[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.
no subject
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.