you can apparently mix milk with vodka. did you know that?
hawkins. i don't need ash's help. he's tied up with tim. the person who got kidnapped and actually needs him. he could use you too, so if you could go back to your bouncer position and let me read in peace, that'd be fucking awesome.
which is the exact opposite of what he's doing, actually.
it feels like the adrenaline never wore off from the night of the kidnapping - that, or every second it manages to slow down something amps it back up again. embry with his horrible, self-destructive tendencies. the president of the fucking united states engaging him in - whatever that conversarion was - he's probably prowling around like a lion trying to get into another fight right now. he has to be held by the neck and quieted down. i made him come all over himself, still bleeding, high off his ass on morphine. neither of us were happy after one round.
thank christ hawk has a key to embry's place, even if he'd initially spent hours reconsidering his career choice when the vice president would hit him with low-stakes crises like get my hugo boss pants for tonight's fundraiser, or i left my sapphire cufflinks in the nightstand, fetch. meant to annoy him with inanity and keep him from trying to snoop out whatever the fuck was going on with him and his family and the president outside of the public face they all plastered on for everyone.
he nods to the men waiting at the end of the hall, supervising from a distance after no doubt clearing the interior with a safety sweep like clockwork. did he come straight after lunch? is he in much pain? the key slips in quietly, and hawk doesn't announce his presence like he typically would in the just-barely-tasteful (in his opinion) expanse of embry's condo. instead he takes utmost care to walk quick and silently through the rooms, making his way past trinkets and art that probably cost more than his yearly salary for the next four years he has to put up with this shit.
until he sees that familiar head of hair, can tell by the tilt of his body that something is wrong.
god. he'd been so wrapped up in everything with tim, and embry had turned away when he heard that horrible crunch in the carpathian hellhole that he just -
this one is his fault.
hawk strides in front of him unceremoniously, planting himself firmly in front of embry.]
[ he's been drinking since he got back from lunch, maybe on his fourth or fifth martini now to quiet the rumble of thunder in his head —strangely thinking of the phases of his life in terms of when ash is in it and when he's not. technically, he's always in it. but there's a marked difference when they're together and separate, and the times of separate are worse and worse, with embry wandering around like a wounded animal, his wintry eyes lost and sad and fucking pathetic.
christ, all the gin has turned his brain into mush, or maybe the morphine, or maybe it's just a byproduct of fracturing his ribs, which is what he's almost certain is his diagnosis now, and the worst part is that there's nothing really to be done about it. nothing but to wait around and let it heal and wonder what ash would have done if embry had just let him fucking notice.
his last text is from hawk, not ash. that's the story of his life lately, because hawk is around and available and mostly willing, although sometimes he looks at embry like his entire existence disgusts him. embry finds that more comical than irritating. he feels an odd kinship with the man, a despicable kind, though he knows it's the nature of his loneliness to turn to the closest thing that'll hurt.
it's not like he's known for good decisions. mixing liquor and morphine. flaying himself alive for a noble cause when he's not even a good person. lying to ash's fucking face again and again. falling into bed with hawkins fuller.
or more specifically, letting hawk fuck him against a hotel wall until he saw stars, then falling into bed to be ridden like a racehorse, and in the morning asking hawk to lace his polished shoes because he'd complained he was too sore to bend over. absurdly — because this is definitely his sixth martini — he wonders if hawk would be willing to come over to undress him. his blazer is off, but the rest of his clothes aren't, his dress shirt open and rumpled, his belt discarded but his trousers simply hanging from his hips because shimmying out of them requires movement he isn't keen to engage in.
fuck. he wants to get up and punch something for even having the thought. his vision swims, his glass slipping to the floor but cushioned by the rug at his feet, gin soaking into the pale gray carpet. he almost, almost reaches for his phone, unsure of who to even ask for, but his stubborn, aching pride tells him to suffer in silence.
the door clicks. no alarms go off, which is good, because they would split his head right in two, but an uninvited shadow falls over his bed. ash, he thinks, forlorn and sullen.
the voice pulls him from his reverie, his shrouded gaze rising sharply to hawk's narrow face. his hand twitches down by his knee, empty without his glass, his body abruptly tight as a bowstring. ]
Make me a drink, if you're here.
[ he would flop onto the bed at this point, arrange himself in a way that looks casually irresistible, but god, every breath hurts. his eyes bore into hawk's, as if he's somehow resentful that he's not ash, even if he's now once again decided that ash being here is the last thing he wants.
his fingers need something to do, so they gravitate toward his fly, tugging at the zipper. ]
Take these off. [ his shirt swings open, too late to hide the mottled bruising painted across his ribs. he tries to picture himself as ash, heady with a sense of imagined power. ] You came here to take care of me, right? So do your job.
[embry looks like shit - or well, as much "shit" as someone with his boyish good looks and baby blues can feasibly stretch the definition of it. if anything the glassiness in his eyes and the dishevelment of his clothes just drive something heated in hawk's chest into a tightness that begs to be relieved - torn between the desire to kiss it all better and rough him up a little more into something debauched in that line between pleasure and pain. and according to ash, that's apparently entirely doable - an option he didn't even realize was on the table. it's not as simple as saying that he wants to hurt embry when he's already in such a fucked up condition, jesus, no. but they're too similar in ways that make his head hurt if he thinks about it for too long - needing the violence as punishment and control all wrapped into one as if to make sense of the shitty decisions that hurt the people they care about.
if his pupils didn't give it away, the smell of gin and the slightly darkened stain blooming on his expensive rug does the trick. there's no pity in hawk's gaze, no judgment either - if anything, it's a mix of understanding, concern, and thinly veiled fury at the fact that he let it get this goddamn bad. at himself - for not noticing the warning signs sooner. everything happened too fast, and this is maybe the first meaningful amount of time he's spent away from tim's bedside.
he hadn't meant to be neglectful. to make embry think he came second. realistically hawk understands that they both know this thing has been a mere convenience, but now that ash has filled in the blank spots...hawk realizes they've all just been playing a fast and loose version of ring around the rosie with the things they're running from. almost losing said thing has given him a hell of a wakeup call, but while he's still processing it, there's one thing he can do right.
there's a part of him that wonders what embry might do if he was treated with softness and affection - hawk getting on his knees, pretending to go along with his attempt at regaining some semblance of power here and not hating the fact that it's hawk who walked through his door and not the president he's pining for. if he'd finally let down his guard a little with his head in hawk's lap, fingers running through those pretty espresso waves and letting him lay horizontal until exhaustion overtook him and let him finally get some rest instead of pretending to be the unaffected one. and maybe he still can, but hawk knows he's going to have to earn it.]
After you wasted a perfectly good serving of Nolet's Reserve? Not a chance.
[he stoops down with no intention of obeying this order - instead swiping the glass that's perched on its side almost as elegantly as embry still manages to make himself look before setting it down on a coaster with a clink. that's just about the moment he's rewarded with a clear look at what's severely wrong - angry purple blotches stretching against the expanse of his torso. definitely internal bleeding, definitely should have been looked at hours ago. christ.
instead he reaches for embry's chin, tipping it up none too gently and forcing him to look up at where hawk is looming over him and stare into the expression that makes it clear he's not fucking around with this little attempted display of amusing proportions. and he's not undressing him here either, tempting as it is with the arch of his neck ripe for the taking, the half-lidded eyes that so closely mirror his own in their icy defiance.]
That's not what you want. Not what you need either. Seeing as you're doing so well, you'll have no trouble with this.
[it's going to hurt a little more before it gets better.
hawk's voice drops low, that rough gravel edging around every syllable in a way he knows commands attention.]
[ as if hawk knows a thing about what he wants. what he needs. something in him latches onto the command, a hook sinking deep into his flesh. it could carry him across the room, past the threshold of his bedroom, where hawk might actually undress him, might actually look at him like ash did, and maybe embry would feel something other than his own scorching breaths every time he inhales.
his eyes feel too wide, his pupils blown from the amount of substances swimming through his veins. hawk's fingers against his chin are hotter than a brand, his expression unreadable while embry is sure his face betrays every doubt festering inside of him.
he stands, and he even briefly considers listening, but the thought is discarded as swiftly as it takes to wrap his fingers around the bottle, lifting it to his lips for a generous swallow. with his lips still wet, his breath soaked with liquor, he presses in to speak directly into hawk's ear. ]
Fuck you.
[ a breathy whisper, mouth clumsy enough to brush against the shell of his ear. it's what he would have said to ash; it's what he definitely wants to say to hawk, satisfaction humming through his aching body at his decision. he sets the bottle down with a thunk and yanks, without preamble, at hawk's belt, jerking him close as his buckle opens in his expert hands, fingers flicking open the button of his trousers and grasping at the zipper. he isn't thinking beyond a bit of carnal pleasure and self-destruction. he's already fucked up. what's a little more? ]
Shouldn't you be with Tim? [ his fingers hook in hawk's fly. ] You left him all alone?
[well, unfortunately for embry - if he didn't know anything about what he wanted or needed before, he most certainly does now thanks to a fascinatingly insightful and fucked up call with ash that he's still in the middle of processing. not that he couldn't guess on his own from their past little interludes what that might look like, but now hawk has a better understanding of the parameters and a little less guilt at the idea of actually physically hurting him in a way that doesn't quite stop with a safe word. (as if they ever came up with one in the first place.) but the resistance is wholly expected, the bratty defiance even as he looks three sheets to the wind and one gust from toppling over in a heaping pile of tom ford and apparent shame.
hawk could stop the bottle, yank it away and spill it all over the probably already ruined rug if he wanted - certain embry couldn't really fight him on it in this state. but he watches anyway, letting him have his tantrum, tipping his head so embry can murmur viciously against his lips even as he smiles in an amusement that's nearly fond.]
Now now, we both know that's not on the table.
[there's a release of pressure when his belt opens with a metallic clink, gaze appraising until it flashes a little at the mention of tim. that's when he grips both of embry's wrists firm enough to warrant more than a little tug for release - pushing him back and creating intentional distance.]
He's sick of me. Nurses are topping him up on his meds and he'll be out like a light any minute now.
[he pushes embry's wrists down, jutting his hips forward with a lazy sprawl where his trousers are half open.]
I'm no Florence Nightingale, but I did to give you the more comfortable option.
[his hand reaches for a mussed fistful of curls, the blunt crescents of his trimmed nails scraping lightly against his scalp before he lets his hand splay and rest firm at the back of embry's neck. this is not a request.]
Get on your knees and open it.
[a pause, hawk leaning and mirroring embry's move against his ear.]
Is that all it takes to get rid of you? [ he stumbles slightly, and probably would've fallen on his ass if not for the death grip hawk has on his wrists. it's like being bound, but warmer. ] Just getting sick of you?
[ but embry isn't sick of him. he's sick of being lonely, and hawk alleviates that when there's no one else. he wouldn't go as far as saying he missed him, but he can admit it was irritating not to have him around when he's been leaning on him a little too hard lately — although it's irritating to have him around too, but embry doesn't really know how to fix a man's personality.
christ. the husky tone of hawk's voice sends a tremor straight to his dick, shivers dancing down his spine from the almost tender stroke of his hair. he tries to shake his hand off, but that throws his balance into severe jeopardy once more, and then he's aware of only the heat of hawk's mouth, his mind going jagged. his knees buckle despite his best intentions, pain flaring behind his ribs from his sudden rushing breaths.
hawk's half open trousers are level with his face, and embry fights the urge to sink his nose right between his legs. he grits his teeth, his bloodshot eyes flickering upwards, glimmering with lustful resentment. ]
Did Tim like doing this, too? [ two can play at this fucking game. embry's teeth snag onto hawk's zipper, dragging it down to reveal his silky briefs. ] Did you make him kneel and beg for your cock?
[it's not. this is his fucking job - or well, babysitting embry has always been the job, it's just the details of what it entailed were never fully spelled out. fucking him into submission probably wouldn't have passed the linkedin screeners. but hawk would love if it if embry would use his goddamn words once in awhile - hey, i think i've got internal bleeding. sustained an injury. i'm lonely. - all of which would easily do the trick to get hawk, ash, and probably even tim to come running and kiss it better. that's fine, he's used to doing things the hard way around here.
speaking of hard things: his cock, throbbing to life even as embry mouths off and has the audacity to bring tim into this. hawk can be the mature one for both of them tonight, letting it bounce off and chalking it up to poor judgment, too much fucking gin, and probably a fractured rib or two clouding his better sensibilities, if those even exist. actually - embry would probably ask him about this sober, but his lips twitch with sympathetic amusement at the attempt to get a rise out of him. his gaze pulls with each centimeter those pearly whites draw the zipper down, easing some of the growing pressure as he's filling out the real estate in expensive fabric. embry looks good like this, even in all his pained dishevelment, the anger flashing in his eyes - the knowledge that they're both using this is a salve to wounds that are more than skin deep. hawk's not ash, but he's got plenty of material to go off of that'll satisfy all the anger and resentment in them both.]
Shut up long enough and you'll get the answer to your own question.
[he's going to beg for it before the night is over. but on the subject of tim? hawk is not dignifying any of that with an answer, still foolishly convinced he can write it off as a passing acquaintance until he figures out what the fuck the two of them are going to do. what he's got to fix to try and pick up the pieces of the trauma inflicted by carpathia and his own abandonment. it makes his jaw twitch briefly, fingers flexing at his side - itching to dig into those curls once more, but he's got patience in spades too.
and in case embry needs some inspiration:]
Get me out, and then put your hands behind your back.
[ the problem is precisely that ash would come running, after embry has gone through great fucking mental pains to wrangle their fiery bond into something more manageable, more casual. ash would end his entire career to come lick his wounds, and embry would have to live with even more guilt than he already does.
or maybe ash wouldn't, now that tim has his attention. he doesn't know. part of the torment is that he never really knows, because he's twisted everything into such a reprehensible lie that what's real and what not isn't so simple to untangle anymore.
what's real with hawk is easier. his orders are real. his cock is real. the desire throbbing deep at embry's core is dead fucking real. ]
He's sweet. Tim. Don't know how he got mixed up with you.
[ embry's fingers tug hawk free, but he doesn't follow instructions beyond that, dragging along the underside of his cock to stop at the tip, the pad of his thumb pressing down. ash would have choked him on his dick for an hour for talking back. he's choked him on his dick for saying nothing at all. ]
Does he mumble in his sleep with you, too? [ he leans forward, ghosting hot breath across hawk's dick, his wet lips brushing skin. ] Or is that just with me?
[there's a laugh that nearly bubbles up in his throat, though he has the good sense not to let it out on the thought that embry is clearly not in his right mind at the moment. he expected the petulance, the lack of regard - pushing his buttons to try and get hawk to snap and hurt him with the violence that comes in the form of bending and breaking a pretty boy with a sharp tongue. the way ash did for him, once upon a time, and this isn't a dick-swinging contest per se - but hawk wouldn't mind it if embry left feeling fucked six-ways to sunday and actually prompted to take care of himself for a change.
christ. he's really hung up on tim, thinking he's caught hawk's hand in the cookie jar, the one secret that's been his entire modus operandi to hide since he started this job. and less than 24 hours ago, hawk would have denied it, crafted a careful lie or found something else blackmail or sweet-talk his way out of it and get a clean getaway. cut all associations, undercut tim and find the weakness in his work, if he had to. that's the fucked up part - wondering how much he'd be willing to throw away when everything else has clicked into place with stark reality now that he's almost lost the literal love of his life.
it's why he won't indulge this. won't let him be dragged into this fucked up thing they've had going, not just because tim doesn't deserve it, but embry doesn't really want to hear about it either.]
Yeah. Seems like a real sweet kid. Didn't deserve whatever is giving him all those nightmares. To think - it all happened right under our goddamn noses.
[hawk tips one of his expensive leather oxfords upwards, angling it against embry's crotch and applying the right amount of pressure to make him lean back on his haunches and spread the enticing v of his thighs that much more - to push him away from his dick for disobeying. his shoe stays right where it is, heel planted firmly on the ground so he doesn't lose his own balance while the front presses lightly against the bulge behind embry's finely tailored slacks.]
You're high out of your goddamn mind, so I'll say it again slow.
[hawk reaches for his curls again, fisting harder and jerking his head back hard enough to hurt this time as he bends at the waist and repeats each word with precise enunciation.]
[ it's not that the fight goes out of him, it's just that guilt sweeps into him with all the discomfort of a bitterly cold wind. he doesn't dislike tim. he likes him, even, and resents just slightly that he does, because so does hawk, and so does ash, and embry feels like extraneous fucking silverware. he always feels a little like he's being pushed out, whether it's by his own piss-poor choices or just the walls of the universe shitting on him.
if he was a better man, he'd tell hawk to get his foot off his dick and go back to tim's bedside. he'd make him some coffee to take with him, and offer one of his trusted secret service lingering outside to drive him back and forth so he wouldn't have to worry about falling asleep at the wheel. he'd give him a stack of books for tim to borrow. but if he does all of that, he'll be alone. and he's not a good man anyway.
the sole of hawk's shoe feels punishing against his pulsing cock, his thighs stretching to find relief. knife-like pain grates across his ribs, stealing his breath and forcing his hand, his brows knotted as he moves, pressing his clenched fists to the small of his back. he feels the loss of sensation instantly, the desire to grip hawk by the hips and bring him close again running rampant through him.
stubbornly, he tries to shift away from hawk's hold, his knotted grip in his hair sending needles prickling across his skull. he has an unwilling flash of tim on his knees, hawk's hand shoved into his brown hair. is that what he sees? the sting of jealousy isn't as strong as he'd expect; he finds he doesn't want to be himself anyway, and it doesn't matter what hawk thinks as long as he stays. ]
You didn't let Tim touch you? [ he strains, his breath shuddering as sparks grind against his cock. this is too much like ash, lifting too many corners of his memory. ] Did you tie his hands up? Are we using the honor system today?
We've all been through it, but if you're that worried - you know where you ought to take a look?
[a pause for the hilarity of it, completely rhetorical.]
The hospital. Which is exactly where you fucking belong right now.
[hawk's gaze grows less tolerant, more condescending in the way he's looking down at embry through dark lashes and icy eyes. his struggles don't get him particularly far with the way his fingers are gripping at soft curls and the precise angle of his neck - but it's all the thoughts swirling inside that he can't piece together. on some level he realizes this must bring back memories of ash, but the fixation on tim...maybe it's just meant to put him off-foot, a gotcha moment to pull the rug out from under him after all. either way, it's all terribly juvenile. why can't he just fucking accept that people (hawk) care about him too?
he's refusing to mix the two, and nothing about the way his ferragamos are pressed against embry's throbbing cock reminds him of tim right now, no matter how many times he tries to push it into his face.
speaking of:]
I'll make this simple.
[hawk drops his free hand to circle around the base of his own flushed cock, pumping it good and firm to full attention. and then he guides it to the corner of embry's mouth with an unceremonious smack, dragging it against the corner of his lips slow.]
Keep your eyes open, hands where they are, and ask me nicely to suck my cock.
[the trade off is easy, the tip of hawk's oxfords pressing in harder, rubbing up and down slightly against the strained inseam of embry's pants, which he can tell aren't his favorites and immediately hates himself for paying that close of attention to his closet.]
Misbehave and you're getting them behind your back, strained enough to hurt more than I can tell you already do.
[which he doesn't want to have to resort to - preferring the pain he doles out to have a more pleasurable purpose. that, and the sole of his shoe lifts completely for a moment, removing all pressure.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
hawkins. i don't need ash's help.
he's tied up with tim. the person who got kidnapped and actually needs him.
he could use you too, so if you could go back to your bouncer position and let me read in peace, that'd be fucking awesome.
no subject
Enjoy your peace.
[which sounds an awful lot like hawk backing off.
which is the exact opposite of what he's doing, actually.
it feels like the adrenaline never wore off from the night of the kidnapping - that, or every second it manages to slow down something amps it back up again. embry with his horrible, self-destructive tendencies. the president of the fucking united states engaging him in - whatever that conversarion was - he's probably prowling around like a lion trying to get into another fight right now. he has to be held by the neck and quieted down. i made him come all over himself, still bleeding, high off his ass on morphine. neither of us were happy after one round.
thank christ hawk has a key to embry's place, even if he'd initially spent hours reconsidering his career choice when the vice president would hit him with low-stakes crises like get my hugo boss pants for tonight's fundraiser, or i left my sapphire cufflinks in the nightstand, fetch. meant to annoy him with inanity and keep him from trying to snoop out whatever the fuck was going on with him and his family and the president outside of the public face they all plastered on for everyone.
he nods to the men waiting at the end of the hall, supervising from a distance after no doubt clearing the interior with a safety sweep like clockwork. did he come straight after lunch? is he in much pain? the key slips in quietly, and hawk doesn't announce his presence like he typically would in the just-barely-tasteful (in his opinion) expanse of embry's condo. instead he takes utmost care to walk quick and silently through the rooms, making his way past trinkets and art that probably cost more than his yearly salary for the next four years he has to put up with this shit.
until he sees that familiar head of hair, can tell by the tilt of his body that something is wrong.
god. he'd been so wrapped up in everything with tim, and embry had turned away when he heard that horrible crunch in the carpathian hellhole that he just -
this one is his fault.
hawk strides in front of him unceremoniously, planting himself firmly in front of embry.]
Congratulations, you got yourself a bouncer.
no subject
christ, all the gin has turned his brain into mush, or maybe the morphine, or maybe it's just a byproduct of fracturing his ribs, which is what he's almost certain is his diagnosis now, and the worst part is that there's nothing really to be done about it. nothing but to wait around and let it heal and wonder what ash would have done if embry had just let him fucking notice.
his last text is from hawk, not ash. that's the story of his life lately, because hawk is around and available and mostly willing, although sometimes he looks at embry like his entire existence disgusts him. embry finds that more comical than irritating. he feels an odd kinship with the man, a despicable kind, though he knows it's the nature of his loneliness to turn to the closest thing that'll hurt.
it's not like he's known for good decisions. mixing liquor and morphine. flaying himself alive for a noble cause when he's not even a good person. lying to ash's fucking face again and again. falling into bed with hawkins fuller.
or more specifically, letting hawk fuck him against a hotel wall until he saw stars, then falling into bed to be ridden like a racehorse, and in the morning asking hawk to lace his polished shoes because he'd complained he was too sore to bend over. absurdly — because this is definitely his sixth martini — he wonders if hawk would be willing to come over to undress him. his blazer is off, but the rest of his clothes aren't, his dress shirt open and rumpled, his belt discarded but his trousers simply hanging from his hips because shimmying out of them requires movement he isn't keen to engage in.
fuck. he wants to get up and punch something for even having the thought. his vision swims, his glass slipping to the floor but cushioned by the rug at his feet, gin soaking into the pale gray carpet. he almost, almost reaches for his phone, unsure of who to even ask for, but his stubborn, aching pride tells him to suffer in silence.
the door clicks. no alarms go off, which is good, because they would split his head right in two, but an uninvited shadow falls over his bed. ash, he thinks, forlorn and sullen.
the voice pulls him from his reverie, his shrouded gaze rising sharply to hawk's narrow face. his hand twitches down by his knee, empty without his glass, his body abruptly tight as a bowstring. ]
Make me a drink, if you're here.
[ he would flop onto the bed at this point, arrange himself in a way that looks casually irresistible, but god, every breath hurts. his eyes bore into hawk's, as if he's somehow resentful that he's not ash, even if he's now once again decided that ash being here is the last thing he wants.
his fingers need something to do, so they gravitate toward his fly, tugging at the zipper. ]
Take these off. [ his shirt swings open, too late to hide the mottled bruising painted across his ribs. he tries to picture himself as ash, heady with a sense of imagined power. ] You came here to take care of me, right? So do your job.
no subject
if his pupils didn't give it away, the smell of gin and the slightly darkened stain blooming on his expensive rug does the trick. there's no pity in hawk's gaze, no judgment either - if anything, it's a mix of understanding, concern, and thinly veiled fury at the fact that he let it get this goddamn bad. at himself - for not noticing the warning signs sooner. everything happened too fast, and this is maybe the first meaningful amount of time he's spent away from tim's bedside.
he hadn't meant to be neglectful. to make embry think he came second. realistically hawk understands that they both know this thing has been a mere convenience, but now that ash has filled in the blank spots...hawk realizes they've all just been playing a fast and loose version of ring around the rosie with the things they're running from. almost losing said thing has given him a hell of a wakeup call, but while he's still processing it, there's one thing he can do right.
there's a part of him that wonders what embry might do if he was treated with softness and affection - hawk getting on his knees, pretending to go along with his attempt at regaining some semblance of power here and not hating the fact that it's hawk who walked through his door and not the president he's pining for. if he'd finally let down his guard a little with his head in hawk's lap, fingers running through those pretty espresso waves and letting him lay horizontal until exhaustion overtook him and let him finally get some rest instead of pretending to be the unaffected one. and maybe he still can, but hawk knows he's going to have to earn it.]
After you wasted a perfectly good serving of Nolet's Reserve? Not a chance.
[he stoops down with no intention of obeying this order - instead swiping the glass that's perched on its side almost as elegantly as embry still manages to make himself look before setting it down on a coaster with a clink. that's just about the moment he's rewarded with a clear look at what's severely wrong - angry purple blotches stretching against the expanse of his torso. definitely internal bleeding, definitely should have been looked at hours ago. christ.
instead he reaches for embry's chin, tipping it up none too gently and forcing him to look up at where hawk is looming over him and stare into the expression that makes it clear he's not fucking around with this little attempted display of amusing proportions. and he's not undressing him here either, tempting as it is with the arch of his neck ripe for the taking, the half-lidded eyes that so closely mirror his own in their icy defiance.]
That's not what you want. Not what you need either. Seeing as you're doing so well, you'll have no trouble with this.
[it's going to hurt a little more before it gets better.
hawk's voice drops low, that rough gravel edging around every syllable in a way he knows commands attention.]
Get up and go to the bedroom.
Now.
no subject
his eyes feel too wide, his pupils blown from the amount of substances swimming through his veins. hawk's fingers against his chin are hotter than a brand, his expression unreadable while embry is sure his face betrays every doubt festering inside of him.
he stands, and he even briefly considers listening, but the thought is discarded as swiftly as it takes to wrap his fingers around the bottle, lifting it to his lips for a generous swallow. with his lips still wet, his breath soaked with liquor, he presses in to speak directly into hawk's ear. ]
Fuck you.
[ a breathy whisper, mouth clumsy enough to brush against the shell of his ear. it's what he would have said to ash; it's what he definitely wants to say to hawk, satisfaction humming through his aching body at his decision. he sets the bottle down with a thunk and yanks, without preamble, at hawk's belt, jerking him close as his buckle opens in his expert hands, fingers flicking open the button of his trousers and grasping at the zipper. he isn't thinking beyond a bit of carnal pleasure and self-destruction. he's already fucked up. what's a little more? ]
Shouldn't you be with Tim? [ his fingers hook in hawk's fly. ] You left him all alone?
no subject
hawk could stop the bottle, yank it away and spill it all over the probably already ruined rug if he wanted - certain embry couldn't really fight him on it in this state. but he watches anyway, letting him have his tantrum, tipping his head so embry can murmur viciously against his lips even as he smiles in an amusement that's nearly fond.]
Now now, we both know that's not on the table.
[there's a release of pressure when his belt opens with a metallic clink, gaze appraising until it flashes a little at the mention of tim. that's when he grips both of embry's wrists firm enough to warrant more than a little tug for release - pushing him back and creating intentional distance.]
He's sick of me. Nurses are topping him up on his meds and he'll be out like a light any minute now.
[he pushes embry's wrists down, jutting his hips forward with a lazy sprawl where his trousers are half open.]
I'm no Florence Nightingale, but I did to give you the more comfortable option.
[his hand reaches for a mussed fistful of curls, the blunt crescents of his trimmed nails scraping lightly against his scalp before he lets his hand splay and rest firm at the back of embry's neck. this is not a request.]
Get on your knees and open it.
[a pause, hawk leaning and mirroring embry's move against his ear.]
With your teeth.
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[ but embry isn't sick of him. he's sick of being lonely, and hawk alleviates that when there's no one else. he wouldn't go as far as saying he missed him, but he can admit it was irritating not to have him around when he's been leaning on him a little too hard lately — although it's irritating to have him around too, but embry doesn't really know how to fix a man's personality.
christ. the husky tone of hawk's voice sends a tremor straight to his dick, shivers dancing down his spine from the almost tender stroke of his hair. he tries to shake his hand off, but that throws his balance into severe jeopardy once more, and then he's aware of only the heat of hawk's mouth, his mind going jagged. his knees buckle despite his best intentions, pain flaring behind his ribs from his sudden rushing breaths.
hawk's half open trousers are level with his face, and embry fights the urge to sink his nose right between his legs. he grits his teeth, his bloodshot eyes flickering upwards, glimmering with lustful resentment. ]
Did Tim like doing this, too? [ two can play at this fucking game. embry's teeth snag onto hawk's zipper, dragging it down to reveal his silky briefs. ] Did you make him kneel and beg for your cock?
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[it's not. this is his fucking job - or well, babysitting embry has always been the job, it's just the details of what it entailed were never fully spelled out. fucking him into submission probably wouldn't have passed the linkedin screeners. but hawk would love if it if embry would use his goddamn words once in awhile - hey, i think i've got internal bleeding. sustained an injury. i'm lonely. - all of which would easily do the trick to get hawk, ash, and probably even tim to come running and kiss it better. that's fine, he's used to doing things the hard way around here.
speaking of hard things: his cock, throbbing to life even as embry mouths off and has the audacity to bring tim into this. hawk can be the mature one for both of them tonight, letting it bounce off and chalking it up to poor judgment, too much fucking gin, and probably a fractured rib or two clouding his better sensibilities, if those even exist. actually - embry would probably ask him about this sober, but his lips twitch with sympathetic amusement at the attempt to get a rise out of him. his gaze pulls with each centimeter those pearly whites draw the zipper down, easing some of the growing pressure as he's filling out the real estate in expensive fabric. embry looks good like this, even in all his pained dishevelment, the anger flashing in his eyes - the knowledge that they're both using this is a salve to wounds that are more than skin deep. hawk's not ash, but he's got plenty of material to go off of that'll satisfy all the anger and resentment in them both.]
Shut up long enough and you'll get the answer to your own question.
[he's going to beg for it before the night is over. but on the subject of tim? hawk is not dignifying any of that with an answer, still foolishly convinced he can write it off as a passing acquaintance until he figures out what the fuck the two of them are going to do. what he's got to fix to try and pick up the pieces of the trauma inflicted by carpathia and his own abandonment. it makes his jaw twitch briefly, fingers flexing at his side - itching to dig into those curls once more, but he's got patience in spades too.
and in case embry needs some inspiration:]
Get me out, and then put your hands behind your back.
Go on.
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or maybe ash wouldn't, now that tim has his attention. he doesn't know. part of the torment is that he never really knows, because he's twisted everything into such a reprehensible lie that what's real and what not isn't so simple to untangle anymore.
what's real with hawk is easier. his orders are real. his cock is real. the desire throbbing deep at embry's core is dead fucking real. ]
He's sweet. Tim. Don't know how he got mixed up with you.
[ embry's fingers tug hawk free, but he doesn't follow instructions beyond that, dragging along the underside of his cock to stop at the tip, the pad of his thumb pressing down. ash would have choked him on his dick for an hour for talking back. he's choked him on his dick for saying nothing at all. ]
Does he mumble in his sleep with you, too? [ he leans forward, ghosting hot breath across hawk's dick, his wet lips brushing skin. ] Or is that just with me?
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christ. he's really hung up on tim, thinking he's caught hawk's hand in the cookie jar, the one secret that's been his entire modus operandi to hide since he started this job. and less than 24 hours ago, hawk would have denied it, crafted a careful lie or found something else blackmail or sweet-talk his way out of it and get a clean getaway. cut all associations, undercut tim and find the weakness in his work, if he had to. that's the fucked up part - wondering how much he'd be willing to throw away when everything else has clicked into place with stark reality now that he's almost lost the literal love of his life.
it's why he won't indulge this. won't let him be dragged into this fucked up thing they've had going, not just because tim doesn't deserve it, but embry doesn't really want to hear about it either.]
Yeah. Seems like a real sweet kid. Didn't deserve whatever is giving him all those nightmares. To think - it all happened right under our goddamn noses.
[hawk tips one of his expensive leather oxfords upwards, angling it against embry's crotch and applying the right amount of pressure to make him lean back on his haunches and spread the enticing v of his thighs that much more - to push him away from his dick for disobeying. his shoe stays right where it is, heel planted firmly on the ground so he doesn't lose his own balance while the front presses lightly against the bulge behind embry's finely tailored slacks.]
You're high out of your goddamn mind, so I'll say it again slow.
[hawk reaches for his curls again, fisting harder and jerking his head back hard enough to hurt this time as he bends at the waist and repeats each word with precise enunciation.]
Hands. Behind. Your back.
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if he was a better man, he'd tell hawk to get his foot off his dick and go back to tim's bedside. he'd make him some coffee to take with him, and offer one of his trusted secret service lingering outside to drive him back and forth so he wouldn't have to worry about falling asleep at the wheel. he'd give him a stack of books for tim to borrow. but if he does all of that, he'll be alone. and he's not a good man anyway.
the sole of hawk's shoe feels punishing against his pulsing cock, his thighs stretching to find relief. knife-like pain grates across his ribs, stealing his breath and forcing his hand, his brows knotted as he moves, pressing his clenched fists to the small of his back. he feels the loss of sensation instantly, the desire to grip hawk by the hips and bring him close again running rampant through him.
stubbornly, he tries to shift away from hawk's hold, his knotted grip in his hair sending needles prickling across his skull. he has an unwilling flash of tim on his knees, hawk's hand shoved into his brown hair. is that what he sees? the sting of jealousy isn't as strong as he'd expect; he finds he doesn't want to be himself anyway, and it doesn't matter what hawk thinks as long as he stays. ]
You didn't let Tim touch you? [ he strains, his breath shuddering as sparks grind against his cock. this is too much like ash, lifting too many corners of his memory. ] Did you tie his hands up? Are we using the honor system today?
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We've all been through it, but if you're that worried - you know where you ought to take a look?
[a pause for the hilarity of it, completely rhetorical.]
The hospital. Which is exactly where you fucking belong right now.
[hawk's gaze grows less tolerant, more condescending in the way he's looking down at embry through dark lashes and icy eyes. his struggles don't get him particularly far with the way his fingers are gripping at soft curls and the precise angle of his neck - but it's all the thoughts swirling inside that he can't piece together. on some level he realizes this must bring back memories of ash, but the fixation on tim...maybe it's just meant to put him off-foot, a gotcha moment to pull the rug out from under him after all. either way, it's all terribly juvenile. why can't he just fucking accept that people (hawk) care about him too?
he's refusing to mix the two, and nothing about the way his ferragamos are pressed against embry's throbbing cock reminds him of tim right now, no matter how many times he tries to push it into his face.
speaking of:]
I'll make this simple.
[hawk drops his free hand to circle around the base of his own flushed cock, pumping it good and firm to full attention. and then he guides it to the corner of embry's mouth with an unceremonious smack, dragging it against the corner of his lips slow.]
Keep your eyes open, hands where they are, and ask me nicely to suck my cock.
[the trade off is easy, the tip of hawk's oxfords pressing in harder, rubbing up and down slightly against the strained inseam of embry's pants, which he can tell aren't his favorites and immediately hates himself for paying that close of attention to his closet.]
Misbehave and you're getting them behind your back, strained enough to hurt more than I can tell you already do.
[which he doesn't want to have to resort to - preferring the pain he doles out to have a more pleasurable purpose. that, and the sole of his shoe lifts completely for a moment, removing all pressure.]
So what'll it be?