[ it's becoming increasingly clear that he shouldn't have come. that maybe hawk had been hoping for that specific outcome. there's still time for embry to pick up his coat and walk out in a mockery of pretense that he ever had the upper hand here, and instead he claims his drink as if he isn't annoyed and a little spurned that hawk hadn't walked it over to him like he normally does. but — he deserves that, doesn't he? and a part of him sinks into the familiar comfort of his own self-loathing guilt, that he's the one that fucked this up, and didn't try very hard not to. hawk should've known it was coming, but then again, hawk doesn't really know embry. not the way that ash or morgan or any of the other people who know to leave him alone because he's not worth the time. ]
I don't remember her name. [ the lie comes easily, small and paper-white. his past entanglements are no business of hawk's, and irrelevant to boot. ] I just remember how it felt to fuck her. Good, but no need for an encore this many years later.
[ he takes a generous swallow, turning his eyes sharply to hawk as warmth spreads down through his chest. he's mad. fine. anger isn't new, though this string of desire and contentment has dulled his senses into thinking — what? that he and hawk actually have something? he should have tried harder to push hawk onto someone else at lyonesse. if there's anything embry should have learned by now, it's that he isn't made for anything real.
not that this is real. it's just... really fucking good sex, is all. good enough that ash's name has spilled from his lips, knocked out of him like a desolate curse. hawk has a way of prying him open that he should be far more alarmed about. ]
Something on your mind, Hawk? [ embry tips his glass again, his throat bobbing as he drains it in another few gulps like it's cheap beer instead of top shelf scotch. carelessly, he sets the glass down and pushes into hawk's space, defiance written into every line of his body. ] Something you want to say?
[ his mouth is like a dare, hovering close, liquor sweet, only the faintest stain of red smudging the edge of his lips. by their sides, his hand brushes hawk's fingers, gentle, before grasping his wrist in a punishing grip, holding him there like he expects hawk to disappear. ]
[no, maybe hawk doesn't know embry the way ash or morgan or greer or any of the bevy of others like red lipstick woman knew embry. but he'd thought he was getting at least an honest piece of it all the same - whoever embry was deciding to be without all of them breathing down his neck, or without having to look up at maxen fucking colchester from his feet in worship like modern idolatry. he's had the decency to keep tim out of this (even when embry won't), and yet the man still keeps a grip on him that has done more than intrude. one wrong text, the right move in bed - and there he is again, reflected in those baby blues like he's in the goddamn room orchestrating the whole thing. maybe he's a little fed up. he'd been willing to let it slide when he was too bruised over the loss of senator smith to protest, grateful to have company in a moment of unbearable weakness as one of the pillars of his entire world was torn down - but now?
now it's back to the real world, and he's not willing to play so nice anymore.
not when embry's going to disregard the instincts hawk has honed to protect his ass - warranted or not, and not when he's going to play coy like whatever the fuck this is hasn't drastically changed from the day they set foot in lyonesse. christ, it's not like he's looking for something high school like a relationship or a label. but sometimes embry acts like they're in one anyway, or at least has the nerve to throw shit in his face and then get hurt when hawk dishes it right back.
he's about to refill both their glasses out of habit, because despite his original plan to try and do something nice for embry like he'd hinted at - the kind of thing that probably sends that same mixed message he's pissed off about receiving - he's not about to kick the guy out. not because he signs his checks, and not because he doesn't deserve it for waltzing in here acting every shade of childish, but because maybe this is just foreplay and he'll fuck the truth out of him later, when he's pushing him onto the bed and making him rethink every snide comment and hissy fit he's constantly throwing. maybe he just likes the fight.
maybe his own considerations need to feel earned.
or maybe he's just constantly throwing shit at a wall to figure out embry, hoping it'll stick and failing miserably.]
Is that how you put it to her? I'm sure it went over real well. Or did you come to this revelation after she tried to stick her tongue in your mouth?
[suddenly that familiar waft of cologne is under his nose, the precise flavor this scotch gets when it's sucked off embry's lips tempting him unreasonably to just give in and lean down to taste it. but the fingertips trailing his wrist wrap around hard, and hawk sets down the bottle so it isn't another casualty of today.]
Did I say anything about wanting you to go?
[his wrist twists, fingers jerking around at the right angle to reverse their positions and wrap snug against embry's instead in one fluid motion. he pulls embry flush against him, wondering if there will be a struggle, another fuck you cast out casually.]
You seem to be reading into a lot these days. Seems more like there's something on your mind.
[a beat, and his voice lowers into the rough, graveled timbre when he's demanded embry pull him out or hold off his bliss a little longer.]
[ his nerve endings come to life with a pulse of heat, dancing to the rough stone of hawk's voice. their fling — and embry doesn't want to call it anything else now, doesn't want to admit that it could be anything else out of sheer fucking spite — means the press of hawk's body is familiar now, the corded lines of lean muscle, the sleek fabric of his suit, the woodsy spice soaking the pulse of his throat. the way hawk is looking at him, the way he's speaking to him sends a skitter of danger down his spine. he thought maybe he'd gotten away with it, his little slip during hawk's haze of grief, but no. the accusation is as pointed as a blade, and embry has nowhere to run.
ash's presence is suffocating as always — worse when he's already agitated, already guilty over more than just the ghosts lingering in his room. he never should have fallen into hawk's bed that night in the first place, not in the state hawk was in. embry knows well enough what it's like to bury your misery in a warm body, and all the shit that comes with it. ]
Jealousy's an interesting look on you.
[ since hawk has pulled him so close in his domineering, intimidating way, embry closes the minimal space between them and clashes their mouths together, giving him a deep, biting kiss, just narrowly stopping his hand from skimming up his perfect jawline and into the dark waves of his hair. he breaks the kiss with purpose, ignoring the skittish rhythm of his heart. ]
That's how it went over. That's how it felt. [ he licks his lips, steering hawk's attention back to the woman, the reason he should be mad, in a desperate attempt to bury any mentions of ash. ] You want me to rewind a couple years and show you how I fucked her, too?
[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.
[ he could let it go. he could fall into the kiss and start something new, slip a hook into hawk's want and angle it just the way he likes, the way they both like, because the desire between them is electric despite all the needling and vexation. embry has thrown enough petty tantrums that he knows how to get what he wants, most of the time, or at least some of the time, even if he is still figuring all of this out. both of them are. luckily, what he wants usually aligns with antagonizing whoever he's with, which makes things that much simpler.
but this is different. the words out of hawk's mouth stop him dead where he was previously distracted by the possibility of whatever nice thing hawk might have planned. the words hurt like a gunshot, and just like when he'd felt that first bite of fire sinking into his flesh back in carpathia, he reacts like a cornered animal, his fists digging into hawk's lapels, driving him across the room with a hard shove, just narrowly missing the coffee table. ]
He did fight for me!
[ he snarls it in hawk's perfect face, the hot prick of tears needling at his eyes. but the voice in the hollow part of his chest speaks up almost instantly: did he? didn't ash end it all the second embry couldn't give him everything? did he even try to understand that he had given him everything, every last drop of sweat and blood, wrung out at his feet? he'd thrown away every chance at happiness, given up the pursuit of ever having anyone else, all for ash. he'd stood by his side and watched him recite his wedding vows to jenny like it was nothing, like it hadn't destroyed something inside of him, and now — greer. ash gets second and third chances at happiness and embry can't even get one.
it takes several long seconds for the room to come back into focus. he has hawk pinned against the couch, his knee digging into his ribs. shards of crystal and smudged ash streak the floor from the ashtray that must have fallen and shattered when he'd shoved hawk across the room. embry's breath is ragged, his fingers shaking where he still holds fistfuls of hawk's collar. he feels flayed open, like he's just confessed to the very thing he vowed to suffer the burden of alone. it would be fitting if merlin materialized behind him and put him out of his misery.
he draws back, leaving hawk on the couch as he sidesteps the mess of broken glass, snatching his coat. he's seriously reached his quota of fuck-ups today, and he feels like hawk's broken ashtray, filthy and in pieces, and he just wants to be anywhere but here, where hawk's pity would be far, far worse than his punishment. ]
[for a minute he thinks maybe he's driven the point home well enough - or maybe it's just been the right amount of time passed to let it go. plenty of the shit wrapped up in ash has gone unquestioned - even when his name spilled out of embry's goddamn mouth in the middle of one of the more tender moments he's had a body in his bed and actually managed to connect with someone. not just anyone, but embry, who should know by now what that means on some level. so yeah - it seems like maybe he'll get his one mean quip in and they can move on like fucking adults. maybe embry will take a hint and finally try and move on instead of suspending himself in this limbo where he keeps hoping for the thing he's already denied and pushing good things away all the same.
(he knows he's not exactly a good thing though, but - good enough?)
but the second it lands something in embry's face twists and he knows it's torn him up as easily as if he'd just knifed him in the ribs. christ. and just as quickly hawk knows it's gonna be a fight - but a screaming match that ends with them vicious and horizontal would be preferable to the way he looks utterly broken by it, wounded immeasurably and covering it with a layer anger instead of lashing out with the vitriol itself. this wasn't supposed to actually hurt him, wasn't supposed to draw tears to the corner of his hauntingly pretty blue eyes and make them narrow at him with the iciness of real pain. so sure, the next logical step is for him to lash out - perfectly raw in the near childish insistence of one simple sentence - enough that it stops hawk from the way he'd been about to laugh in disbelief when the opposite seems truer.
it doesn't wholly catch him by surprise to feel fists at his chest, to be uprighted and shoved across the room before tumbling against the couch and letting embry's blind rage and the fever burning him from the inside out work its way into a visceral, physical manifestation of it all. he doesn't fight back in the slightest, letting him dig that knee against his ribs, knowing the ash tray he'd been given for his five-years of service at the white house is cracked to pieces and there's filth he'll have to clean up later. but none of that matters as he watches embry come back to himself with realization, stumbling up onto his feet and making for the exit.
that's exactly what he was expecting, and hawk mimics his movements by sidestepping the mess for now with his face hardened into a firm but imploring expression as he reaches for embry's arm. not hard enough to stop him if he were to insist - but enough to bring his attention back.]
He didn't.
[so what if he doesn't know the details. all he knows is - ]
Timothy Laughlin. The boy with the charity pitch.
[hawk sucks in a breath, shaking his head slightly, because it feels like it was punched out of him - a story he never meant to share, but that's tumbled out anyway because empathy seems like the best option. his voice is rough with a tinge of bitterness, unable to bite it back even now, even if he's told himself a hundred times and more that what's done is done.]
It's the same thing. I wanted him. Wanted to be with him. But I guess I didn't want it bad enough, because if I had - that's where I'd be right now.
[his jaw tightens, lips twitching for a moment as he draws in closer to look embry in the eye.]
Ash is the President of the goddamn United States. He's got more power in a his pinky than you and I combined. And you're saying - you're here with me because he fought for you?
[his expression isn't cruel, and it's not that he's trying to rub it in. but he's tired of seeing embry blame himself and pick at the same scab over and over again, deepening the wound.]
[ timothy laughlin. so embry had been close to the cracks in hawk's seemingly unbreakable shell, though the consolation prize of the admission doesn't fill him with any sense of satisfaction. he hurts suddenly for tim, who maybe wanted hawk as badly as embry wanted ash, viciously and hopelessly, and lost in the end. because hawk didn't want him badly enough.
he doesn't know which is true: that ash didn't want him badly enough to just give a goddamn inch and keep sneaking around until their presidential years were over, or embry didn't want him enough to sacrifice all the good that ash could do in office, all the good he could do for everyone else. all he knows is that he played ash like a fucking fiddle and the cruelty of his lies hold up to this day.
his knee-jerk reaction to hawk's grasp is to punch him, but he finds he can't move, his limbs brittle and aching as badly as his heart. the truth of this threatens to open its serrated mouth and swallow him whole. ]
Everything worked out — [ a low, quiet rasp, like an animal wounded. ] Exactly the way I wanted it to.
[ he'll never marry. never fall in love. never bring anyone home for christmas, just like he hasn't for the last thirty-odd years, and he'll die with a bottle of gin in his hand overlooking the lake house, because eventually ash will go off and raise horses in fucking montana with someone else and embry won't have anymore excuses to follow. he's mature enough to lie in the grave of his own making, at least, even if it makes him sick with grief.
he recovers his equilibrium and snatches his arm away from hawk, but he puts down his coat and goes to the closet instead, fumbling around until he returns with a broom. glass tinkles as he begins sweeping up the ashtray, his chest hollow and his skull buzzing. ]
People love Ash. They won't if they know he fucked me for years. [ loved him, wanted to marry him, would have given up his entire fucking future if embry had only said yes. his voice hardens, bitter to be raked over these old, familiar coals again. ] Everything I've done is to keep him in office. You're here as an extension of that. Don't forget it.
[in a way, the violence is what he'd expect. that or embry lashing out with words that somehow cut deeper and make him wish for blood spotting his pristine white collar and leaking down his nose. part of him expected the spectacle around tim, the gotcha moment embry had been egging him towards weeks ago and he wouldn't indulge him with. he might now - or at the very least, he'd understand where it was coming from. if he was a better man there would be an apology so they could just move the fuck on, the polite pretending that ash isn't still tangled up somehow in embry's very dna and likely to crop back up at the most inopportune times of whatever this tenuous thing they've established is. or maybe that's his problem - this isn't a thing at all, and he's gone and let himself get fucking soft for the guy he's just supposed to work for. christ, he could have let tim keep his job and his dignity at that rate if he'd figured that out a few years sooner.
they have it in common though - being see-through when it comes to the lies. embry's more skilled than tim ever was in the delivery, but hawk's bullshit detector is too refined to believe a goddamn word out of his mouth right now. especially not one implying embry's where he wants to be. that he's somehow happy and it all worked it right. or maybe that's not quite it - it worked out the way he's convinced himself he wants it to, even if it's not what he really wants.]
Yeah. You seem fucking thrilled about how the chips have all fallen. Is that why you look at him like that when you think no one's watching? Pretend not to notice when he does the same, even with Greer in the same room?
[it's a wonder no one else has called them on it, for god's sake.
he lets embry pull away, thinking he'll start shrugging on his coat and get ready to bail now that things have gotten too real and too hard. now that someone has caught him, or more specifically hawk - who grates on his nerves and seems to piss him off as much as he pleases him when they aren't busy shooting barbed innuendos. he'd like to think he's done a fine job at his actual job, difficult as its been - and embry has always been his priority, even if that's starting to feel a bit like being taken for granted. his lips pull down into a frown, watching him clean and realizing the idea of embry doing manual labor is as foreign as the scotch sitting on his counter.
he grabs the dustpan, hidden behind a pile of boxes in the closet and comes back to kneel down in front of the mess, letting the broom find a destination in a team effort as he stares up the tortured look that's still unfairly gorgeous, the perfect picture of pain and bitterness and edges sharper than the shattered glass on the floor cutting him up from the inside.]
Maybe some of them won't. But the bigots in this country aren't exactly a secret. Not necessarily enough to ruin a re-election campaign either.
[that last bit - well, that stings more than he thought it might, even if he's always known that's the case. hawk pushes back onto his feet, taking the broom abruptly and finishing up on his own, partly so he can turn his back to embry as he carries it back to the closet and dumps out the tinker of crystal into the trash.]
Sure. All in a day's work.
[hawk turns, plastering on one of his practiced, pompous smiles that doesn't reach his eyes.]
Is that all I can help you with tonight, Mr. Moore?
[ he wants to lash out. wants to tell hawk to mind his goddamn business, that ash doesn't look at him the way he used to and hawk wouldn't know because he wasn't there when he did. but embry knows the acute difference in ash's eyes, how his adoration is reserved for the looks he gives greer now, and she actually deserves it on account of not being a piece of shit who dragged his heart through the mud for years like embry did. ]
Greer is sweet and loyal and giving. And Ash loves her. [ all the things embry is not. ] Ash only looks at me because he's waiting for the next bomb to drop.
[ he doesn't want to hear about ash's chances as an openly queer president. embry's already given up too much to keep this boat steady; the risk is too high to throw it all away now. ash is too good, and besides, merlin would probably slit his throat in his sleep.
hawk's sudden dismissal might as well be a slap in the face. embry teeters for a moment, almost disbelieving that he's actually getting kicked out, but — doesn't he deserve it? he showed up here with lipstick on his mouth and ash's ghost trailing after him. there's no better place for him to be than sitting alone in his condo with a bottle of gin. it seems like even a smarmy shit like hawkins fuller who doesn't even like to fuck the same man twice has standards, and embry can't even meet them.
he shrugs his coat on, feeling for his phone and his keys and only finding his phone. fuck. whatever, sven will let him into his own goddamn house. ]
Mr. Moore? Enjoy fucking yourself, Hawk. [ he pulls the door open. ] Sorry about your goddamn ashtray.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I don't remember her name. [ the lie comes easily, small and paper-white. his past entanglements are no business of hawk's, and irrelevant to boot. ] I just remember how it felt to fuck her. Good, but no need for an encore this many years later.
[ he takes a generous swallow, turning his eyes sharply to hawk as warmth spreads down through his chest. he's mad. fine. anger isn't new, though this string of desire and contentment has dulled his senses into thinking — what? that he and hawk actually have something? he should have tried harder to push hawk onto someone else at lyonesse. if there's anything embry should have learned by now, it's that he isn't made for anything real.
not that this is real. it's just... really fucking good sex, is all. good enough that ash's name has spilled from his lips, knocked out of him like a desolate curse. hawk has a way of prying him open that he should be far more alarmed about. ]
Something on your mind, Hawk? [ embry tips his glass again, his throat bobbing as he drains it in another few gulps like it's cheap beer instead of top shelf scotch. carelessly, he sets the glass down and pushes into hawk's space, defiance written into every line of his body. ] Something you want to say?
[ his mouth is like a dare, hovering close, liquor sweet, only the faintest stain of red smudging the edge of his lips. by their sides, his hand brushes hawk's fingers, gentle, before grasping his wrist in a punishing grip, holding him there like he expects hawk to disappear. ]
If you want me to go, you have to make me.
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now it's back to the real world, and he's not willing to play so nice anymore.
not when embry's going to disregard the instincts hawk has honed to protect his ass - warranted or not, and not when he's going to play coy like whatever the fuck this is hasn't drastically changed from the day they set foot in lyonesse. christ, it's not like he's looking for something high school like a relationship or a label. but sometimes embry acts like they're in one anyway, or at least has the nerve to throw shit in his face and then get hurt when hawk dishes it right back.
he's about to refill both their glasses out of habit, because despite his original plan to try and do something nice for embry like he'd hinted at - the kind of thing that probably sends that same mixed message he's pissed off about receiving - he's not about to kick the guy out. not because he signs his checks, and not because he doesn't deserve it for waltzing in here acting every shade of childish, but because maybe this is just foreplay and he'll fuck the truth out of him later, when he's pushing him onto the bed and making him rethink every snide comment and hissy fit he's constantly throwing. maybe he just likes the fight.
maybe his own considerations need to feel earned.
or maybe he's just constantly throwing shit at a wall to figure out embry, hoping it'll stick and failing miserably.]
Is that how you put it to her? I'm sure it went over real well. Or did you come to this revelation after she tried to stick her tongue in your mouth?
[suddenly that familiar waft of cologne is under his nose, the precise flavor this scotch gets when it's sucked off embry's lips tempting him unreasonably to just give in and lean down to taste it. but the fingertips trailing his wrist wrap around hard, and hawk sets down the bottle so it isn't another casualty of today.]
Did I say anything about wanting you to go?
[his wrist twists, fingers jerking around at the right angle to reverse their positions and wrap snug against embry's instead in one fluid motion. he pulls embry flush against him, wondering if there will be a struggle, another fuck you cast out casually.]
You seem to be reading into a lot these days. Seems more like there's something on your mind.
[a beat, and his voice lowers into the rough, graveled timbre when he's demanded embry pull him out or hold off his bliss a little longer.]
Actually, maybe it's someone.
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ash's presence is suffocating as always — worse when he's already agitated, already guilty over more than just the ghosts lingering in his room. he never should have fallen into hawk's bed that night in the first place, not in the state hawk was in. embry knows well enough what it's like to bury your misery in a warm body, and all the shit that comes with it. ]
Jealousy's an interesting look on you.
[ since hawk has pulled him so close in his domineering, intimidating way, embry closes the minimal space between them and clashes their mouths together, giving him a deep, biting kiss, just narrowly stopping his hand from skimming up his perfect jawline and into the dark waves of his hair. he breaks the kiss with purpose, ignoring the skittish rhythm of his heart. ]
That's how it went over. That's how it felt. [ he licks his lips, steering hawk's attention back to the woman, the reason he should be mad, in a desperate attempt to bury any mentions of ash. ] You want me to rewind a couple years and show you how I fucked her, too?
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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.
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but this is different. the words out of hawk's mouth stop him dead where he was previously distracted by the possibility of whatever nice thing hawk might have planned. the words hurt like a gunshot, and just like when he'd felt that first bite of fire sinking into his flesh back in carpathia, he reacts like a cornered animal, his fists digging into hawk's lapels, driving him across the room with a hard shove, just narrowly missing the coffee table. ]
He did fight for me!
[ he snarls it in hawk's perfect face, the hot prick of tears needling at his eyes. but the voice in the hollow part of his chest speaks up almost instantly: did he? didn't ash end it all the second embry couldn't give him everything? did he even try to understand that he had given him everything, every last drop of sweat and blood, wrung out at his feet? he'd thrown away every chance at happiness, given up the pursuit of ever having anyone else, all for ash. he'd stood by his side and watched him recite his wedding vows to jenny like it was nothing, like it hadn't destroyed something inside of him, and now — greer. ash gets second and third chances at happiness and embry can't even get one.
it takes several long seconds for the room to come back into focus. he has hawk pinned against the couch, his knee digging into his ribs. shards of crystal and smudged ash streak the floor from the ashtray that must have fallen and shattered when he'd shoved hawk across the room. embry's breath is ragged, his fingers shaking where he still holds fistfuls of hawk's collar. he feels flayed open, like he's just confessed to the very thing he vowed to suffer the burden of alone. it would be fitting if merlin materialized behind him and put him out of his misery.
he draws back, leaving hawk on the couch as he sidesteps the mess of broken glass, snatching his coat. he's seriously reached his quota of fuck-ups today, and he feels like hawk's broken ashtray, filthy and in pieces, and he just wants to be anywhere but here, where hawk's pity would be far, far worse than his punishment. ]
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(he knows he's not exactly a good thing though, but - good enough?)
but the second it lands something in embry's face twists and he knows it's torn him up as easily as if he'd just knifed him in the ribs. christ. and just as quickly hawk knows it's gonna be a fight - but a screaming match that ends with them vicious and horizontal would be preferable to the way he looks utterly broken by it, wounded immeasurably and covering it with a layer anger instead of lashing out with the vitriol itself. this wasn't supposed to actually hurt him, wasn't supposed to draw tears to the corner of his hauntingly pretty blue eyes and make them narrow at him with the iciness of real pain. so sure, the next logical step is for him to lash out - perfectly raw in the near childish insistence of one simple sentence - enough that it stops hawk from the way he'd been about to laugh in disbelief when the opposite seems truer.
it doesn't wholly catch him by surprise to feel fists at his chest, to be uprighted and shoved across the room before tumbling against the couch and letting embry's blind rage and the fever burning him from the inside out work its way into a visceral, physical manifestation of it all. he doesn't fight back in the slightest, letting him dig that knee against his ribs, knowing the ash tray he'd been given for his five-years of service at the white house is cracked to pieces and there's filth he'll have to clean up later. but none of that matters as he watches embry come back to himself with realization, stumbling up onto his feet and making for the exit.
that's exactly what he was expecting, and hawk mimics his movements by sidestepping the mess for now with his face hardened into a firm but imploring expression as he reaches for embry's arm. not hard enough to stop him if he were to insist - but enough to bring his attention back.]
He didn't.
[so what if he doesn't know the details. all he knows is - ]
Timothy Laughlin. The boy with the charity pitch.
[hawk sucks in a breath, shaking his head slightly, because it feels like it was punched out of him - a story he never meant to share, but that's tumbled out anyway because empathy seems like the best option. his voice is rough with a tinge of bitterness, unable to bite it back even now, even if he's told himself a hundred times and more that what's done is done.]
It's the same thing. I wanted him. Wanted to be with him. But I guess I didn't want it bad enough, because if I had - that's where I'd be right now.
[his jaw tightens, lips twitching for a moment as he draws in closer to look embry in the eye.]
Ash is the President of the goddamn United States. He's got more power in a his pinky than you and I combined. And you're saying - you're here with me because he fought for you?
[his expression isn't cruel, and it's not that he's trying to rub it in. but he's tired of seeing embry blame himself and pick at the same scab over and over again, deepening the wound.]
Don't believe it for a second.
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he doesn't know which is true: that ash didn't want him badly enough to just give a goddamn inch and keep sneaking around until their presidential years were over, or embry didn't want him enough to sacrifice all the good that ash could do in office, all the good he could do for everyone else. all he knows is that he played ash like a fucking fiddle and the cruelty of his lies hold up to this day.
his knee-jerk reaction to hawk's grasp is to punch him, but he finds he can't move, his limbs brittle and aching as badly as his heart. the truth of this threatens to open its serrated mouth and swallow him whole. ]
Everything worked out — [ a low, quiet rasp, like an animal wounded. ] Exactly the way I wanted it to.
[ he'll never marry. never fall in love. never bring anyone home for christmas, just like he hasn't for the last thirty-odd years, and he'll die with a bottle of gin in his hand overlooking the lake house, because eventually ash will go off and raise horses in fucking montana with someone else and embry won't have anymore excuses to follow. he's mature enough to lie in the grave of his own making, at least, even if it makes him sick with grief.
he recovers his equilibrium and snatches his arm away from hawk, but he puts down his coat and goes to the closet instead, fumbling around until he returns with a broom. glass tinkles as he begins sweeping up the ashtray, his chest hollow and his skull buzzing. ]
People love Ash. They won't if they know he fucked me for years. [ loved him, wanted to marry him, would have given up his entire fucking future if embry had only said yes. his voice hardens, bitter to be raked over these old, familiar coals again. ] Everything I've done is to keep him in office. You're here as an extension of that. Don't forget it.
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they have it in common though - being see-through when it comes to the lies. embry's more skilled than tim ever was in the delivery, but hawk's bullshit detector is too refined to believe a goddamn word out of his mouth right now. especially not one implying embry's where he wants to be. that he's somehow happy and it all worked it right. or maybe that's not quite it - it worked out the way he's convinced himself he wants it to, even if it's not what he really wants.]
Yeah. You seem fucking thrilled about how the chips have all fallen. Is that why you look at him like that when you think no one's watching? Pretend not to notice when he does the same, even with Greer in the same room?
[it's a wonder no one else has called them on it, for god's sake.
he lets embry pull away, thinking he'll start shrugging on his coat and get ready to bail now that things have gotten too real and too hard. now that someone has caught him, or more specifically hawk - who grates on his nerves and seems to piss him off as much as he pleases him when they aren't busy shooting barbed innuendos. he'd like to think he's done a fine job at his actual job, difficult as its been - and embry has always been his priority, even if that's starting to feel a bit like being taken for granted. his lips pull down into a frown, watching him clean and realizing the idea of embry doing manual labor is as foreign as the scotch sitting on his counter.
he grabs the dustpan, hidden behind a pile of boxes in the closet and comes back to kneel down in front of the mess, letting the broom find a destination in a team effort as he stares up the tortured look that's still unfairly gorgeous, the perfect picture of pain and bitterness and edges sharper than the shattered glass on the floor cutting him up from the inside.]
Maybe some of them won't. But the bigots in this country aren't exactly a secret. Not necessarily enough to ruin a re-election campaign either.
[that last bit - well, that stings more than he thought it might, even if he's always known that's the case. hawk pushes back onto his feet, taking the broom abruptly and finishing up on his own, partly so he can turn his back to embry as he carries it back to the closet and dumps out the tinker of crystal into the trash.]
Sure. All in a day's work.
[hawk turns, plastering on one of his practiced, pompous smiles that doesn't reach his eyes.]
Is that all I can help you with tonight, Mr. Moore?
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Greer is sweet and loyal and giving. And Ash loves her. [ all the things embry is not. ] Ash only looks at me because he's waiting for the next bomb to drop.
[ he doesn't want to hear about ash's chances as an openly queer president. embry's already given up too much to keep this boat steady; the risk is too high to throw it all away now. ash is too good, and besides, merlin would probably slit his throat in his sleep.
hawk's sudden dismissal might as well be a slap in the face. embry teeters for a moment, almost disbelieving that he's actually getting kicked out, but — doesn't he deserve it? he showed up here with lipstick on his mouth and ash's ghost trailing after him. there's no better place for him to be than sitting alone in his condo with a bottle of gin. it seems like even a smarmy shit like hawkins fuller who doesn't even like to fuck the same man twice has standards, and embry can't even meet them.
he shrugs his coat on, feeling for his phone and his keys and only finding his phone. fuck. whatever, sven will let him into his own goddamn house. ]
Mr. Moore? Enjoy fucking yourself, Hawk. [ he pulls the door open. ] Sorry about your goddamn ashtray.