[ 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?
— 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?