[well, now he really has seen everything. that or he's been whacked in the back of the head and this dream is carrying on excessively while he bleeds out on the dc pavement. this whole getup - it looks like he's walked into a fucking opium den, something that makes the cozy corner look like a monastery in comparison to such egregiousness. cohn and mccarthy and even that bastard schine would have a field day with this place - not just "the smoked egg", but the entirety of this hotel and its amenities and definitely it's free reign of deviant behavior that would make their eyes pop out of their goddamn sockets. and it's not the hawk hasn't seen his fair share of hurried handjobs and men bruising their knees for a quick blow in the parks and restrooms - but they were never so blatant. open. leisurely.
not that he's considering partaking - not a chance in hell. at least, not so publicly like this. he still isn't convinced there's no repercussions, no matter what a pair of pretty blue eyes and a mouthy brunette that's just his type says. hawk doesn't think he'll ever shake the feeling of being scrutinized and watched and picked apart, some metaphorical wound gaping open in his chest that his father left the day he opened the door to hawk on his knees - exposing all the secrets he's worked so hard to push down and pretend have been exorcised from his person. but even still - their conversation keeps echoing around parts of his brain as he settles gingerly against a beanbag that most closely resembles some form of a propped up chair, casually slinging an arm over the top of it and helping himself to one of his own cigarettes, taking in the array of flavors and contraptions meant to be enticing on the table and pillows that surround this carved out space, sheer curtains fluttering from the activity around it.
no offense, but i'm way more important than you.
he'd gotten here early - half to scope this out and see if embry was bullshitting him, half in case he wasn't as pretty as he looked. not that it would matter if this panned out considering just about all of hawk's endeavors ended up facedown eventually. but the longer he sits, the longer his skin feels as if it's itching underneath the layers of his finely tailored wool suit, like it needs to breathe and get some sort of relief that isn't cloying, unfamiliar scents and a hot discomfort that's making him feel like he's already downed the untouched whiskey in front of him. there's a glass of gin opposite - top shelf, obviously, waiting for embry. he resists the urge to loosen his tie, undo a button or two even if he suspects that makes him stick out like a sore thumb as a tourist.
but it's hard not to feel like one when he's surrounded by the kind of deviancy he'd smiled and nodded and accepted pamphlets for, secretly rebelling against in his own ways every night and working to undermine. hawk's no prude, but this much decadence almost sets him on edge. he's almost halfway sucked down his cigarette when he spots the man of the hour, gaze raking over him from afar until he comes closer. there's no move to get up and shake hands, just a lazy smirk around the filter in his mouth and his posture oozing a casual ease like he owns the damn place.]
Hard to imagine this place leaving much left in the line of "firsts", but have you been here before or what?
— 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅
not that he's considering partaking - not a chance in hell. at least, not so publicly like this. he still isn't convinced there's no repercussions, no matter what a pair of pretty blue eyes and a mouthy brunette that's just his type says. hawk doesn't think he'll ever shake the feeling of being scrutinized and watched and picked apart, some metaphorical wound gaping open in his chest that his father left the day he opened the door to hawk on his knees - exposing all the secrets he's worked so hard to push down and pretend have been exorcised from his person. but even still - their conversation keeps echoing around parts of his brain as he settles gingerly against a beanbag that most closely resembles some form of a propped up chair, casually slinging an arm over the top of it and helping himself to one of his own cigarettes, taking in the array of flavors and contraptions meant to be enticing on the table and pillows that surround this carved out space, sheer curtains fluttering from the activity around it.
no offense, but i'm way more important than you.
he'd gotten here early - half to scope this out and see if embry was bullshitting him, half in case he wasn't as pretty as he looked. not that it would matter if this panned out considering just about all of hawk's endeavors ended up facedown eventually. but the longer he sits, the longer his skin feels as if it's itching underneath the layers of his finely tailored wool suit, like it needs to breathe and get some sort of relief that isn't cloying, unfamiliar scents and a hot discomfort that's making him feel like he's already downed the untouched whiskey in front of him. there's a glass of gin opposite - top shelf, obviously, waiting for embry. he resists the urge to loosen his tie, undo a button or two even if he suspects that makes him stick out like a sore thumb as a tourist.
but it's hard not to feel like one when he's surrounded by the kind of deviancy he'd smiled and nodded and accepted pamphlets for, secretly rebelling against in his own ways every night and working to undermine. hawk's no prude, but this much decadence almost sets him on edge. he's almost halfway sucked down his cigarette when he spots the man of the hour, gaze raking over him from afar until he comes closer. there's no move to get up and shake hands, just a lazy smirk around the filter in his mouth and his posture oozing a casual ease like he owns the damn place.]
Hard to imagine this place leaving much left in the line of "firsts", but have you been here before or what?