[ 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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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.]