[christ, that'd be the fucking day. hawk would wholly resent the implication that he's a) anyone's lover and b) following embry around like some kicked puppy. wouldn't that be ironic after everything he put tim through? but his focus is drawn sharply to the bottle on the nightstand - another one opened, and still nowhere near enough to put embry in such terrible shape this morning or afternoon. it takes everything in him not to lunge forward and tear it from his hands, to whisk it away as evidence for what he knows his gut is telling him this might be. even more restraint not to nudge him away, to take over every action that destroys his case so he can get embry's ass into a clean bed that much sooner and preserve whatever is left of this shitshow.
hawk lets him talk, not saying a fucking word and just watching him for any signs of physical weakness - shaky hands, unsteady legs, trembling shoulders. he wishes he'd take a second to sit his ass down and stop trying to convince him nothing is wrong, only proving further that it actually is. and frankly, he's looking for the other points of weakness too - the speed of his verbiage, the explanations he's good at weaving together.
it's funny: he knows what his eyes see - he hear the words coming out of embry's mouth, and he feels the press of plastic into his hand with a vibrant array of substances shoved inside - but he doesn't believe a minute of any of it. it sounds right on the surface, sure, and god knows he's heard enough about embry's past to get an idea of what the result of every single one of these ticking time bombs might bring out in him - but there's a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach that this all just for show. which is exactly what he puts on when he lifts the bottle in a salute, heading to the bathroom and dumping them unceremoniously in the toilet to flush. he tosses the razor, ripping off the inaccurate label on the bottle and pocketing it to shred later, knowing his paranoia is at an all time high, but also considering the fact that there's probably someone out there willing to dig through trash for a story about embry moore and whatever psychosis they can assign him.
on the way back to the bedroom, there's a pointed brush past him as he pulls out the drawer where he knows all the sheets are neatly folded. it should be embarrassing on some level that it's a fact that even exists in his mind, but here he is, playing maid anyway. he heard everything that was said - including the i missed you and the get the fuck out of my house. hawk doesn't let it cut deep that the former is more likely to be the lie. his back is kept to embry as he starts maneuvering the fitted sheet, diehard military habits making him pull it perfectly taut before smoothing it out.]
Fine, you fucked her. You fucked up. You're not the only one who got your rocks off - and neither of us are fucking obligated to do anything otherwise, let's make that clear.
[because they're not in a fucking relationship, and that's perfectly fine with hawk. it's the way it should be. he yanks off the pillow cases with more force than really needed, tugging up the new ones and throwing them unceremoniously onto the bed.]
Two weeks from now you're going to be up my ass about forgetting the right tie, or needing some project you've pulled out of a hat dropped off.
[there go the regular sheets, tight enough to bounce a quarter from. hawk finally turns around, slowly pushing himself further into embry's space than he probably should.]
I'm not giving you back your goddamn key. You want to get rid of me? You hate thinking about me?
[of course he's bluffing. of fucking course he missed embry too. and up this close, even green around the gills he still has the audacity to look achingly gorgeous in the way that makes hawk want to scoop him up and carry him out of this place altogether from whatever did this to him.]
There's an easy way to fix it. I told you months ago. So go on.
[he tips his jaw with an arrogance that's usually never reserved for the man who signs his checks, glancing down the narrow bridge of his nose before leaning in and murmuring it near his ear.]
Make me.
[fire him.]
Otherwise - you get in that bed and you take the day to sleep this shit off.
[ his first thought is that hawk isn't listening to a goddamn thing he's saying. his second is that he shouldn't look that unfairly hot while he's making his bed with cutting precision. embry feels like an oaf as he watches hawk's nimble fingers tuck the sheets and smooth out the wrinkles, making his linens look artful, a perfect canvas for another round of sex if embry was sure it wouldn't kill him. his mind is desperate for a distraction — screaming for it, really, in the way that he used to get when he needed ash to hold him down and shut him up.
it doesn't help when hawk crowds his space, embry maintaining both his balance and composure by summoning some hidden reservoir of his waning fortitude. the wash of hawk's smoky breath against his skin sends a shudder rattling through him, his fingers curling weakly around the fabric of hawk's blazer, right by his hip, while he struggles momentarily to breathe. thick, liquid desire pools at his core while static fills his chest, anxious fear warring with his want.
he's not going to fire hawk, though in this moment he really fucking desperately wants to. he wants to not need him, because he wants to not need anybody. needing ash has ruined him, left him wandering out in the cold like a kicked dog on a short chain, and he realizes that he's fallen into the same trap here, that he's allowed hawk to somehow seep into the brittle cracks of his heart.
it would be a relief to submit to a command, and still everything in him struggles against it even knowing that he's going to lose. he's already lost, because he can't let go of hawk. not like this. ]
Bring me some aspirin.
[ even an order sounds like a defeat, and for a moment he's pressed too close — they're pressed too close, heat and breath mingling, and the rush of it all has him unsteady, his palms pressing to hawk's ribs through the fabric of his clothes. eyes shuttering, his damp temple tips against hawk's cheek, and he lingers, wanting to go limp against him and simply forget. forget this night, and all the things he already can't remember. forget all the tumult that lies between them. forget all the reasons that he shouldn't just let their lips touch, despite barely being able to stand.
his senses, or what little is left of them, return to him, and he slowly pulls away, unbelting his robe and shrugging it off as he turns his back, exposing his lean muscles and the scar tissue where a carpathian bullet slammed into his shoulder. there's a matching one in his leg, along with the unseen three months of rehab it had taken to gain his mobility back. he burrows into the fresh sheets and tries not to think about what might have happened the last time he was here, his cheek pressed miserably to a pillow while his dark hair sweeps into his eyes.
shifting horizontally drains all the blood from his brain, apparently, because he's dizzy in seconds, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers gripping the clean sheets until the room stops swaying. he can't tell if it's hours or seconds before he can manage to make his mouth form words again. ]
Hawk. [ a pathetic rasp. he half hopes he's already gone. ] Don't go yet.
[for a moment, hawk thinks maybe this is it. he's finally pushed too far and it's the day he's worn out his welcome here, even if there wasn't really one to begin with. the strange thing is he actually wants it now, even if he hadn't ever needed it before. there's also the funny thought that getting fired would give him carte blanche to be even more of a pain in embry's ass - pick him up and throw him into bed if he has to. sex is the last thing on his mind though, not out of anger that he'd fucked someone else, but because he's worried it wasn't what embry signed up for. he hasn't trusted red-lipstick since the get-go, and he can't shake the feeling something is seriously wrong here, even if embry will never admit it and make his job three times as hard.
he'll tell himself later that he wasn't holding his breath on the decision, but it won't be true.]
Yeah, I got you. Go on and lie down.
[he's seen embry act like a goddamn princess in this bed, commanding from it like some while getting simultaneously pampered and chewing out foreign dignitaries on the side. so it's strange to see him look so small as he slips out of the rug, letting hawk's eyes catch on the scar that eerily mirrors his own underneath his shoulder blade. he remembers telling embry about it, regretting that he hadn't been more clear-headed to exchange stories instead of spilling his guts in a moment of real vulnerability. even stranger to see him curled up in the bed looking like he'd rather be swallowed by it in this moment instead of fixing himself into the embodiment of enticement.
hawk drags his gaze away and quickly heads to the bathroom, grabbing two aspirin and a clean glass of water. and while he's got the opportunity - he fishes out the glass without the appalling shade of red on its rim with his handkerchief, putting it into a small plastic bag and setting it on the counter to swipe later, hoping enough has been preserved to get someone to discreetly run a few tests or save it for evidence. he makes it happen fast, back at embry's bedside and hesitating before holding his hand flat out with the pills and curled around the glass for him to take before he sets it back down on the dresser.
he's expecting to be dismissed, or for embry to doze off right away. instead - he gets surrender, immediately softening and wondering when he got so goddamn pliable. fuck.
but of course he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, reaching out to push embry's damp hair back and stroke soothingly over his forehead the way a mother might a sick child. somehow he can't picture vivienne moore doing anything other than commanding them to get better so he can make it to a dinner party on time.]
I'm right here. Not a chance I'm going anywhere else.
[not unless embry pushes him to - and even then, he's already stood his ground once.]
Keep your eyes closed and roll back onto your side - might help.
[his hand slides down to gently nudge at embry's upper arm, to help him do it if he's too weak or nauseous to do it on his own. it gives him a much better view of his face - somehow still perfectly enticing despite dark circles and the washed out coloring of his skin. it makes hawk want to dip down and press his lips to his temple, or kick off his oxfords and crawl up behind him until he dozes off again. all things he never fucking does for anyone - or at least, hasn't since tim, and never thought he'd want to do again.]
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hawk lets him talk, not saying a fucking word and just watching him for any signs of physical weakness - shaky hands, unsteady legs, trembling shoulders. he wishes he'd take a second to sit his ass down and stop trying to convince him nothing is wrong, only proving further that it actually is. and frankly, he's looking for the other points of weakness too - the speed of his verbiage, the explanations he's good at weaving together.
it's funny: he knows what his eyes see - he hear the words coming out of embry's mouth, and he feels the press of plastic into his hand with a vibrant array of substances shoved inside - but he doesn't believe a minute of any of it. it sounds right on the surface, sure, and god knows he's heard enough about embry's past to get an idea of what the result of every single one of these ticking time bombs might bring out in him - but there's a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach that this all just for show. which is exactly what he puts on when he lifts the bottle in a salute, heading to the bathroom and dumping them unceremoniously in the toilet to flush. he tosses the razor, ripping off the inaccurate label on the bottle and pocketing it to shred later, knowing his paranoia is at an all time high, but also considering the fact that there's probably someone out there willing to dig through trash for a story about embry moore and whatever psychosis they can assign him.
on the way back to the bedroom, there's a pointed brush past him as he pulls out the drawer where he knows all the sheets are neatly folded. it should be embarrassing on some level that it's a fact that even exists in his mind, but here he is, playing maid anyway. he heard everything that was said - including the i missed you and the get the fuck out of my house. hawk doesn't let it cut deep that the former is more likely to be the lie. his back is kept to embry as he starts maneuvering the fitted sheet, diehard military habits making him pull it perfectly taut before smoothing it out.]
Fine, you fucked her. You fucked up. You're not the only one who got your rocks off - and neither of us are fucking obligated to do anything otherwise, let's make that clear.
[because they're not in a fucking relationship, and that's perfectly fine with hawk. it's the way it should be. he yanks off the pillow cases with more force than really needed, tugging up the new ones and throwing them unceremoniously onto the bed.]
Two weeks from now you're going to be up my ass about forgetting the right tie, or needing some project you've pulled out of a hat dropped off.
[there go the regular sheets, tight enough to bounce a quarter from. hawk finally turns around, slowly pushing himself further into embry's space than he probably should.]
I'm not giving you back your goddamn key. You want to get rid of me? You hate thinking about me?
[of course he's bluffing. of fucking course he missed embry too. and up this close, even green around the gills he still has the audacity to look achingly gorgeous in the way that makes hawk want to scoop him up and carry him out of this place altogether from whatever did this to him.]
There's an easy way to fix it. I told you months ago. So go on.
[he tips his jaw with an arrogance that's usually never reserved for the man who signs his checks, glancing down the narrow bridge of his nose before leaning in and murmuring it near his ear.]
Make me.
[fire him.]
Otherwise - you get in that bed and you take the day to sleep this shit off.
no subject
it doesn't help when hawk crowds his space, embry maintaining both his balance and composure by summoning some hidden reservoir of his waning fortitude. the wash of hawk's smoky breath against his skin sends a shudder rattling through him, his fingers curling weakly around the fabric of hawk's blazer, right by his hip, while he struggles momentarily to breathe. thick, liquid desire pools at his core while static fills his chest, anxious fear warring with his want.
he's not going to fire hawk, though in this moment he really fucking desperately wants to. he wants to not need him, because he wants to not need anybody. needing ash has ruined him, left him wandering out in the cold like a kicked dog on a short chain, and he realizes that he's fallen into the same trap here, that he's allowed hawk to somehow seep into the brittle cracks of his heart.
it would be a relief to submit to a command, and still everything in him struggles against it even knowing that he's going to lose. he's already lost, because he can't let go of hawk. not like this. ]
Bring me some aspirin.
[ even an order sounds like a defeat, and for a moment he's pressed too close — they're pressed too close, heat and breath mingling, and the rush of it all has him unsteady, his palms pressing to hawk's ribs through the fabric of his clothes. eyes shuttering, his damp temple tips against hawk's cheek, and he lingers, wanting to go limp against him and simply forget. forget this night, and all the things he already can't remember. forget all the tumult that lies between them. forget all the reasons that he shouldn't just let their lips touch, despite barely being able to stand.
his senses, or what little is left of them, return to him, and he slowly pulls away, unbelting his robe and shrugging it off as he turns his back, exposing his lean muscles and the scar tissue where a carpathian bullet slammed into his shoulder. there's a matching one in his leg, along with the unseen three months of rehab it had taken to gain his mobility back. he burrows into the fresh sheets and tries not to think about what might have happened the last time he was here, his cheek pressed miserably to a pillow while his dark hair sweeps into his eyes.
shifting horizontally drains all the blood from his brain, apparently, because he's dizzy in seconds, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingers gripping the clean sheets until the room stops swaying. he can't tell if it's hours or seconds before he can manage to make his mouth form words again. ]
Hawk. [ a pathetic rasp. he half hopes he's already gone. ] Don't go yet.
no subject
he'll tell himself later that he wasn't holding his breath on the decision, but it won't be true.]
Yeah, I got you. Go on and lie down.
[he's seen embry act like a goddamn princess in this bed, commanding from it like some while getting simultaneously pampered and chewing out foreign dignitaries on the side. so it's strange to see him look so small as he slips out of the rug, letting hawk's eyes catch on the scar that eerily mirrors his own underneath his shoulder blade. he remembers telling embry about it, regretting that he hadn't been more clear-headed to exchange stories instead of spilling his guts in a moment of real vulnerability. even stranger to see him curled up in the bed looking like he'd rather be swallowed by it in this moment instead of fixing himself into the embodiment of enticement.
hawk drags his gaze away and quickly heads to the bathroom, grabbing two aspirin and a clean glass of water. and while he's got the opportunity - he fishes out the glass without the appalling shade of red on its rim with his handkerchief, putting it into a small plastic bag and setting it on the counter to swipe later, hoping enough has been preserved to get someone to discreetly run a few tests or save it for evidence. he makes it happen fast, back at embry's bedside and hesitating before holding his hand flat out with the pills and curled around the glass for him to take before he sets it back down on the dresser.
he's expecting to be dismissed, or for embry to doze off right away. instead - he gets surrender, immediately softening and wondering when he got so goddamn pliable. fuck.
but of course he sits gingerly on the edge of the bed, reaching out to push embry's damp hair back and stroke soothingly over his forehead the way a mother might a sick child. somehow he can't picture vivienne moore doing anything other than commanding them to get better so he can make it to a dinner party on time.]
I'm right here. Not a chance I'm going anywhere else.
[not unless embry pushes him to - and even then, he's already stood his ground once.]
Keep your eyes closed and roll back onto your side - might help.
[his hand slides down to gently nudge at embry's upper arm, to help him do it if he's too weak or nauseous to do it on his own. it gives him a much better view of his face - somehow still perfectly enticing despite dark circles and the washed out coloring of his skin. it makes hawk want to dip down and press his lips to his temple, or kick off his oxfords and crawl up behind him until he dozes off again. all things he never fucking does for anyone - or at least, hasn't since tim, and never thought he'd want to do again.]