when embry's going to disregard the instincts hawk has honed to protect his ass - warranted or not, and not when he's going to play coy like whatever the fuck this is hasn't drastically changed from the day they set foot in lyonesse. christ, it's not like he's looking for something high school like a relationship or a label. but sometimes embry acts like they're in one anyway, or at least has the nerve to throw shit in his face and then get hurt when hawk dishes it right back.
he's about to refill both their glasses out of habit, because despite his original plan to try and do something nice for embry like he'd hinted at - the kind of thing that probably sends that same mixed message he's pissed off about receiving - he's not about to kick the guy out. not because he signs his checks, and not because he doesn't deserve it for waltzing in here acting every shade of childish, but because maybe this is just foreplay and he'll fuck the truth out of him later, when he's pushing him onto the bed and making him rethink every snide comment and hissy fit he's constantly throwing. maybe he just likes the fight.
maybe his own considerations need to feel earned.
or maybe he's just constantly throwing shit at a wall to figure out embry, hoping it'll stick and failing miserably.]
Is that how you put it to her? I'm sure it went over real well. Or did you come to this revelation after she tried to stick her tongue in your mouth?
[suddenly that familiar waft of cologne is under his nose, the precise flavor this scotch gets when it's sucked off embry's lips tempting him unreasonably to just give in and lean down to taste it. but the fingertips trailing his wrist wrap around hard, and hawk sets down the bottle so it isn't another casualty of today.]
Did I say anything about wanting you to go?
[his wrist twists, fingers jerking around at the right angle to reverse their positions and wrap snug against embry's instead in one fluid motion. he pulls embry flush against him, wondering if there will be a struggle, another fuck you cast out casually.]
You seem to be reading into a lot these days. Seems more like there's something on your mind.
[a beat, and his voice lowers into the rough, graveled timbre when he's demanded embry pull him out or hold off his bliss a little longer.]
[ his nerve endings come to life with a pulse of heat, dancing to the rough stone of hawk's voice. their fling — and embry doesn't want to call it anything else now, doesn't want to admit that it could be anything else out of sheer fucking spite — means the press of hawk's body is familiar now, the corded lines of lean muscle, the sleek fabric of his suit, the woodsy spice soaking the pulse of his throat. the way hawk is looking at him, the way he's speaking to him sends a skitter of danger down his spine. he thought maybe he'd gotten away with it, his little slip during hawk's haze of grief, but no. the accusation is as pointed as a blade, and embry has nowhere to run.
ash's presence is suffocating as always — worse when he's already agitated, already guilty over more than just the ghosts lingering in his room. he never should have fallen into hawk's bed that night in the first place, not in the state hawk was in. embry knows well enough what it's like to bury your misery in a warm body, and all the shit that comes with it. ]
Jealousy's an interesting look on you.
[ since hawk has pulled him so close in his domineering, intimidating way, embry closes the minimal space between them and clashes their mouths together, giving him a deep, biting kiss, just narrowly stopping his hand from skimming up his perfect jawline and into the dark waves of his hair. he breaks the kiss with purpose, ignoring the skittish rhythm of his heart. ]
That's how it went over. That's how it felt. [ he licks his lips, steering hawk's attention back to the woman, the reason he should be mad, in a desperate attempt to bury any mentions of ash. ] You want me to rewind a couple years and show you how I fucked her, too?
[there's plenty of pettiness and spite for him to be mad about both. this would probably get him cancelled or whatever the hell their little social media intern is always parroting to their tired, fearless and compassionate millennial leader that has managed embry's accounts for months now - but it's ash that pisses him off more than some one-off woman. there's no real feelings there, most especially not when it was her embry was trying to escape to begin with. he's not jealous she ambushed him, more concerned that it happened than anything and what pandora's box this might have accidentally opened because this isn't his first rodeo and he's got that annoying, niggling instinct that this wasn't just some lonely past fuck looking to rekindle where there was no hope. that's not real competition.
it's another man in his bed that irks him, it's embry arched in ecstasy that hawk is doling out in ways he hasn't shared in almost three years with another human being only for it to be attributed to ash. it's not something as juvenile as jealousy because he knows that if ash were an available option embry might drop all of this in less time than it took for a heart to fucking beat to have it again - or at least, that's his increasingly sneaking suspicion. and no matter how perfect him and greer look holding hands, waving from balconies and gliding across a ballroom - sometimes tells him ash would do the same damn thing if the shoe were on the other foot. he doesn't know their whole sordid history, but he knows enough and it seems self-inflicted more than anything else. but he supposes if embry knew everything there was to the way him and tim ended - he'd have the right to laugh him out of his goddamn office talking about self-inflicted. it's like one of those irrational phobias - the knowledge that it can't hurt, that it's just a fucked up brain triggering all the wrong responses - but even knowing it doesn't make it go away. doesn't make someone choose the logical reactions. doesn't let things fall back into place easy.
christ.]
That's cute. If you're hoping for a catfight in the Olmstead Fountains over your honor, it's not happening.
[because it's not jealousy. and the last thing he's going to do is alert ash to this pining. maybe if he was a better man he would - but hawk can be just as selfish as embry thinks he is. and right now, he wants to chase after that delectable mouth and crush an arm around his waist so he can't go skittering off. wants to lick into velvety warmth and have him gasping for breath -
not separating from it and having hawk's eyes fly open before narrowing in annoyance at the charade.]
I get the picture. What I'm not getting is how the hell she came so close.
[the idea of more scotch is abandoned immediately, hand instead whipping out to grip embry's chin none too gently and drag him in for another searing kiss - almost too much - too fierce in the way he practically seeks to devour him from the inside out and too loud as he hums low against it. it should be dangerous how once he's started with this he can't quite seem to stop, ever since that hazy night of grief swathed in purple silk. it eats at him in a way he can't quite place, and that makes him angrier to have something that's been knocked loose from the otherwise well-oiled machine of his emotions.
angry enough to shift embry up against the bar, back hitting the countertop as one leg starts nudging between his thigh and his free hand reaches to yank at his tie and clack their teeth together as he breathes open-mouthed and disapproving against him.]
Had a nice evening planned, you know.
Nicer than whatever someone wearing that shade of red at 1:00 in the afternoon had going on.
[a pause, hawk knowing there's no going back once it's out of his mouth.]
And nicer than a man that's willing to watch you walk away without a fight probably has in him too.
[ he could let it go. he could fall into the kiss and start something new, slip a hook into hawk's want and angle it just the way he likes, the way they both like, because the desire between them is electric despite all the needling and vexation. embry has thrown enough petty tantrums that he knows how to get what he wants, most of the time, or at least some of the time, even if he is still figuring all of this out. both of them are. luckily, what he wants usually aligns with antagonizing whoever he's with, which makes things that much simpler.
but this is different. the words out of hawk's mouth stop him dead where he was previously distracted by the possibility of whatever nice thing hawk might have planned. the words hurt like a gunshot, and just like when he'd felt that first bite of fire sinking into his flesh back in carpathia, he reacts like a cornered animal, his fists digging into hawk's lapels, driving him across the room with a hard shove, just narrowly missing the coffee table. ]
He did fight for me!
[ he snarls it in hawk's perfect face, the hot prick of tears needling at his eyes. but the voice in the hollow part of his chest speaks up almost instantly: did he? didn't ash end it all the second embry couldn't give him everything? did he even try to understand that he had given him everything, every last drop of sweat and blood, wrung out at his feet? he'd thrown away every chance at happiness, given up the pursuit of ever having anyone else, all for ash. he'd stood by his side and watched him recite his wedding vows to jenny like it was nothing, like it hadn't destroyed something inside of him, and now — greer. ash gets second and third chances at happiness and embry can't even get one.
it takes several long seconds for the room to come back into focus. he has hawk pinned against the couch, his knee digging into his ribs. shards of crystal and smudged ash streak the floor from the ashtray that must have fallen and shattered when he'd shoved hawk across the room. embry's breath is ragged, his fingers shaking where he still holds fistfuls of hawk's collar. he feels flayed open, like he's just confessed to the very thing he vowed to suffer the burden of alone. it would be fitting if merlin materialized behind him and put him out of his misery.
he draws back, leaving hawk on the couch as he sidesteps the mess of broken glass, snatching his coat. he's seriously reached his quota of fuck-ups today, and he feels like hawk's broken ashtray, filthy and in pieces, and he just wants to be anywhere but here, where hawk's pity would be far, far worse than his punishment. ]
[for a minute he thinks maybe he's driven the point home well enough - or maybe it's just been the right amount of time passed to let it go. plenty of the shit wrapped up in ash has gone unquestioned - even when his name spilled out of embry's goddamn mouth in the middle of one of the more tender moments he's had a body in his bed and actually managed to connect with someone. not just anyone, but embry, who should know by now what that means on some level. so yeah - it seems like maybe he'll get his one mean quip in and they can move on like fucking adults. maybe embry will take a hint and finally try and move on instead of suspending himself in this limbo where he keeps hoping for the thing he's already denied and pushing good things away all the same.
(he knows he's not exactly a good thing though, but - good enough?)
but the second it lands something in embry's face twists and he knows it's torn him up as easily as if he'd just knifed him in the ribs. christ. and just as quickly hawk knows it's gonna be a fight - but a screaming match that ends with them vicious and horizontal would be preferable to the way he looks utterly broken by it, wounded immeasurably and covering it with a layer anger instead of lashing out with the vitriol itself. this wasn't supposed to actually hurt him, wasn't supposed to draw tears to the corner of his hauntingly pretty blue eyes and make them narrow at him with the iciness of real pain. so sure, the next logical step is for him to lash out - perfectly raw in the near childish insistence of one simple sentence - enough that it stops hawk from the way he'd been about to laugh in disbelief when the opposite seems truer.
it doesn't wholly catch him by surprise to feel fists at his chest, to be uprighted and shoved across the room before tumbling against the couch and letting embry's blind rage and the fever burning him from the inside out work its way into a visceral, physical manifestation of it all. he doesn't fight back in the slightest, letting him dig that knee against his ribs, knowing the ash tray he'd been given for his five-years of service at the white house is cracked to pieces and there's filth he'll have to clean up later. but none of that matters as he watches embry come back to himself with realization, stumbling up onto his feet and making for the exit.
that's exactly what he was expecting, and hawk mimics his movements by sidestepping the mess for now with his face hardened into a firm but imploring expression as he reaches for embry's arm. not hard enough to stop him if he were to insist - but enough to bring his attention back.]
He didn't.
[so what if he doesn't know the details. all he knows is - ]
Timothy Laughlin. The boy with the charity pitch.
[hawk sucks in a breath, shaking his head slightly, because it feels like it was punched out of him - a story he never meant to share, but that's tumbled out anyway because empathy seems like the best option. his voice is rough with a tinge of bitterness, unable to bite it back even now, even if he's told himself a hundred times and more that what's done is done.]
It's the same thing. I wanted him. Wanted to be with him. But I guess I didn't want it bad enough, because if I had - that's where I'd be right now.
[his jaw tightens, lips twitching for a moment as he draws in closer to look embry in the eye.]
Ash is the President of the goddamn United States. He's got more power in a his pinky than you and I combined. And you're saying - you're here with me because he fought for you?
[his expression isn't cruel, and it's not that he's trying to rub it in. but he's tired of seeing embry blame himself and pick at the same scab over and over again, deepening the wound.]
[ timothy laughlin. so embry had been close to the cracks in hawk's seemingly unbreakable shell, though the consolation prize of the admission doesn't fill him with any sense of satisfaction. he hurts suddenly for tim, who maybe wanted hawk as badly as embry wanted ash, viciously and hopelessly, and lost in the end. because hawk didn't want him badly enough.
he doesn't know which is true: that ash didn't want him badly enough to just give a goddamn inch and keep sneaking around until their presidential years were over, or embry didn't want him enough to sacrifice all the good that ash could do in office, all the good he could do for everyone else. all he knows is that he played ash like a fucking fiddle and the cruelty of his lies hold up to this day.
his knee-jerk reaction to hawk's grasp is to punch him, but he finds he can't move, his limbs brittle and aching as badly as his heart. the truth of this threatens to open its serrated mouth and swallow him whole. ]
Everything worked out — [ a low, quiet rasp, like an animal wounded. ] Exactly the way I wanted it to.
[ he'll never marry. never fall in love. never bring anyone home for christmas, just like he hasn't for the last thirty-odd years, and he'll die with a bottle of gin in his hand overlooking the lake house, because eventually ash will go off and raise horses in fucking montana with someone else and embry won't have anymore excuses to follow. he's mature enough to lie in the grave of his own making, at least, even if it makes him sick with grief.
he recovers his equilibrium and snatches his arm away from hawk, but he puts down his coat and goes to the closet instead, fumbling around until he returns with a broom. glass tinkles as he begins sweeping up the ashtray, his chest hollow and his skull buzzing. ]
People love Ash. They won't if they know he fucked me for years. [ loved him, wanted to marry him, would have given up his entire fucking future if embry had only said yes. his voice hardens, bitter to be raked over these old, familiar coals again. ] Everything I've done is to keep him in office. You're here as an extension of that. Don't forget it.
[ it's past noon when he's lucid enough to take in the flurry of missed calls and texts, his head throbbing with the most overwhelming hangover he's had since the day he had to watch ash say his marriage vows to someone else. there's a bottle of macallan 12 on the nightstand, two mismatched glasses from his bar. his sheets are soaked with sweat. he feels, literally, about three breaths away from giving up the fucking ghost.
he tries to sit up, but abandons the endeavor when pain spikes through his skull. no go. he's clearly not making it into the office today, which hawk has probably noticed by now. hawk also has a key to his place — which embry needs to fucking take back — but there's no evidence he's been by, and that... hurts, in a left field kind of way. he should, professionally, care if embry lives or dies, even if he personally does not.
[when embry has the time, he'll see at least two of those calls are from hawk from this morning. because he does care - both professionally and, damn it all to hell, personally too - if embry lives or dies. but he's been removed enough these past few weeks after embry walked out, through his own rat bastard stubbornness and a misplaced comment of intentional assholery not to notice anything too amiss.
he'll kick himself for that later, and it'll be his guilt to swallow like bile in his throat - but for now he just assumes embry's on some stupid bender, out late partying or drinking or snorting something he shouldn't. maybe he went and fucked that girl after all, and he wouldn't be the only one - not when hawk drove himself just outside dc lines on the maryland side and picked up someone with pretty blue eyes and dark jet hair. too bad the features weren't even passable, not even in the dim light of the hotel room - but all of them look the same more or less when they're shoved face first into a mattress.
the key to embry's place is burning a hole in his pocket, itching to be used, but hawk is trying his best to slog through this meeting on an upcoming fundraiser embry is supposed to be hosting to ash, biting his cheek through it and cursing the timing of it when his phone pings.
what the fuck?]
I called earlier. Take it you're not coming in today. I'll get the event planner started on the essentials.
[he could leave it at that. professional, disengaged. but he's had this nagging feeling something is off all along, stupidly chalking it up to embry in one of his moods.]
Why do you want to know that right now?
[another pause. his gut is telling him there's more to this.]
You'd get a better answer in person. I can be there in twenty.
[ oh. ash's fundraiser. well, hawk's on it, so all embry has to do is show up and convince everyone to throw money at their feet, which has always been the easy part. vivienne moore taught him well, after all.
good thing it's not today. today, he looks and feels like the shit on the bottom of someone's shoe. it can't have just been the scotch — he's too much of a seasoned drinker for that — but he doesn't remember crushing or snorting anything. he doesn't remember anything, actually, but clearly he'd shared a drink here. two glasses. he swallows in sudden discomfort, glancing around his bedroom. nothing else seems out of place, and secret service would have come in if anything had seemed amiss. he's been mad enough at hawk to start flirting with other people, and sure, it's conceivable he'd taken someone home. clearly, hawk isn't missing him, with all the mr. moore-ing he's been doing. ]
maybe i just wanted some conversation with my morning coffee.
[ his morning coffee at noon. he drags himself out of bed, grimacing at the stickiness between his legs. something shifts uncomfortably in his chest, and he buries it. ]
this isn't an invitation to come over. i'm busy. so? what about mr. laughlin wasn't good enough for you? he's smart. he's cute. i'd fuck him.
[morning coffee at noon. radio silence for anything other than work until suddenly tim gets brought up with something like sentiment. something is going on - a post quarter life crisis? hookup gone wrong? his mins is racing with the possibilities that are all reasonable, but then there are the ones that are not that unreasonable. what if he’d done something stupid like drink too much, mix the wrong sort of thing…?
he’s not waiting for an invitation to ask to move the meeting along and wrap up a little sooner - noting a hard stop in fifteen minutes that doesn’t exist.]
Tell you what - you like games. Let’s play one. An answer for an answer.
What are you busy with?
It had nothing to do with him not being good enough. You’re right. He is smart. Cute. Sweet.
[ somehow he thinks picking up the pieces of my goddamn life isn't the answer he should give hawk. he tilts the bottle, squinting at the label. nothing out of the ordinary. it's his own bottle from his own bar. one of the glasses has red lipstick on it.
red lipstick. jesus fuck.
so maybe he got blackout drunk and had sex with erin last night. not a big deal. he's fucked her before. just because he doesn't remember doesn't mean it wasn't good. sex is always good. ]
i want to get some reading done in the shower. your presence would be a distraction.
[ he's already turning on the water to wash the sweat and semen off his skin, avoiding looking at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. the light hurts. ]
what? he wanted to marry you?
[ he means it as a joke. marriage, the thorn in his side, the knife in his heart, the thing everyone thinks he doesn't want. ]
[he knows embry's schedule. there's a dozen other questions - like why the fuck he reads in the shower, or if he'd be a good distraction or a bad distraction right now - but that one seems less pointed.
that gives him pause though, because no - it wasn't even marriage. it makes things seem so much smaller in comparison. makes him sound like even worse of a bastard, even if he'd done it with at least one measure of good intent getting him out of a dangerous situation before someone else did far worse.]
He got too close - to a hard truth about the job and me. You know what they say about birds and stones. And even you can't complain about my efficiency.
[ he reads hawk's message after he's wrapped up in his turquoise tom ford bathrobe, courtesy of morgan from two christmases ago, water dripping from the dark waves of his hair. he feels only marginally more alive after his shower. ]
i overslept. drank too much last night.
[ it feels wrong to send that message, like maybe he should be saying more, like i don't remember anything that happened last night, and because he feels like puking his guts up, he starts brewing coffee in the kitchen.
he's starting to put the pieces together about tim, and it looks as bad as he can safely assume all of hawk's relationships look. he got too close. what the fuck does that mean? except embry knows exactly what that means, because ash had been too close from the start, and if only embry had listened to his gut the day ash had pinned him to the wall for being an insubordinate little shit the day they'd met, maybe he wouldn't be miserable right now. ]
you work for me now. you can date anyone you want. do you still want him?
[that much was inferred. still - embry's not one even at his worst to not be able to handle feeling a little rough in the morning. this feels different.]
Where'd you go drinking?
[it's too goddamn early for this interrogation though. he's regretting playing along - but if it's supposed to be a peace offering for this stupid stand off they've been in since last time they were in close quarters, he'll take it. if only to make sure he's alright and satisfy this niggling alarm blaring in his head that something is off.
it's been long enough anyway that he can at least talk about it. kind of.]
Not the right question to ask.
That door is shut; it'll only open on one side. And it isn't mine.
[ it happens as he’s putting on his shoes with an overpriced croissant hanging precariously from his mouth, trying to make sure the crumbs hit the floor and not his blazer. his phone starts buzzing, which isn’t new, but then it doesn’t stop, which is sort of new and definitely fucking annoying.
it’s hawk. embry is actually going to pick up and tell him that he’s not late to the meeting, everyone else is just early, and yes, he’s walking out the door now, but then his phone buzzes again. it’s the white house publicist, and then it’s an aide, and then it’s his goddamn mother. embry crunches into the rest of the croissant, trying to decide which fire to face first, and then morgan sends a text that only says what the fuck is this? with a link to a video.
morgan doesn’t text him for small talk or casual pleasantries. something begins gnawing in the pit of his stomach as he dodges another one of hawk’s calls to tap on the link, a grainy video popping up on the screen. his bedroom. a girl with dark lipstick, most of her face obscured by the angle. him.
he watches in eerie silence, barely breathing, hearing his easy laughter on the video, watching himself kiss and bite and fuck a girl from his past to a bruising orgasm. she tumbles him to the bed after, using his tie to bind his wrists together as she rides his cock, her hair a veil shadowing her face. he only realizes that time is still passing when he registers hawk’s name continually popping up at the top of the screen, missed call after missed call that turn into demanding texts. call me. where are you? pick up the goddamn phone.
he has to remember how to breathe before he walks out the door. his lungs feel too tight, like he’s being held underwater, like his head is about to fucking explode. his night of poisonously bad decisions had been weeks ago, and he hasn’t thought of it since, more than happy to forget all the things he can’t seem to remember — but this is a punch in the gut, a shock to the system, and he realizes abruptly that the reason his phone won’t stop going off is because it’s all over the internet.
the world found out the same time that he did.
********
a combination of washington traffic and needing to hide out in the car before making his way inside means it takes him an hour to get to the office. an hour in which he doesn’t answer any of hawk’s calls. an hour for embry to spiral into his worst self, so when he does walk in, he doesn’t go to the person who would bury a body to solve this for him. he ignores hawk entirely save for a scorching look and a rude brush by, stalking with purpose to ash’s door instead, striding in without knocking, trying to look as poised as possible while his heart threatens to hammer straight out of his chest.
ash will know what to do. ash will always know what to do. embry is on the very brink of panicking, his eyes wide and skittish, and he just needs — something solid and familiar, something that hasn’t been ruined by his touch. he wants ash to put his hands on his shoulders and wrestle him down to his knees so that embry doesn’t have to think and doesn’t have to feel anything except for ash’s overwhelming presence, and everything will be okay after that, because ash will take care if it. ash will take care of him.
the look ash gives him drives something sharper than a blade through the softest part of his heart. before embry can even open his mouth, ash levels a question at him.
this is what you wanted instead of what we had? that sort of life — that’s good enough for you?
it eviscerates him. embry feels every argument evaporate, every reason he walked in here fly out the window. he feels footsteps at his back — hawk, lurking in the goddamn doorway. embry looks at ash and fights the prickle of tears in his eyes, keeps his composure like he always does. ash’s disappointment is crushing, like his bones are being physically squeezed to breaking. ash doesn’t know. embry realizes then that nobody knows, and that’s the only power he has left here — that he can pretend that he wanted this, that he remembers any of this, that at least it was a good night, and he was just being his usual careless, rankly promiscuous self. ]
Yeah. It’s good enough for me. [ embry straightens his shoulders but has the grace to look slightly ashamed. ] I didn’t know she was gonna leak the recording, okay? It was just supposed to be fun. I’m sorry. It was stupid, and I’m sorry. That’s all I came to say. I’ll do whatever needs to be done for damage control.
[ then he turns and walks out, needing to escape ash’s presence as quickly as possible, though it doesn’t help feeling hawk’s eyes raking over him, as intimate as a lover — or an executioner. they make it to embry’s office, and embry grabs the first thing off his desk — a box of pens — and hurls it at the wall with a curse. the pens go streaming across the floor as embry scrubs a hand down his face, heaving out a breath. he reminds himself to breathe, that no one knows, that he’s lied with fucking excellence before, and he can sell this one, too. planting himself on the corner of his desk, he grips the edges of the wood to keep his hands from shaking. ]
So, did you watch it? Did you rub one out to me? [ casually, he crosses his ankles. ] Where’s my coffee?
[embry must have learned his lesson about what happens when hawk has to wait over an hour and a half for the latest must-have monstrosity that's migrated over from new york - cronuts, crookie - can't people just leave a goddamn croissant alone instead of bastardizing it? he knows the morning order as well as the back of his own hand, but sometimes he's not obligated to pick it up. usually when embry is trying to genuinely avoid something which lately seems to squarely fall onto his shoulders as the main attraction. or rather the entire blunder from the night of smith's funeral to the bitch with the lipstick to waking up looking like death and pretending it was all fine - to now playing this game of pretend professionalism in between. it's gotten mostly to a level of tolerable: the banter, the flirtation, the aggravation hawk knows he only does to get a rise out of embry and vice versa. he can pretend to avoid the mess that's been neatly swept under the carpet if that's how he wants to play it.
but hawk learned a long time ago: someone is usually going to trip, kick it up, and bring it to light when you least want it dragged out.
that day happens to be today - and he's sitting at embry's desk with his feet kicked up, flicking through the paper and the latest polling numbers when the social equivalent of nuclear apocalypse strikes. embry's phone isn't the only one blowing up - not when hawk has an automated list of google alerts, pings, and enough tracking on his name to make the night stalker look like a fucking nun. there's a sinking feeling in his gut before he even opens the first one as they keep pouring in - politico to twitter, bbc to al jazeera, fox new - christ, it's like armageddon. there's a moment where the knot in his chest tightens, afraid something fucking awful has happened like embry in an accident, somewhere out on dc pavement or crumpled into his black escalade without hawk there to help - but in some ways it's worse than that.
he knew this wasn't a coincidence. he fucking knew this girl was bad news, looking for some kind of come-up - but what's the point here? what was the goal out of this? his head tells him to immediately call in the troops: send in the glass he'd nicked from embry's condo weeks ago that's still in a ziplock bag, ready to be tested for ghb, rohypnol, and everything in between. reach out to one of his pd's to dig up everything on this girl from her alma mater to where she's most likely to take a piss on a tuesday at supper hour. but it's his heart - or maybe his dick - that has him jamming down the speed dial on his contacts for embry, over and over even if he already knows it won't get answered. he punches out a few texts: get here now. pick up. goddamn it embry. and then - definitely not at the direction of his dick: it's going to be okay.
because that's the thing, his fury isn't directed at all towards the man that's still technically his boss. he's not looking at this like it's some other bender-induced fuck-up that'll ruin his reputation or bring heat to ash's chanced at re-election, even if that should be one of the main priorities. it's certainly embry's, according to his very pointed declaration that he has in stark white and blue in the form of a text. no, instead it's pointed squarely at the woman who orchestrated this for some ulterior motive that he's going to get to the bottom of. but it manages to take a detour - not at embry, strolling in looking like he's got one wrong gust of wind that might topple him over, not embry who ignores him like he's no more interesting than a piece of furniture in this room, but at ash, the fucking asshole who somehow thinks that any of this was embry's fault. that anyone in their right mind would want this shit to have happened, that he'd ever think to put ash at risk when it's the one person that seems to have consumed him from the inside out.
bet he didn't think about that.
in his head, hawk does something idiotic like vault over the desk and punch him in that perfect jaw to wipe away the disappointment that veers so closely to the disgust he remembers from his own father - he pushes him down against the desk and holds him by the neck like a golden retriever that's stolen steak off the counter and imparts upon him just how wrong he is about this, and most importantly about embry. instead, he does the responsible thing and lets embry have the grace to get into his own office and sit on his own for a few moments, uncrossing his arms from where he'd been perched against the door frame and fluidly pushing off to come right up to the solid oak timbers and knock at it lightly with a fist, as if testing the sturdiness before speaking with an irreverence he'd only lob at the most intolerable of bastards.
i've got this under control. but you know - it's really a shame you can't be bothered to see past your own ego and understand him.
hawk turns on his heel and doesn't bother waiting for a response before stepping into the office and expecting his former seat occupied, which it is, but not the crunch of a pen under his oxford that clattered against the door moments before shutting it behind them both. he's not taking the bait on this, not even going to bother dignifying it with a response because a few grainy screenshots were enough for him to know he didn't need to see any more, didn't need to violate embry's privacy any further.]
I drank it an hour ago. I'll get you another one as soon as you sit the fuck down and talk to me.
[hawk strides into the room with an easy prowess, the kind of calm and collected he's excelled at, even if a part of him worries embry won't ever see him that way since the mess he'd come across in the nights after smith's death. but he doesn't stand over him and lord that, instead dropping down onto his haunches and looking up to try and catch embry's gaze.]
Look at me.
[he'll repeat himself if he has to, until he can see ocean blue in his vicinity, even if looks as unsteady as the tides against crashing waves right now.]
[ so, no coffee. no stimulants to get him through this moment. he knows hawk always carries cigarettes, but it would be uncouth to start smoking in the west wing. pouring himself a glass of scotch from the bottle sitting by the philodendron seems a little too much like telling on himself, so he stays put, watching hawk treat him like a skittish mare about to bolt. it's a little too on the nose. ]
It's not? [ it comes out as a derisive scoff, clearly disbelieving. ] I knew what could happen when I made the video. I did it anyway.
[ it's almost believable. embry would make a tape; he's the type of guy that has no limits, irreverent and dissolute and born into enough wealth that for the majority of his life, normal problems didn't exist for him. but wealth hadn't protected him from falling in love. it hadn't shielded his heart from ash. no amount of money or privilege has been able to patch whatever inherently broken thing exists within him that makes it impossible for him to love and be loved in a normal way. so he would make that video and he would fuck anyone with a pulse, but the problem is that he would rather swallow glass for the rest of his life than tarnish ash's chances at reelection with a monumental fuck-up like this.
and hawk knows that. because hawk knows him. the realization that he's been flaying his heart and fooling ash for years but might not be able to convince hawk of a lie for two minutes hits him like a rush of cold water.
being stripped naked, leashed by the cock, and led around the room like a dog would be less humiliating than meeting hawk's eyes in this moment. his pulse quickens the second he does, shame and fear and a sick sense of nausea prickling down his rigid spine. he tries to channel morgan's reptilian sense of efficiency, her form of ruthless bloodletting when it comes to delivering the truth. his phone buzzes next to his hand, which it's been doing nonstop so it's become background noise, but he happens to look down and see a text from his stepsister herself, his chest locking up at the unexpected sincerity. embry, are you okay? ]
I didn't tell you because — [ his eyes feel too warm, his cheeks flaming with sudden heat. hold it together. ] Because we weren't — [ his blunt nails dig into the lip of the table, his knuckles white. every word feels intensely far away, like he's grasping at clouds. he blinks and something wet spills down his cheek, his eyes wide and glassy as he chokes out — ] I didn't know. Hawk — I don't remember. I don't remember anything from that night.
[this might be the one time he'd let a drink or a smoke both this early and in the west wing slide. at its core, soley based on optics: this is bad. really fucking bad - it makes any good will embry's drummed up with voters as ash's loyal second-in-command wash right down the drain, tenuous as it already was given the current liberal disdain for nepotism and hedonism that seem to go hand in hand these days. the only saving grace is that they're smack dab in the middle of four years, only halfway through with plenty of time for this to blow over even if he's waiting for the aftershocks to keep coming for the next few weeks. until whatever other scandal can top a sex tape leaking of the vice president of the fucking united states of america.
and the worst part of it is?
hawk knows what he's looking at. no one else is going to see that footage and think it's anything other than reckless horniness and a rampant night of romping around. they're going to think it's consensual, because they don't recognize the way embry's smile is lopsided and his movements are sluggish compared to the way he bites back in bed, the way he's too pliant and being lead around with a docility like he's taken a wrong turn down an alley at the beckon of a passingly attractive face and lips that are too bright and gotten a face full of scopalamine. the average voter doesn't own the luxury of knowing what embry looks like when he's really falling apart, arched in ecstasy instead of lying back and just letting it all happen. there's a part of hawk that wants nothing more than to walk out this office, track this bitch down, and find a convincing way to get rid of her for good. to play judge, jury, and yeah - executioner.
but there's already the rumblings of an escape route murmuring in he back of his head, not that embry is any state to hear it right now. the immediate thing is coaxing him into acceptance first, and imparting upon him that no matter what the fucked up state of them is, embry is still his first priority always. it's his job to know, to see past the facade he puts up for ash that apparently the man is too thick-skulled to see through. that, or it's more convenient to pretend now that greer is in the picture. not hawk, even if that means compromising his own feelings in the meantime. he can take it on; he suspects he's far better at this game of bifurcation than embry ever has been.
he lets him tell the lie, because he's long since accepted that it has to tumble out before he realizes it won't work on hawk the same way it works on ash. maybe someday they can cut to the chase, but it's not this day. hawk reaches out to press the power button on embry's phone, turning it off completely before flipping it face down to avoid any further distractions and maybe help the world feel less urgent right now. his own pocket has been a steady stream of vibration all fucking morning since news broke, but only the few texts he's fired off to his people are the ones that count right now. embry's still the top of that list.
the one thing he's not sure of is whether or not he'll recoil from touch right now, so he starts with something tentative: a hand at his wrist, the same thing that's always managed to draw him in. thumb light against his pulsepoint, meant to reassure more than measure.]
I know. Don't worry about that right now.
[don't worry about us, he almost says. but he lets embry either come to his own realization or get out what he's suspected all along, making sure to keep pity out of his gaze because he suspects it's the last thing someone this skittish would want.]
That's what I was afraid of when I came by.
[he reaches up, unable to stop from brushing away the tear that rolls down his cheek and keeping it there for a brief moment of tenderness he's not sure he's earned.]
Look, I'll get to the bottom of this and take care of it. It's bad right now, but the press and the shitstorm - and him and especially her, I don't want you to think about that.
[he pauses, voice lowering as he leans in a little closer.]
[ jesus fuck, he's about to lose it. hawk comes closer and all embry wants to do is bury his face in the shoulder of his suit, to envelop himself in his familiar vetiver scent, to block out the world until nothing exists but the press of his body to hawk's. he should've never stopped chasing whatever the thing was that existed between them, leaving himself open to his old, ruinous habits that always, always lead to a sticky, intoxicated, devastating end. it's the story of his goddamn life, that he blows every chance he gets and then deserves it every time the blade drops right onto his neck.
of course hawk suspected. hawk knows him better than he knows himself, and the thought is just as frightening as how he's drifting away from ash as the months go by. ]
Yes — I don't know. [ if he trusts him. if he trusts anyone right now, if he even wants anyone to help. he would lie in this goddamn bed and let the press eat him alive if it didn't mean risking ash's entire career. ] I fucked up. God, I fucked up.
[ his breath hitches as he leans into the fleeting brush of hawk's fingers, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment to expel the tears that keep threatening to fall, his lashes spiked when he opens them again. he can't cry here, even if he wants to sob like a goddamn baby, something like shock settling over him like a gossamer web. his hair falls into his eyes as he tips forward to rest his forehead against hawk's chest, guilt poisoning his tongue. he's not good enough for hawk's sympathy, for his comfort. not after this. ]
You have to watch it. [ he slides his hand into hawk's pocket, his fingers closing around his phone, shoving it against him once he pulls it out. he ignores the tremor in his fingers, misery and anger squeezing his heart. ] It's your goddamn job to watch it.
[yeah, as far as fuck ups go - it's a pretty bad one. or it would be if it was intentional, the way embry's trying to play it off for ash as an irresponsible night of drinking and flirting and tumbling into bed with an old flame. but it's not that, because nobody would fucking ask to be drugged through their already tortured thoughts and taken advantage of like that. that's not embry's brand of self-loathing or punishment. it's...well, hawk knows exactly what it is, but if he says the four letter word that sums it up succinctly he's afraid he'll watch embry shake apart in real time and utterly fall to pieces. what he needs right now is to know someone's in his corner, and that while this is the last thing ash or anyone else wants to deal with, hawk is going to clean up the mess. he's going to do his goddamn job, which actually does not require him to watch it, even if embry seems determined to get him to do it.]
Hey. Listen to me right now, Embry.
You didn't fuck this up, do you understand me?
[christ, why does the sudden thought of how he'd have treated tim in similar circumstances lance through him right now? he knows he's a ruthless son-of-a-bitch at best, and half the west wing would laugh till tears were in their eyes thinking about the smooth, polite aide that's risen in ranks with his sharp suits, even sharper favors and facts hidden away up his sleeve and in his pockets. a shark in the water - that the kind of man hawkins fuller is. maybe he has gone soft. maybe he's weak to let his own feelings cloud this - but at its core, this is a clear case of right and wrong. embry didn't choose this. nobody would. so while there's probably a lecture and an "i told you so" about the woman that raised his hackles in the first place, that's not the priority here.
he waits for acknowledgment before he stands up, keeping his presence less than imposing until embry slumps forward against him. his arms lift, slow and gentle - still worried he might startle at the touch - before settling around his shoulders and lightly rubbing along his back.]
This isn't on you.
[there are so many words he might say that all sound wrong, hollow and pitying which is the last thing embry would want - you were a victim. she took advantage. you're going to be okay.
he feels light pressure against his breastbone, glancing down to see embry fishing out his phone and blinking in surprise when he pulls back. his brows furrow briefly before smoothing out, the plan that had been rotating like the gears of his daily tuned watch finally clicking into succinct place. his voice is neutral, calm even as he fixes embry with a look.]
I don't have to watch it. [not because it's the right thing, or even because he doesn't want to see him hurt, but - ] It was my video. I did this. Too much scotch, a late night after putting in the time for you at the office - needed to blow off steam.
[he'll take the fall. all the heat that would come his way - it's nothing compared to embry having to admit what really happened.]
[ hawk's voice sounds faraway. embry feels distant from his own body, his own thoughts, like he's losing the battle to keep his head above water, to not succumb to the demons living in his chest that spout vicious truths about him. he did fuck this up. this is on him. and ash is never going to look at him the same way again, not that he was looking at him at all anyway, and it's been over for so fucking long that embry is so fucking pathetically stupid for not being able to get the fuck over it.
there is something so monumentally wrong with him. cosmically wrong. the taste of regret is rancid on his tongue. the urge to sink to his knees, to crawl across the carpet and beg for forgiveness is so strong, so compelling, that he nearly blacks out from how hard he's fighting against himself. he sees himself doing it, only in his mind's eye when he looks up, he's not kneeling at ash's feet. it's hawk he's gazing up at, every muscle pliant and willing and ready to be broken by him.
he shakes out of his stupor like someone's just thrown a rock at his head, still sitting at the edge of his desk, still leaning slightly into hawk's solid frame, still caught in whatever magnetism exists between them when they get close. he hears hawk's words on a delayed loop, his mouth already still but his voice unspooling like a child pulling the tape out of a cassette. ]
What the fuck did you just say?
[ his heart thuds an irregular beat, wishing hawk would shut the fuck up, wishing he hadn't just said exactly what he did, because it's out now, and embry can't stop him from repeating it outside of this room short of stuffing his corpse in the closet. ash and hawk. two people that no matter how much he begs and pleads of them, he will never get what he wants. ]
Hawk. [ he's fully present in the moment now, his shock making his ice-blue eyes glitter with something close to panic. ] You can't. You can't take the fall for this. It's not — I'm not —
[ worth it. he lunges to his feet, staggering straight into hawk as he grasps his collar, giving him a hard shake as if he can reorganize his brain and change his mind. ]
Don't. [ he sounds wretched, heartbroken. tears prick the corners of his eyes for a completely different reason as his lungs swell painfully. ] Please. Don't do this for me. I'm a bad person. Everyone should just know.
[it's firm but gentle in its insistence, trying to break through the haze he knows must be washing over him from the way he's slumped against hawk, surrendering inch by inch and opening himself up for what he must expect to be punishment. and maybe another time hawk will take him up on that - bend his body and watch him arch in the inescapable grip of white hot overstimulation until his mind is filled with nothing but pleasure and the sensation of being owned by someone who doesn't give a fuck about his dirty deeds and his fuckups. someone without the same haughty disappointment as ash - someone who, fuck, he sounds like he's in a romcom thinking like this. but embry is someone who deserves to be absolved of these notions, that he should suffer and consume himself with the need that he even needs forgiveness.
hawk told him already - what he needs is someone to kiss him and do it often. and by extension, someone who doesn't have a goddamn expectation in the world or a pedestal he's got to struggle to stay off of.
months ago he would have been furious, would have come up with a way to say the footage was doctored or find a solution that might partially stick but wouldn't convince majority of americans already looking for a reason to raise their pitchforks against a pretty politician with just enough of a reputation to go pissing off a few key segments of voters. and maybe hawk won't admit what it is deep down that makes him want to protect embry like this, but that's what he's going to do all the same and sweep it under the easy rug of duty: he's doing his job. this is what he's here for, the one who can get his hands dirty like he used to for senator smith. because embry might not see himself as good and worthy, but hawk does. and even if he's a fucking asshole in the way he communicates it - ash does too.
his hands slide along the nape of embry's neck, lifting to cup his face when the man pushes up erratically onto his feet like he's still sluggishly feeling the after-effects of the drugs that dragged him into this situation in the first place. it would be so easy to push down his hands and sidestep his frantic clutching, but hawk lets it happen and takes the force of it with a placid smile. there's nothing mocking in it like there might have been under different circumstances - watching embry splinter apart under the weight of his judgment with an easy i told you so mixed into the appraisal under icy eyes and an even cooler head. there's something warm in hawk's gaze now, something he wishes he could impart even if affection and words surrounding them have never been his forte. one thumb swipes up, sliding to catch one of the errant tears before it can slide down his cheeks. it's unfair how embry wears his woe as well as one of the many finely fitted suits in his closet back home - but hawk doesn't want to see it. certainly not on his behalf.]
I can and I will.
You might torture yourself day in and day out for whatever it is that you think is better for him, but you're not a bad person. Maybe you do bad things sometimes, but christ, don't we all?
[he's trying to keep it light, conversational - as if he's merely talking about embry's occasional sticky fingers when it comes to fishing cigarettes out of his suit pockets.]
A bad person wouldn't do what you just did in there. A bad person wouldn't be trying to talk me out of it.
[a bad person wouldn't have been able to be taken advantage of - but he thinks that might break him if he says it out loud. so instead, before he can think better, hawk pushes forward and presses a soft kiss to the top of embry's forehead, patting his cheek and pulling back.]
I'm gonna take care of it, and then you and I are gonna get the fuck out of here and let this blow over.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
— VISUALS.
➤ 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑢𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑
so maybe the way he sets down his glass is a little louder than it needs to be. maybe his motion to grab a second one is faster, more agitated in the way he does it. it might be petty or telling on himself, but he thinks he has every right to be a little pissed off at the way embry's picking and choosing when to let ash be the light of his goddamned life. maybe the part he's most bitter about is that he has a sneaking, sinking suspicion that's something that will never go away, and it's not like he wants to replace it, but it'd be nice to know that the first person he's opened himself up to in any capacity since tim laughlin actually gave a shit about what that means. at least, before he screws his head back on straight and realizes how stupid it is anyway. embry could have his pick of anyone, the way hawk sees it. ash, probably greer, the woman at the conference - majority of the attendees too, while they're at it.
fuck, he feels a headache coming on. this is why he hates entanglements, why he should have just fucked him once and maybe let lyonesse slide and never let himself get in this deep.
(he'd started reading the book, knowing it wasn't left behind on accident. the highlighted pieces don't seem like coincidence, and it might have been foreplay tonight if - )
hawk turns smoothly, even though there's something sharp in his eyes as he slides the second tumbler of scotch across the surface of the bar with the indication that embry can come get it himself.]
I'm the one that warned you, if I recall.
[not a told you so - not by a long shot, because he doesn't like the thought of embry getting cornered or whatever the fuck happened that secret service apparently didn't have the sense to keep her at arm's length. unless embry let it happen on purpose, which is a very real possibility. even so, it doesn't really rankle hawk the same way thinking about him spending his entire goddamn privileged life pining after a man that may very well want him back if those lingering looks in the hallway are anything to go by.
but then his excuse sinks in, and - huh, he hadn't expected it to sting that bad. hawk plasters on his very best smarmy smile, the kind that doesn't reach his eyes, in which the sharpness has died out, and is reserved for homophobes, general annoyances, and the old windbags without a sense of reality who make life miserable for the rest of their constituents.]
All's well that ends well, then. Not a big deal.
Don't suppose you remember her name. Just to dot all the i's and cross our t's.
[strictly business, and whenever embry comes up to retrieve his glass, hawk will shove his own in a brusque clink against it without pretense to drain his own.]
no subject
I don't remember her name. [ the lie comes easily, small and paper-white. his past entanglements are no business of hawk's, and irrelevant to boot. ] I just remember how it felt to fuck her. Good, but no need for an encore this many years later.
[ he takes a generous swallow, turning his eyes sharply to hawk as warmth spreads down through his chest. he's mad. fine. anger isn't new, though this string of desire and contentment has dulled his senses into thinking — what? that he and hawk actually have something? he should have tried harder to push hawk onto someone else at lyonesse. if there's anything embry should have learned by now, it's that he isn't made for anything real.
not that this is real. it's just... really fucking good sex, is all. good enough that ash's name has spilled from his lips, knocked out of him like a desolate curse. hawk has a way of prying him open that he should be far more alarmed about. ]
Something on your mind, Hawk? [ embry tips his glass again, his throat bobbing as he drains it in another few gulps like it's cheap beer instead of top shelf scotch. carelessly, he sets the glass down and pushes into hawk's space, defiance written into every line of his body. ] Something you want to say?
[ his mouth is like a dare, hovering close, liquor sweet, only the faintest stain of red smudging the edge of his lips. by their sides, his hand brushes hawk's fingers, gentle, before grasping his wrist in a punishing grip, holding him there like he expects hawk to disappear. ]
If you want me to go, you have to make me.
no subject
now it's back to the real world, and he's not willing to play so nice anymore.
not when embry's going to disregard the instincts hawk has honed to protect his ass - warranted or not, and not when he's going to play coy like whatever the fuck this is hasn't drastically changed from the day they set foot in lyonesse. christ, it's not like he's looking for something high school like a relationship or a label. but sometimes embry acts like they're in one anyway, or at least has the nerve to throw shit in his face and then get hurt when hawk dishes it right back.
he's about to refill both their glasses out of habit, because despite his original plan to try and do something nice for embry like he'd hinted at - the kind of thing that probably sends that same mixed message he's pissed off about receiving - he's not about to kick the guy out. not because he signs his checks, and not because he doesn't deserve it for waltzing in here acting every shade of childish, but because maybe this is just foreplay and he'll fuck the truth out of him later, when he's pushing him onto the bed and making him rethink every snide comment and hissy fit he's constantly throwing. maybe he just likes the fight.
maybe his own considerations need to feel earned.
or maybe he's just constantly throwing shit at a wall to figure out embry, hoping it'll stick and failing miserably.]
Is that how you put it to her? I'm sure it went over real well. Or did you come to this revelation after she tried to stick her tongue in your mouth?
[suddenly that familiar waft of cologne is under his nose, the precise flavor this scotch gets when it's sucked off embry's lips tempting him unreasonably to just give in and lean down to taste it. but the fingertips trailing his wrist wrap around hard, and hawk sets down the bottle so it isn't another casualty of today.]
Did I say anything about wanting you to go?
[his wrist twists, fingers jerking around at the right angle to reverse their positions and wrap snug against embry's instead in one fluid motion. he pulls embry flush against him, wondering if there will be a struggle, another fuck you cast out casually.]
You seem to be reading into a lot these days. Seems more like there's something on your mind.
[a beat, and his voice lowers into the rough, graveled timbre when he's demanded embry pull him out or hold off his bliss a little longer.]
Actually, maybe it's someone.
no subject
ash's presence is suffocating as always — worse when he's already agitated, already guilty over more than just the ghosts lingering in his room. he never should have fallen into hawk's bed that night in the first place, not in the state hawk was in. embry knows well enough what it's like to bury your misery in a warm body, and all the shit that comes with it. ]
Jealousy's an interesting look on you.
[ since hawk has pulled him so close in his domineering, intimidating way, embry closes the minimal space between them and clashes their mouths together, giving him a deep, biting kiss, just narrowly stopping his hand from skimming up his perfect jawline and into the dark waves of his hair. he breaks the kiss with purpose, ignoring the skittish rhythm of his heart. ]
That's how it went over. That's how it felt. [ he licks his lips, steering hawk's attention back to the woman, the reason he should be mad, in a desperate attempt to bury any mentions of ash. ] You want me to rewind a couple years and show you how I fucked her, too?
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it's another man in his bed that irks him, it's embry arched in ecstasy that hawk is doling out in ways he hasn't shared in almost three years with another human being only for it to be attributed to ash. it's not something as juvenile as jealousy because he knows that if ash were an available option embry might drop all of this in less time than it took for a heart to fucking beat to have it again - or at least, that's his increasingly sneaking suspicion. and no matter how perfect him and greer look holding hands, waving from balconies and gliding across a ballroom - sometimes tells him ash would do the same damn thing if the shoe were on the other foot. he doesn't know their whole sordid history, but he knows enough and it seems self-inflicted more than anything else. but he supposes if embry knew everything there was to the way him and tim ended - he'd have the right to laugh him out of his goddamn office talking about self-inflicted. it's like one of those irrational phobias - the knowledge that it can't hurt, that it's just a fucked up brain triggering all the wrong responses - but even knowing it doesn't make it go away. doesn't make someone choose the logical reactions. doesn't let things fall back into place easy.
christ.]
That's cute. If you're hoping for a catfight in the Olmstead Fountains over your honor, it's not happening.
[because it's not jealousy. and the last thing he's going to do is alert ash to this pining. maybe if he was a better man he would - but hawk can be just as selfish as embry thinks he is. and right now, he wants to chase after that delectable mouth and crush an arm around his waist so he can't go skittering off. wants to lick into velvety warmth and have him gasping for breath -
not separating from it and having hawk's eyes fly open before narrowing in annoyance at the charade.]
I get the picture. What I'm not getting is how the hell she came so close.
[the idea of more scotch is abandoned immediately, hand instead whipping out to grip embry's chin none too gently and drag him in for another searing kiss - almost too much - too fierce in the way he practically seeks to devour him from the inside out and too loud as he hums low against it. it should be dangerous how once he's started with this he can't quite seem to stop, ever since that hazy night of grief swathed in purple silk. it eats at him in a way he can't quite place, and that makes him angrier to have something that's been knocked loose from the otherwise well-oiled machine of his emotions.
angry enough to shift embry up against the bar, back hitting the countertop as one leg starts nudging between his thigh and his free hand reaches to yank at his tie and clack their teeth together as he breathes open-mouthed and disapproving against him.]
Had a nice evening planned, you know.
Nicer than whatever someone wearing that shade of red at 1:00 in the afternoon had going on.
[a pause, hawk knowing there's no going back once it's out of his mouth.]
And nicer than a man that's willing to watch you walk away without a fight probably has in him too.
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but this is different. the words out of hawk's mouth stop him dead where he was previously distracted by the possibility of whatever nice thing hawk might have planned. the words hurt like a gunshot, and just like when he'd felt that first bite of fire sinking into his flesh back in carpathia, he reacts like a cornered animal, his fists digging into hawk's lapels, driving him across the room with a hard shove, just narrowly missing the coffee table. ]
He did fight for me!
[ he snarls it in hawk's perfect face, the hot prick of tears needling at his eyes. but the voice in the hollow part of his chest speaks up almost instantly: did he? didn't ash end it all the second embry couldn't give him everything? did he even try to understand that he had given him everything, every last drop of sweat and blood, wrung out at his feet? he'd thrown away every chance at happiness, given up the pursuit of ever having anyone else, all for ash. he'd stood by his side and watched him recite his wedding vows to jenny like it was nothing, like it hadn't destroyed something inside of him, and now — greer. ash gets second and third chances at happiness and embry can't even get one.
it takes several long seconds for the room to come back into focus. he has hawk pinned against the couch, his knee digging into his ribs. shards of crystal and smudged ash streak the floor from the ashtray that must have fallen and shattered when he'd shoved hawk across the room. embry's breath is ragged, his fingers shaking where he still holds fistfuls of hawk's collar. he feels flayed open, like he's just confessed to the very thing he vowed to suffer the burden of alone. it would be fitting if merlin materialized behind him and put him out of his misery.
he draws back, leaving hawk on the couch as he sidesteps the mess of broken glass, snatching his coat. he's seriously reached his quota of fuck-ups today, and he feels like hawk's broken ashtray, filthy and in pieces, and he just wants to be anywhere but here, where hawk's pity would be far, far worse than his punishment. ]
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(he knows he's not exactly a good thing though, but - good enough?)
but the second it lands something in embry's face twists and he knows it's torn him up as easily as if he'd just knifed him in the ribs. christ. and just as quickly hawk knows it's gonna be a fight - but a screaming match that ends with them vicious and horizontal would be preferable to the way he looks utterly broken by it, wounded immeasurably and covering it with a layer anger instead of lashing out with the vitriol itself. this wasn't supposed to actually hurt him, wasn't supposed to draw tears to the corner of his hauntingly pretty blue eyes and make them narrow at him with the iciness of real pain. so sure, the next logical step is for him to lash out - perfectly raw in the near childish insistence of one simple sentence - enough that it stops hawk from the way he'd been about to laugh in disbelief when the opposite seems truer.
it doesn't wholly catch him by surprise to feel fists at his chest, to be uprighted and shoved across the room before tumbling against the couch and letting embry's blind rage and the fever burning him from the inside out work its way into a visceral, physical manifestation of it all. he doesn't fight back in the slightest, letting him dig that knee against his ribs, knowing the ash tray he'd been given for his five-years of service at the white house is cracked to pieces and there's filth he'll have to clean up later. but none of that matters as he watches embry come back to himself with realization, stumbling up onto his feet and making for the exit.
that's exactly what he was expecting, and hawk mimics his movements by sidestepping the mess for now with his face hardened into a firm but imploring expression as he reaches for embry's arm. not hard enough to stop him if he were to insist - but enough to bring his attention back.]
He didn't.
[so what if he doesn't know the details. all he knows is - ]
Timothy Laughlin. The boy with the charity pitch.
[hawk sucks in a breath, shaking his head slightly, because it feels like it was punched out of him - a story he never meant to share, but that's tumbled out anyway because empathy seems like the best option. his voice is rough with a tinge of bitterness, unable to bite it back even now, even if he's told himself a hundred times and more that what's done is done.]
It's the same thing. I wanted him. Wanted to be with him. But I guess I didn't want it bad enough, because if I had - that's where I'd be right now.
[his jaw tightens, lips twitching for a moment as he draws in closer to look embry in the eye.]
Ash is the President of the goddamn United States. He's got more power in a his pinky than you and I combined. And you're saying - you're here with me because he fought for you?
[his expression isn't cruel, and it's not that he's trying to rub it in. but he's tired of seeing embry blame himself and pick at the same scab over and over again, deepening the wound.]
Don't believe it for a second.
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he doesn't know which is true: that ash didn't want him badly enough to just give a goddamn inch and keep sneaking around until their presidential years were over, or embry didn't want him enough to sacrifice all the good that ash could do in office, all the good he could do for everyone else. all he knows is that he played ash like a fucking fiddle and the cruelty of his lies hold up to this day.
his knee-jerk reaction to hawk's grasp is to punch him, but he finds he can't move, his limbs brittle and aching as badly as his heart. the truth of this threatens to open its serrated mouth and swallow him whole. ]
Everything worked out — [ a low, quiet rasp, like an animal wounded. ] Exactly the way I wanted it to.
[ he'll never marry. never fall in love. never bring anyone home for christmas, just like he hasn't for the last thirty-odd years, and he'll die with a bottle of gin in his hand overlooking the lake house, because eventually ash will go off and raise horses in fucking montana with someone else and embry won't have anymore excuses to follow. he's mature enough to lie in the grave of his own making, at least, even if it makes him sick with grief.
he recovers his equilibrium and snatches his arm away from hawk, but he puts down his coat and goes to the closet instead, fumbling around until he returns with a broom. glass tinkles as he begins sweeping up the ashtray, his chest hollow and his skull buzzing. ]
People love Ash. They won't if they know he fucked me for years. [ loved him, wanted to marry him, would have given up his entire fucking future if embry had only said yes. his voice hardens, bitter to be raked over these old, familiar coals again. ] Everything I've done is to keep him in office. You're here as an extension of that. Don't forget it.
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— the morning after.
he tries to sit up, but abandons the endeavor when pain spikes through his skull. no go. he's clearly not making it into the office today, which hawk has probably noticed by now. hawk also has a key to his place — which embry needs to fucking take back — but there's no evidence he's been by, and that... hurts, in a left field kind of way. he should, professionally, care if embry lives or dies, even if he personally does not.
to show evidence that he is, in fact, alive — ]
what made you not want timothy laughlin?
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he'll kick himself for that later, and it'll be his guilt to swallow like bile in his throat - but for now he just assumes embry's on some stupid bender, out late partying or drinking or snorting something he shouldn't. maybe he went and fucked that girl after all, and he wouldn't be the only one - not when hawk drove himself just outside dc lines on the maryland side and picked up someone with pretty blue eyes and dark jet hair. too bad the features weren't even passable, not even in the dim light of the hotel room - but all of them look the same more or less when they're shoved face first into a mattress.
the key to embry's place is burning a hole in his pocket, itching to be used, but hawk is trying his best to slog through this meeting on an upcoming fundraiser embry is supposed to be hosting to ash, biting his cheek through it and cursing the timing of it when his phone pings.
what the fuck?]
I called earlier. Take it you're not coming in today. I'll get the event planner started on the essentials.
[he could leave it at that. professional, disengaged. but he's had this nagging feeling something is off all along, stupidly chalking it up to embry in one of his moods.]
Why do you want to know that right now?
[another pause. his gut is telling him there's more to this.]
You'd get a better answer in person. I can be there in twenty.
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good thing it's not today. today, he looks and feels like the shit on the bottom of someone's shoe. it can't have just been the scotch — he's too much of a seasoned drinker for that — but he doesn't remember crushing or snorting anything. he doesn't remember anything, actually, but clearly he'd shared a drink here. two glasses. he swallows in sudden discomfort, glancing around his bedroom. nothing else seems out of place, and secret service would have come in if anything had seemed amiss. he's been mad enough at hawk to start flirting with other people, and sure, it's conceivable he'd taken someone home. clearly, hawk isn't missing him, with all the mr. moore-ing he's been doing. ]
maybe i just wanted some conversation with my morning coffee.
[ his morning coffee at noon. he drags himself out of bed, grimacing at the stickiness between his legs. something shifts uncomfortably in his chest, and he buries it. ]
this isn't an invitation to come over. i'm busy.
so? what about mr. laughlin wasn't good enough for you?
he's smart. he's cute. i'd fuck him.
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he’s not waiting for an invitation to ask to move the meeting along and wrap up a little sooner - noting a hard stop in fifteen minutes that doesn’t exist.]
Tell you what - you like games. Let’s play one. An answer for an answer.
What are you busy with?
It had nothing to do with him not being good enough. You’re right. He is smart. Cute. Sweet.
Tim wanted something I couldn’t give him.
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red lipstick. jesus fuck.
so maybe he got blackout drunk and had sex with erin last night. not a big deal. he's fucked her before. just because he doesn't remember doesn't mean it wasn't good. sex is always good. ]
i want to get some reading done in the shower. your presence would be a distraction.
[ he's already turning on the water to wash the sweat and semen off his skin, avoiding looking at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. the light hurts. ]
what? he wanted to marry you?
[ he means it as a joke. marriage, the thorn in his side, the knife in his heart, the thing everyone thinks he doesn't want. ]
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[he knows embry's schedule. there's a dozen other questions - like why the fuck he reads in the shower, or if he'd be a good distraction or a bad distraction right now - but that one seems less pointed.
that gives him pause though, because no - it wasn't even marriage. it makes things seem so much smaller in comparison. makes him sound like even worse of a bastard, even if he'd done it with at least one measure of good intent getting him out of a dangerous situation before someone else did far worse.]
He got too close - to a hard truth about the job and me. You know what they say about birds and stones. And even you can't complain about my efficiency.
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i overslept. drank too much last night.
[ it feels wrong to send that message, like maybe he should be saying more, like i don't remember anything that happened last night, and because he feels like puking his guts up, he starts brewing coffee in the kitchen.
he's starting to put the pieces together about tim, and it looks as bad as he can safely assume all of hawk's relationships look. he got too close. what the fuck does that mean? except embry knows exactly what that means, because ash had been too close from the start, and if only embry had listened to his gut the day ash had pinned him to the wall for being an insubordinate little shit the day they'd met, maybe he wouldn't be miserable right now. ]
you work for me now. you can date anyone you want.
do you still want him?
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Where'd you go drinking?
[it's too goddamn early for this interrogation though. he's regretting playing along - but if it's supposed to be a peace offering for this stupid stand off they've been in since last time they were in close quarters, he'll take it. if only to make sure he's alright and satisfy this niggling alarm blaring in his head that something is off.
it's been long enough anyway that he can at least talk about it. kind of.]
Not the right question to ask.
That door is shut; it'll only open on one side. And it isn't mine.
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— taking hits every time i play this game.
it’s hawk. embry is actually going to pick up and tell him that he’s not late to the meeting, everyone else is just early, and yes, he’s walking out the door now, but then his phone buzzes again. it’s the white house publicist, and then it’s an aide, and then it’s his goddamn mother. embry crunches into the rest of the croissant, trying to decide which fire to face first, and then morgan sends a text that only says what the fuck is this? with a link to a video.
morgan doesn’t text him for small talk or casual pleasantries. something begins gnawing in the pit of his stomach as he dodges another one of hawk’s calls to tap on the link, a grainy video popping up on the screen. his bedroom. a girl with dark lipstick, most of her face obscured by the angle. him.
he watches in eerie silence, barely breathing, hearing his easy laughter on the video, watching himself kiss and bite and fuck a girl from his past to a bruising orgasm. she tumbles him to the bed after, using his tie to bind his wrists together as she rides his cock, her hair a veil shadowing her face. he only realizes that time is still passing when he registers hawk’s name continually popping up at the top of the screen, missed call after missed call that turn into demanding texts. call me. where are you? pick up the goddamn phone.
he has to remember how to breathe before he walks out the door. his lungs feel too tight, like he’s being held underwater, like his head is about to fucking explode. his night of poisonously bad decisions had been weeks ago, and he hasn’t thought of it since, more than happy to forget all the things he can’t seem to remember — but this is a punch in the gut, a shock to the system, and he realizes abruptly that the reason his phone won’t stop going off is because it’s all over the internet.
the world found out the same time that he did.
********
a combination of washington traffic and needing to hide out in the car before making his way inside means it takes him an hour to get to the office. an hour in which he doesn’t answer any of hawk’s calls. an hour for embry to spiral into his worst self, so when he does walk in, he doesn’t go to the person who would bury a body to solve this for him. he ignores hawk entirely save for a scorching look and a rude brush by, stalking with purpose to ash’s door instead, striding in without knocking, trying to look as poised as possible while his heart threatens to hammer straight out of his chest.
ash will know what to do. ash will always know what to do. embry is on the very brink of panicking, his eyes wide and skittish, and he just needs — something solid and familiar, something that hasn’t been ruined by his touch. he wants ash to put his hands on his shoulders and wrestle him down to his knees so that embry doesn’t have to think and doesn’t have to feel anything except for ash’s overwhelming presence, and everything will be okay after that, because ash will take care if it. ash will take care of him.
the look ash gives him drives something sharper than a blade through the softest part of his heart. before embry can even open his mouth, ash levels a question at him.
this is what you wanted instead of what we had? that sort of life — that’s good enough for you?
it eviscerates him. embry feels every argument evaporate, every reason he walked in here fly out the window. he feels footsteps at his back — hawk, lurking in the goddamn doorway. embry looks at ash and fights the prickle of tears in his eyes, keeps his composure like he always does. ash’s disappointment is crushing, like his bones are being physically squeezed to breaking. ash doesn’t know. embry realizes then that nobody knows, and that’s the only power he has left here — that he can pretend that he wanted this, that he remembers any of this, that at least it was a good night, and he was just being his usual careless, rankly promiscuous self. ]
Yeah. It’s good enough for me. [ embry straightens his shoulders but has the grace to look slightly ashamed. ] I didn’t know she was gonna leak the recording, okay? It was just supposed to be fun. I’m sorry. It was stupid, and I’m sorry. That’s all I came to say. I’ll do whatever needs to be done for damage control.
[ then he turns and walks out, needing to escape ash’s presence as quickly as possible, though it doesn’t help feeling hawk’s eyes raking over him, as intimate as a lover — or an executioner. they make it to embry’s office, and embry grabs the first thing off his desk — a box of pens — and hurls it at the wall with a curse. the pens go streaming across the floor as embry scrubs a hand down his face, heaving out a breath. he reminds himself to breathe, that no one knows, that he’s lied with fucking excellence before, and he can sell this one, too. planting himself on the corner of his desk, he grips the edges of the wood to keep his hands from shaking. ]
So, did you watch it? Did you rub one out to me? [ casually, he crosses his ankles. ] Where’s my coffee?
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but hawk learned a long time ago: someone is usually going to trip, kick it up, and bring it to light when you least want it dragged out.
that day happens to be today - and he's sitting at embry's desk with his feet kicked up, flicking through the paper and the latest polling numbers when the social equivalent of nuclear apocalypse strikes. embry's phone isn't the only one blowing up - not when hawk has an automated list of google alerts, pings, and enough tracking on his name to make the night stalker look like a fucking nun. there's a sinking feeling in his gut before he even opens the first one as they keep pouring in - politico to twitter, bbc to al jazeera, fox new - christ, it's like armageddon. there's a moment where the knot in his chest tightens, afraid something fucking awful has happened like embry in an accident, somewhere out on dc pavement or crumpled into his black escalade without hawk there to help - but in some ways it's worse than that.
he knew this wasn't a coincidence. he fucking knew this girl was bad news, looking for some kind of come-up - but what's the point here? what was the goal out of this? his head tells him to immediately call in the troops: send in the glass he'd nicked from embry's condo weeks ago that's still in a ziplock bag, ready to be tested for ghb, rohypnol, and everything in between. reach out to one of his pd's to dig up everything on this girl from her alma mater to where she's most likely to take a piss on a tuesday at supper hour. but it's his heart - or maybe his dick - that has him jamming down the speed dial on his contacts for embry, over and over even if he already knows it won't get answered. he punches out a few texts: get here now. pick up. goddamn it embry. and then - definitely not at the direction of his dick: it's going to be okay.
because that's the thing, his fury isn't directed at all towards the man that's still technically his boss. he's not looking at this like it's some other bender-induced fuck-up that'll ruin his reputation or bring heat to ash's chanced at re-election, even if that should be one of the main priorities. it's certainly embry's, according to his very pointed declaration that he has in stark white and blue in the form of a text. no, instead it's pointed squarely at the woman who orchestrated this for some ulterior motive that he's going to get to the bottom of. but it manages to take a detour - not at embry, strolling in looking like he's got one wrong gust of wind that might topple him over, not embry who ignores him like he's no more interesting than a piece of furniture in this room, but at ash, the fucking asshole who somehow thinks that any of this was embry's fault. that anyone in their right mind would want this shit to have happened, that he'd ever think to put ash at risk when it's the one person that seems to have consumed him from the inside out.
bet he didn't think about that.
in his head, hawk does something idiotic like vault over the desk and punch him in that perfect jaw to wipe away the disappointment that veers so closely to the disgust he remembers from his own father - he pushes him down against the desk and holds him by the neck like a golden retriever that's stolen steak off the counter and imparts upon him just how wrong he is about this, and most importantly about embry. instead, he does the responsible thing and lets embry have the grace to get into his own office and sit on his own for a few moments, uncrossing his arms from where he'd been perched against the door frame and fluidly pushing off to come right up to the solid oak timbers and knock at it lightly with a fist, as if testing the sturdiness before speaking with an irreverence he'd only lob at the most intolerable of bastards.
i've got this under control. but you know - it's really a shame you can't be bothered to see past your own ego and understand him.
hawk turns on his heel and doesn't bother waiting for a response before stepping into the office and expecting his former seat occupied, which it is, but not the crunch of a pen under his oxford that clattered against the door moments before shutting it behind them both. he's not taking the bait on this, not even going to bother dignifying it with a response because a few grainy screenshots were enough for him to know he didn't need to see any more, didn't need to violate embry's privacy any further.]
I drank it an hour ago. I'll get you another one as soon as you sit the fuck down and talk to me.
[hawk strides into the room with an easy prowess, the kind of calm and collected he's excelled at, even if a part of him worries embry won't ever see him that way since the mess he'd come across in the nights after smith's death. but he doesn't stand over him and lord that, instead dropping down onto his haunches and looking up to try and catch embry's gaze.]
Look at me.
[he'll repeat himself if he has to, until he can see ocean blue in his vicinity, even if looks as unsteady as the tides against crashing waves right now.]
This isn't your fault, Embry.
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It's not? [ it comes out as a derisive scoff, clearly disbelieving. ] I knew what could happen when I made the video. I did it anyway.
[ it's almost believable. embry would make a tape; he's the type of guy that has no limits, irreverent and dissolute and born into enough wealth that for the majority of his life, normal problems didn't exist for him. but wealth hadn't protected him from falling in love. it hadn't shielded his heart from ash. no amount of money or privilege has been able to patch whatever inherently broken thing exists within him that makes it impossible for him to love and be loved in a normal way. so he would make that video and he would fuck anyone with a pulse, but the problem is that he would rather swallow glass for the rest of his life than tarnish ash's chances at reelection with a monumental fuck-up like this.
and hawk knows that. because hawk knows him. the realization that he's been flaying his heart and fooling ash for years but might not be able to convince hawk of a lie for two minutes hits him like a rush of cold water.
being stripped naked, leashed by the cock, and led around the room like a dog would be less humiliating than meeting hawk's eyes in this moment. his pulse quickens the second he does, shame and fear and a sick sense of nausea prickling down his rigid spine. he tries to channel morgan's reptilian sense of efficiency, her form of ruthless bloodletting when it comes to delivering the truth. his phone buzzes next to his hand, which it's been doing nonstop so it's become background noise, but he happens to look down and see a text from his stepsister herself, his chest locking up at the unexpected sincerity. embry, are you okay? ]
I didn't tell you because — [ his eyes feel too warm, his cheeks flaming with sudden heat. hold it together. ] Because we weren't — [ his blunt nails dig into the lip of the table, his knuckles white. every word feels intensely far away, like he's grasping at clouds. he blinks and something wet spills down his cheek, his eyes wide and glassy as he chokes out — ] I didn't know. Hawk — I don't remember. I don't remember anything from that night.
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and the worst part of it is?
hawk knows what he's looking at. no one else is going to see that footage and think it's anything other than reckless horniness and a rampant night of romping around. they're going to think it's consensual, because they don't recognize the way embry's smile is lopsided and his movements are sluggish compared to the way he bites back in bed, the way he's too pliant and being lead around with a docility like he's taken a wrong turn down an alley at the beckon of a passingly attractive face and lips that are too bright and gotten a face full of scopalamine. the average voter doesn't own the luxury of knowing what embry looks like when he's really falling apart, arched in ecstasy instead of lying back and just letting it all happen. there's a part of hawk that wants nothing more than to walk out this office, track this bitch down, and find a convincing way to get rid of her for good. to play judge, jury, and yeah - executioner.
but there's already the rumblings of an escape route murmuring in he back of his head, not that embry is any state to hear it right now. the immediate thing is coaxing him into acceptance first, and imparting upon him that no matter what the fucked up state of them is, embry is still his first priority always. it's his job to know, to see past the facade he puts up for ash that apparently the man is too thick-skulled to see through. that, or it's more convenient to pretend now that greer is in the picture. not hawk, even if that means compromising his own feelings in the meantime. he can take it on; he suspects he's far better at this game of bifurcation than embry ever has been.
he lets him tell the lie, because he's long since accepted that it has to tumble out before he realizes it won't work on hawk the same way it works on ash. maybe someday they can cut to the chase, but it's not this day. hawk reaches out to press the power button on embry's phone, turning it off completely before flipping it face down to avoid any further distractions and maybe help the world feel less urgent right now. his own pocket has been a steady stream of vibration all fucking morning since news broke, but only the few texts he's fired off to his people are the ones that count right now. embry's still the top of that list.
the one thing he's not sure of is whether or not he'll recoil from touch right now, so he starts with something tentative: a hand at his wrist, the same thing that's always managed to draw him in. thumb light against his pulsepoint, meant to reassure more than measure.]
I know. Don't worry about that right now.
[don't worry about us, he almost says. but he lets embry either come to his own realization or get out what he's suspected all along, making sure to keep pity out of his gaze because he suspects it's the last thing someone this skittish would want.]
That's what I was afraid of when I came by.
[he reaches up, unable to stop from brushing away the tear that rolls down his cheek and keeping it there for a brief moment of tenderness he's not sure he's earned.]
Look, I'll get to the bottom of this and take care of it. It's bad right now, but the press and the shitstorm - and him and especially her, I don't want you to think about that.
[he pauses, voice lowering as he leans in a little closer.]
I'm gonna take care of you.
Do you trust me?
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of course hawk suspected. hawk knows him better than he knows himself, and the thought is just as frightening as how he's drifting away from ash as the months go by. ]
Yes — I don't know. [ if he trusts him. if he trusts anyone right now, if he even wants anyone to help. he would lie in this goddamn bed and let the press eat him alive if it didn't mean risking ash's entire career. ] I fucked up. God, I fucked up.
[ his breath hitches as he leans into the fleeting brush of hawk's fingers, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment to expel the tears that keep threatening to fall, his lashes spiked when he opens them again. he can't cry here, even if he wants to sob like a goddamn baby, something like shock settling over him like a gossamer web. his hair falls into his eyes as he tips forward to rest his forehead against hawk's chest, guilt poisoning his tongue. he's not good enough for hawk's sympathy, for his comfort. not after this. ]
You have to watch it. [ he slides his hand into hawk's pocket, his fingers closing around his phone, shoving it against him once he pulls it out. he ignores the tremor in his fingers, misery and anger squeezing his heart. ] It's your goddamn job to watch it.
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Hey. Listen to me right now, Embry.
You didn't fuck this up, do you understand me?
[christ, why does the sudden thought of how he'd have treated tim in similar circumstances lance through him right now? he knows he's a ruthless son-of-a-bitch at best, and half the west wing would laugh till tears were in their eyes thinking about the smooth, polite aide that's risen in ranks with his sharp suits, even sharper favors and facts hidden away up his sleeve and in his pockets. a shark in the water - that the kind of man hawkins fuller is. maybe he has gone soft. maybe he's weak to let his own feelings cloud this - but at its core, this is a clear case of right and wrong. embry didn't choose this. nobody would. so while there's probably a lecture and an "i told you so" about the woman that raised his hackles in the first place, that's not the priority here.
he waits for acknowledgment before he stands up, keeping his presence less than imposing until embry slumps forward against him. his arms lift, slow and gentle - still worried he might startle at the touch - before settling around his shoulders and lightly rubbing along his back.]
This isn't on you.
[there are so many words he might say that all sound wrong, hollow and pitying which is the last thing embry would want - you were a victim. she took advantage. you're going to be okay.
he feels light pressure against his breastbone, glancing down to see embry fishing out his phone and blinking in surprise when he pulls back. his brows furrow briefly before smoothing out, the plan that had been rotating like the gears of his daily tuned watch finally clicking into succinct place. his voice is neutral, calm even as he fixes embry with a look.]
I don't have to watch it. [not because it's the right thing, or even because he doesn't want to see him hurt, but - ] It was my video. I did this. Too much scotch, a late night after putting in the time for you at the office - needed to blow off steam.
[he'll take the fall. all the heat that would come his way - it's nothing compared to embry having to admit what really happened.]
Yeah?
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there is something so monumentally wrong with him. cosmically wrong. the taste of regret is rancid on his tongue. the urge to sink to his knees, to crawl across the carpet and beg for forgiveness is so strong, so compelling, that he nearly blacks out from how hard he's fighting against himself. he sees himself doing it, only in his mind's eye when he looks up, he's not kneeling at ash's feet. it's hawk he's gazing up at, every muscle pliant and willing and ready to be broken by him.
he shakes out of his stupor like someone's just thrown a rock at his head, still sitting at the edge of his desk, still leaning slightly into hawk's solid frame, still caught in whatever magnetism exists between them when they get close. he hears hawk's words on a delayed loop, his mouth already still but his voice unspooling like a child pulling the tape out of a cassette. ]
What the fuck did you just say?
[ his heart thuds an irregular beat, wishing hawk would shut the fuck up, wishing he hadn't just said exactly what he did, because it's out now, and embry can't stop him from repeating it outside of this room short of stuffing his corpse in the closet. ash and hawk. two people that no matter how much he begs and pleads of them, he will never get what he wants. ]
Hawk. [ he's fully present in the moment now, his shock making his ice-blue eyes glitter with something close to panic. ] You can't. You can't take the fall for this. It's not — I'm not —
[ worth it. he lunges to his feet, staggering straight into hawk as he grasps his collar, giving him a hard shake as if he can reorganize his brain and change his mind. ]
Don't. [ he sounds wretched, heartbroken. tears prick the corners of his eyes for a completely different reason as his lungs swell painfully. ] Please. Don't do this for me. I'm a bad person. Everyone should just know.
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[it's firm but gentle in its insistence, trying to break through the haze he knows must be washing over him from the way he's slumped against hawk, surrendering inch by inch and opening himself up for what he must expect to be punishment. and maybe another time hawk will take him up on that - bend his body and watch him arch in the inescapable grip of white hot overstimulation until his mind is filled with nothing but pleasure and the sensation of being owned by someone who doesn't give a fuck about his dirty deeds and his fuckups. someone without the same haughty disappointment as ash - someone who, fuck, he sounds like he's in a romcom thinking like this. but embry is someone who deserves to be absolved of these notions, that he should suffer and consume himself with the need that he even needs forgiveness.
hawk told him already - what he needs is someone to kiss him and do it often. and by extension, someone who doesn't have a goddamn expectation in the world or a pedestal he's got to struggle to stay off of.
months ago he would have been furious, would have come up with a way to say the footage was doctored or find a solution that might partially stick but wouldn't convince majority of americans already looking for a reason to raise their pitchforks against a pretty politician with just enough of a reputation to go pissing off a few key segments of voters. and maybe hawk won't admit what it is deep down that makes him want to protect embry like this, but that's what he's going to do all the same and sweep it under the easy rug of duty: he's doing his job. this is what he's here for, the one who can get his hands dirty like he used to for senator smith. because embry might not see himself as good and worthy, but hawk does. and even if he's a fucking asshole in the way he communicates it - ash does too.
his hands slide along the nape of embry's neck, lifting to cup his face when the man pushes up erratically onto his feet like he's still sluggishly feeling the after-effects of the drugs that dragged him into this situation in the first place. it would be so easy to push down his hands and sidestep his frantic clutching, but hawk lets it happen and takes the force of it with a placid smile. there's nothing mocking in it like there might have been under different circumstances - watching embry splinter apart under the weight of his judgment with an easy i told you so mixed into the appraisal under icy eyes and an even cooler head. there's something warm in hawk's gaze now, something he wishes he could impart even if affection and words surrounding them have never been his forte. one thumb swipes up, sliding to catch one of the errant tears before it can slide down his cheeks. it's unfair how embry wears his woe as well as one of the many finely fitted suits in his closet back home - but hawk doesn't want to see it. certainly not on his behalf.]
I can and I will.
You might torture yourself day in and day out for whatever it is that you think is better for him, but you're not a bad person. Maybe you do bad things sometimes, but christ, don't we all?
[he's trying to keep it light, conversational - as if he's merely talking about embry's occasional sticky fingers when it comes to fishing cigarettes out of his suit pockets.]
A bad person wouldn't do what you just did in there. A bad person wouldn't be trying to talk me out of it.
[a bad person wouldn't have been able to be taken advantage of - but he thinks that might break him if he says it out loud. so instead, before he can think better, hawk pushes forward and presses a soft kiss to the top of embry's forehead, patting his cheek and pulling back.]
I'm gonna take care of it, and then you and I are gonna get the fuck out of here and let this blow over.
Okay?
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