[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.]
➤ 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.]