[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.]
no subject
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?