You say that, but I've nearly mastered doing it with my eyes open.
[his own expression is perfectly - probably quite annoyingly - placid about this whole thing. but of course he's not, not really. he's fucking furious, though he's smart enough to know embry is going to want to lick his own wounds before he opens up if ever about what he's been through. there's a part of him that wonders if he's even accepted what it is that happened to him or if he's playing the game of denial just like he does every time ash glances his way. it's still a strange thing to feel like he wants to let him open up and spill his guts about everything, regardless of how or if it cuts hawk himself. months ago when he'd first walked in and realized this was a past fling, he would have headed straight for the door and insisted this kind of shit was above his paygrade.
and now?
now he smoothly pushes himself up and out of the chair after downing his own whiskey and casually takes his time loosening his tie on the way to the distinctive sleeping area that embry is sulking on one side of. it's easy reading between the lines now - come here, get in with me, even if it sounds more like a generic statement of fact. the strip of silk is tossed casually on one of the bolted down nightstands, hawk slipping off his own blazer and hanging it in the very same space across the bed on what is clearly now his side. then comes his belt too, shoes, and his shirt and undershirt, leaving his chest bare without the intention of letting his scar come into view again. it's funny how unthinking it is at times when it once was the center of his entire goddamn life - answering prying questions, trying to move past the trauma that had put it there.
it's a testament to his state of mostly recovered that he steps up to the bed, fingers running light against the top of the mattress as he gazes down at embry. even in his obvious exhaustion he manages to look achingly good - enough that hawk wishes whatever this unspoken schism between them might mend itself back together and let him have the privilege of barreling back towards whatever it was they were about to be. christ, he sounds like a fucking high schooler.
hawk sits at the edge first before kicking up his feet, crossing them at the ankles and resting a bent arm underneath his head like an extra pillow. his chin turns, enough that he can face embry halfway - letting him decide if he wants to meet him halfway or turn away all together.]
No.
[if he was feeling petty he might ask about prague. but he's not.]
But there's no hard feelings - I told you I wanted to retire there, didn't I? Besides, Velletri's a long way south. Practically a whole new world, or whatever the hell they sing about.
[it's your turn to recuperate, he almost says, knowing better. but his own voice dips into a quiet rumble, unable to keep the affection from seeping into it.]
Would you visit? If I park myself up in a nice villa, waterside, and pick up sailing in my old age?
no subject
[his own expression is perfectly - probably quite annoyingly - placid about this whole thing. but of course he's not, not really. he's fucking furious, though he's smart enough to know embry is going to want to lick his own wounds before he opens up if ever about what he's been through. there's a part of him that wonders if he's even accepted what it is that happened to him or if he's playing the game of denial just like he does every time ash glances his way. it's still a strange thing to feel like he wants to let him open up and spill his guts about everything, regardless of how or if it cuts hawk himself. months ago when he'd first walked in and realized this was a past fling, he would have headed straight for the door and insisted this kind of shit was above his paygrade.
and now?
now he smoothly pushes himself up and out of the chair after downing his own whiskey and casually takes his time loosening his tie on the way to the distinctive sleeping area that embry is sulking on one side of. it's easy reading between the lines now - come here, get in with me, even if it sounds more like a generic statement of fact. the strip of silk is tossed casually on one of the bolted down nightstands, hawk slipping off his own blazer and hanging it in the very same space across the bed on what is clearly now his side. then comes his belt too, shoes, and his shirt and undershirt, leaving his chest bare without the intention of letting his scar come into view again. it's funny how unthinking it is at times when it once was the center of his entire goddamn life - answering prying questions, trying to move past the trauma that had put it there.
it's a testament to his state of mostly recovered that he steps up to the bed, fingers running light against the top of the mattress as he gazes down at embry. even in his obvious exhaustion he manages to look achingly good - enough that hawk wishes whatever this unspoken schism between them might mend itself back together and let him have the privilege of barreling back towards whatever it was they were about to be. christ, he sounds like a fucking high schooler.
hawk sits at the edge first before kicking up his feet, crossing them at the ankles and resting a bent arm underneath his head like an extra pillow. his chin turns, enough that he can face embry halfway - letting him decide if he wants to meet him halfway or turn away all together.]
No.
[if he was feeling petty he might ask about prague. but he's not.]
But there's no hard feelings - I told you I wanted to retire there, didn't I? Besides, Velletri's a long way south. Practically a whole new world, or whatever the hell they sing about.
[it's your turn to recuperate, he almost says, knowing better. but his own voice dips into a quiet rumble, unable to keep the affection from seeping into it.]
Would you visit? If I park myself up in a nice villa, waterside, and pick up sailing in my old age?