ASIMOV.

actor / birdie whalen's chief of staff charles asimov, secondary muse apart of cbc. chief of staff, democrat. pawn. written by danji, 21+, viewer discretion advised.

[matteomartaridaily]

(x)

[charlesasimov]

evanabuchanan‌:

Keep reading

Beneath the dim, slightly shuttering light of the kitchen, there is nothing left to say. The noises softly oozing from Evan’s lips, the velveteen voice he uses to purr his name, and the strength of his grip, all but burrowing into Charlie’s scalp, speaks volumes. It is slightly ironic --- he’s told the man he’s on his knees for time and time again to shut up, and here he is, mouth agape, fed by Evan’s breathy responses. 

But he doesn’t finish Evan off--- there will be more of that tonight. His hands replace his mouth as he rises, finding his footing, jerking up and down Evan’s length until they’re eye level (nearly, anyway. Evan has an inch on him yet.) 

“Living room.” He mutters, and it isn’t a question this time. 

[charlesasimov]

hans-starke‌:

Hans scoffs, “This is an introduction? And here I was, thinking we could merrily part as strangers. Your side tends to like that better.” No wrong answers if no questions are asked. Still, Hans shrugs — and offers his hand. “Johannes Starke — Hans is fine. I’m a lobbyist for Big Oil.” He smiles. That info enough? “So.” He drops his hand and fixes his cufflinks. “Wish I hadn’t introduced myself yet?”

“Your side tends to like shooting us on our way out.” Shoulders lift into a shrug, accepting the hand offered with a firm shake. “Hans--Charlie. A pleasure.” Charming until the bitter end, his lips quirk at the corners while the introduction is made, and remain lifted following Hans’ clarification. He notes the minute flex of the lobbyist’s fingertips over gilded cuff-links, and yet, he doesn’t presume the action to be bred from nerves. “No, frankly--- do you?”

[charlesasimov]

SMS: Evan + Charlie

EVAN: Ha. Okay. Noted for the future.

EVAN: It is far.

EVAN: Can I make you dinner? James and Sybil are both out tonight. A rare occasion.

EVAN: A little sympathy wouldn't hurt.

CHARLIE: Yes. I'd like that. What's on the menu?

CHARLIE: How about I show you how sorry I am when I see you? Might not do it justice over SMS.

[charlesasimov]

corinnejmorris‌:

swingin’ party ↷ @charlesasimov​

it was officially gala season in Washington, d.c.— well actually everyday was gala season in Washington. Any excuse for opulence was good enough for politicos and the crowds they surrounded themselves with, Corinne didn’t mind though. She adored a good party, with people watching and lots and lots of champagne. As she did her rounds, there were a few whispers of an after party, which she of course received an invite too. She’d been sober for a week and half and intended to stay far the hell away from coke as she and her little group clambered into the elevator, up to this penthouse party.

Already drunk enough, she couldn’t help but pour herself another glass. Becoming a mixologist in the process as she helped herself to all the bottles and mixers in the kitchen. She shopped it amongst her friends, to see if it was as good as she thought or if she was just really really drunk— fizzy, sweet, sour, pink, and way way way too strong. It’s been awhile since she’s felt this drunk, stumbling heels, lazy smiles, and a spinning head.

For some reason, this development hadn’t made her anxious, in fact she hardly felt anything at all. As her group dispersed into the party, she found herself alone. She stumbled around, like a shitty Cinderella— staring at modern art on the walls and poking her head into rooms in which she didn’t belong. 

She pokes her head into a room filled with people she didn’t recognize. Drunkenly manoeuvring to the crowd, hoping to see a familiar face. Then with a glance, she catches someone who she assumes is Collin— he’d take her home, or at least return her to the group. “Collin!” she says hand ghosting over his shoulder before her heels betray her and she crashes into mystery Collin’s side. 

“Colli— wait you’re not Collin, do you know where Collin is? I think he wants to take me home,”

Events such as these were part of his repertoire long before he became a politician, long before he became an actor -- they had been intrinsic to growing up, like an Astor or Green, an Asimov. He knows how to take cues, but he also knows when to give them, has mastered the art of polite conversation, how to wave his hands as he speaks, to gesticulate as though the topic at hand is of the utmost importance to him. He offers his company champagne at the precise moment when discord may rear its head -- and, that smile, brandished on hollowed cheeks when flattery has run its (admittedly) brief course. The Charles Asimov smile, a one-thousand-watt gleam, went a long way, and he knew it.

He’s discussing (of all things) his company’s recent charitable efforts in god damn Tunisia when a blonde woman beckons his attention and drapes herself onto his shoulder. For a brief moment, Charlie is thankful to the interruption, momentarily turning away from the senator’s daughter, niece, god daughter---whoever she was, to plant a hand on Corinne’s hip and steady her. He casts her a sidelong glance, recognizing her from the post-debate party (a shiver running down his spine at the mere thought). Heavy drinker. Lightweight. Older than she looks, he’s guessing. He presses his lips into a thin line of annoyance.

Addicts in this fucking city --- gotta love ‘em. 

“Collin--.” He hums, “no, don’t know a Collin. One second,” Charlie mouths, and the woman he’d been talking to quietly excuses herself. Thank fuck. “Looks like your Mr. Darcy’s AWOL. What are you going to do about it?” Arm still tucked around her, he flashes her a shark-like grin.

[charlesasimov]

evanabuchanan‌:

Evan laughs in that quiet, secretive way of his, the fullness of his joy saved otherwise only for those whom he deems worthy. Though it’s clear what he wants from Charlie— and the reciprocal smile does not go unnoticed— Evan isn’t sold on anything beyond that just yet, celebrity and all. 

He picks up his coaster, squinting at the words in the dim light of the bar, and recites the lines aloud. Following Charlie’s suit, he lowers his voice, too, the poetry reserved for them and them alone. 

since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things 

He sets the coaster back down on the bartop, taking the opportunity to move himself a fraction of an inch closer, his body turning to face Charlie head-on. He rests his left arm on the side of the bar, the other extended out to his companion. 

“I’m Evan.”

His curls muse upon his forehead as he cranes his neck, struggling to give Evan his undivided attention under the din and chatter of the bar. Charlie’s eyes shift from the coaster, beading with the sweat of Evan’s whiskey, back toward his profile. His eyes were seemingly goading him with lighthearted perusal. “Yours is better,” he says, matter-of-factly, “I like that.” 

He graces his hand against Evan’s, palms meeting, his thumb wafting across the thin skin of Evan’s wrist. “Charles.” He can’t quite place if Evan know him or not, though he’s perfectly fine with not knowing. “Charlie, actually. What better way to break the ice than pretentious poetry?” Redundant. All poetry is-- in some way or another -- pretentious. “What brings you here tonight, Evan?” 

[charlesasimov]

evanabuchanan‌:

“That’d be a pretty terrible business model,” Evan replies, an eyebrow raised in quiet judgment. He takes a moment to regard the other, his staring rather obvious, but Evan doesn’t care— be it the alcohol or simply his inability to be subtle, Charlie is sure to notice. 

He recognizes him, that hair and that jawline— that jawline— having graced his television and the covers of the magazines his sister reads, and Evan is rather pleased to learn that it’s true what they say about Charles Asimov being just as dazzling up close as he is on the screen. A smile appears, rather shamelessly, across his face. 

“Maybe it’s telling you not to stop,” Evan offers. He laughs quietly at the difference of their interpretations. “After all, if you had, you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

He is not only amused but fascinated by the bluntness of Evan’s gaze, bumping into the corners and edges of Charlie’s figure. Whether it is the death of a Republican presidency, or an overall more lenient atmosphere in D.C, he flickers his brow upward as he takes in Evans’ evident appraisal. He doesn’t have to wonder if it’s favourable, though the smile smeared across Evan’s face is tell-tale. Charlie finds his mouth twisting into that eponymous, shark-like grin that he’s worn across red carpets and movie screens, and shifts his coaster closer to the man beside him. He doesn’t chase after men --- if they end up in the tangle of his affairs or the side of his bed, so be it, no skin off his back, but he’s willing to let this go as far as it wants.

“I like your version better,” He remarks, a little quieter than before although no less interested, bringing his glass to ghost against his lips. “You going to tell me what yours says or am I going to have to waste our time and guess here?” 

[charlesasimov]

evanabuchanan‌:

@charlesasimov

Evan loses Sybil somewhere in the middle of the party– he’s forgotten which one it is, there’s far too many events going on this week for him to keep track even if he were trying– and James didn’t return his five frantic calls, so he ends up in a bar. He’s not even sure how he got here. He stumbled into a random hotel and wandered through it until he found one, nestled in the back like it’s a secret. With the rest of the world occupied by the week’s events– either celebrating the new President or hiding from him– it’s rather quiet. He prefers it like that, these days.

He takes a seat at the bar and orders a whiskey. The coaster it comes with has an E.E. Cummings poem scrawled on it in nearly unintelligible handwriting– Evan scoffs at the cliche and tosses it to the side. He turns to the person on his right, curiosity getting the best of his desire to be alone, and points at the poem resting beneath his drink.

“What does yours say?”

The venue is private enough, exclusive to the upper-crusts of D.C., that Charlie doesn’t have to worry about being pestered with questions or mobbed by overzealous fans chucking their Blackberrys at him for a photo --- back doing press in Dallas, some girl and her mother had left an actual mark on his head with their Nokias, which, as far as head injuries went in Dallas, wasn’t too egregious. He still receives the occasional bat of an eye as he sidles up to the bar, but nothing to warrant the thick padding of security usually incubating him

He peels his collar away from his throat --- already stained with a  lipstick print from someone he can’t name or even pick out of a crowd of twenty pasty-faced redheads --- feeling flushed, he orders a jack and coke. It arrives on a coaster scribbled with something Charlie doesn’t bother reading until the blond beside him picks at his brain. He looks over, raising a brow at Evan. He sports a boyish look, but everywhere --- there’s an impression of rigid corners and steep depressions, even in the shadows beneath his eyes. Faint, beneath the highlighter yellow glow of the establishment. 

He looks down at the coaster and recites the Coleridge pithy. Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink. “You think that’s telling me to quit for the night?” 

[charlesasimov]

2009 + love n romance

Love and romance are chemical defects found on the losing side baby! In 2009, it’s all about sex, drugs and rock and roll. No love here and definitely no sappy romances with NRA lobbyists. 

[charlesasimov]

evanabuchanan‌:

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Dark eyes glance up at Evan, thinking -- off-hand -- that he looked good from this angle, his bottom lip jutting out ever-so-slightly, puffs of air released through his teeth in quiet hisses. Charlie’s mouth finds his skin again, warm and velveteen, as his slacks are tugged from his hips and pulled down his thighs. They’d pushed back and forth and Charles accepted a gracious defeat, Evan’s hand in his hair, his grip tight, and the slight twitch of his cock through the thin layer between them willing him on.

“That’s what I like to hear.” 

He tugged deliberately, purposefully at the hems and waistband of Evan’s boxers, running his nails against the skin of his outer thighs. His body is a map that Charlie has grown familiar with through the months, but he’s still pleasantly surprised by the various shortcuts and dead ends long the way. He dips his head down, placing an open mouth kiss against Evan’s stomach, tongue flicking across his skin as he did so -- warm breath fanning across his hardening length. 

Charlie can taste his skin. Evan’s response causes his stomach to stir and his own dick to strain against his jeans as he runs his tongue along Evan’s twitching erection, teasing the tip, before taking him partially into his mouth. He moves gently, pulls back, teasing the shaft and grazing his teeth along sensitive skin -- taking more of Evan until he presses against the back of his throat. Eyes flicker back up, daring. 

[charlesasimov]

hans-starke‌:

“For me, or for you?” He laughs. “I’m fine with Church. Or Bell. Or just about anyone that doesn’t think plastic straws are the root of all evil.” Looking at you, Zafar. “But for you? Considering who you work for, I’d say Berkeley is the only option. Whelan and him have been tight for years, haven’t they? I might even have heard a little something about a Veep spot. Now, I don’t know anyone who’d turn down that kinda promotion.” It’s one thing to command the staff of a senator, and another entirely to do that for a Vice President. Even if Charlie is new to the game, he’s surely quick enough to know that. Were Hans more naive, he could have overlooked the once-over for mindless curiosity or a momentary disconnect; but he observes Charlie as he does it, perhaps too closely, their gaze meeting once his eyes come back up. There’s a joke in there somewhere, but Hans doesn’t share it. “Mhm. Lucky are the ones that get to be hated by you, then." 

Off the comment, Hans raises a single brow. An actor with no ego? How unexpected. "A face for the radio and a body for the screen?” He provides. “I won’t pretend to understand your criteria, Asimov, but I’m happy to watch it.”

“I’m not picky.” Asimov listens to the lobbyist’s assessment with eyes that gleam with amusement, momentarily led astray by the cacophony on stage. Starke made a valid point. Plastic straws were not the root of all evil. But Big Oil would have no qualms funding them if they were. There were no permanent friends in politics, only permanent interests, and from what Charles’ gathered from Berkeley’s still-developing administration was that his interests laid in the future. A future that, though she championed strongly for it, Whelan did not represent.  “Berkeley is Senator Whelan’s pride, but working directly -- as Senator -- with the people is her joy. I don’t pretend to know why, but I suppose she’s fine, too,” he echoes Hans’ words, the moment in which their eyes lock fizzing away just as quickly as it kindled. “Oh, sure. The fifteen seconds of fame is always worth it. A pity few seem to latch on.” 

“Piss off,” Charles says -- jokingly. His shoulders slacken somewhat. “As far as introductions go, you’re really making me work for this one.” Stone, is it? Harry? The face is familiar enough for Charles to remember Birdie making some off-handed insult about it -- he knows, instinctively, that he is a part of the fossil fuel fold. “You seem to know my name, at least. A good start.”

[charlesasimov]

2009 + stardom

There are aspects of it Hollywood loves and wouldn’t trade for the world; there are also aspects of it that don’t agree with him and he could do without. In 2009, Charlie is at the top of his game, but every climax is followed by a steep decline. He’d never equate being a film star -- or even stardom itself -- with freedom, because though it can be financially freeing for others, he’s not able to do things casually and often not on his own terms. Decisions have to be run by his PR agents. A jog to Starbucks requires security. His life (although it being 2009 he isn’t immersed in social media) is continuously scrutinized, watched, and pieced apart. 

But then again, this is the life some have killed for, so it’s not all bad. 

[adamconnelly]

ask me anything: 10 years in the past au edition

questions about any topic or facet of my character in 2009 - their outlook on current events, what they’ve been up to, their ideas about the future, their feelings on jobs, relationships, or anything else! 

slip 2009 + any topic or question into my inbox!

[charlesasimov]

SMS: Evan + Charlie

EVAN: Ha. Obviously. I didn't think you needed to be told, though.

EVAN: I enjoy talking to you, too.

EVAN: Sorry I still use my phone as a phone. Aside from asking my brother what's for dinner, I don't think I text anyone other than you.

CHARLIE: Doesn't hurt to say it.

CHARLIE: I enjoy being around you, too. What are you up to tonight? Saturday's too far away.

CHARLIE: Am I supposed to feel bad for you your highness?

[charlesasimov]

SMS: Evan + Charlie

EVAN: Yes, interested. In you. What do you mean, is that all?

EVAN: Hahaha. That could've been an Emmy win, and you missed out.

EVAN: Lots of facts. Tell me something that I couldn't find on Google.

CHARLIE: I was just wondering.

CHARLIE: Shut up. Glad to know you think I'm that good, though.

CHARLIE: I enjoy talking to you. Even if texting is like pulling teeth for you. Does that suffice?

[charlesasimov]

NAME: Charles Asimov. Hollywood heartthrob.  AGE IN AU: 25. OCCUPATION: Actor. MARITAL STATUS: Casually dating. Recently linked to Elisa Cuthbert.  LIVING ARRANGEMENT: Apartment in L.A., staying at a hotel in D.C.

THE YEAR IS 2009. WHAT WAS YOUR CHARACTER LIKE BACK THEN? 

His career in the film industry is going steady and Charlie is in a fairly okay place, still being managed by talent agent David Goldani. There’s some trying times ahead, but the blinding lights of Hollywood wash everything white. Currently he’s wrapping up press in the United States for his upcoming film, Inglourious Basterds, which documents the first year of Germany’s occupation in WW2 France. Asimov plays a minor role opposite Michael Fassbender and Mélanie Laurent. 

This will be second to last of his ‘major’ film roles before easing into the indie world.

Charlie is enraptured with the culture of Hollywood. Everything is decidedly brisk. Fast cars, easy money, quick hookups. He’s not bothered by too much. Most of his itinerary is taken care of by a slew of scrupulous employees, and he’s almost always surrounded by a team of bodyguards -- and, of course, the occasional gaggle from the press. 

He’s a bit more pompous, a bit full of himself, and definitely reads the daily news articles written about him on his iPhone 3GS.

He’s in D.C. for promotion and will be heading up to Manhattan for the first release of Inglourious Basterds soon after.

[charlesasimov]

no one: absolutely nobody: not a single soul: me: here’s an idea i stole of a comprehensive list of charlie’s past relationships