[ 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.
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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.