[hawk's heart rabbits up a notch at the insinuation - because the only way he'd know if tim obliged him is if he were to scoot that camera down and share the face of a boy he knows scrunches up in concentration. a face that's bloomed with an easy summer tan, surprising him considering he'd expected the delicate irish skin to burn before it would deepen pretty olive undertones. a face he's substituted into dozens of his fantasies leading up to this moment, pretending it was tim anyway. surely his hints have been enough, and tim's not so oblivious anymore to his intentions or his desires. maybe he doesn't know how had it's been for hawk to stay away, but he's here now, because fuck the rules and fuck the way he shouldn't. he should have never met skippy for coffee on a blustery december day that close to his business, but here they are.
they found each other all the same, didn't they?
his mouth goes dry, cock thickening underneath his slacks as hawk easily starts undoing his fly and letting his palm brush over the seam in a slow squeeze. is this a bad idea? is it dangerous? of fucking course it is, and hearing his own name as tim settles into position looking every bit the angelic school boy with a side of something feisty and begging to be debauched should send a chill down his spine at how fast and loose he's playing. how vulnerable he is in this moment even if tim's the one on camera letting his guard down and putting those big brown eyes into view. but instead, it just makes him throb harder, want even deeper, sinking into this clandestine thing they've entirely unspoken until dinner - and even then, this wasn't the part they talked about. tim's voice rings loud and clear, the familiar timbre of it that he's heard animatedly across his desk, mumbled around his fingertips as he taps them deep in thought. that's his boy, alright.
god, he almost regrets telling him to lay down that way, watching the hard studs of his nipples and the light dusting of hair along his tight, toned body. the ripple of his abdomen, the strain of the shirt as it catches along his biceps. fuck, what hawk wouldn't give to drag his lips along every inch of it right now - something he should probably share.]
Shame I'm not there. I'd kiss my way down your spine, take my time along every muscle you've got. All the way down to that pert ass of yours - pulling you open and -
Shit.
You're here because you need a good grade.
Well, you're gonna earn it with me, sweetheart. I'd like to see you on top, alright. But your concentration is lacking, and now it's affecting my performance.
I know what you keep in that box of yours in front of the bed.
[the small toy chest, the one stuffed with gifts from hungry, hopeful subscribers.]
Pull out a good one and get it nice and wet. Keep your mouth full for a minute - keep it from distracting me.
no subject
[hawk's heart rabbits up a notch at the insinuation - because the only way he'd know if tim obliged him is if he were to scoot that camera down and share the face of a boy he knows scrunches up in concentration. a face that's bloomed with an easy summer tan, surprising him considering he'd expected the delicate irish skin to burn before it would deepen pretty olive undertones. a face he's substituted into dozens of his fantasies leading up to this moment, pretending it was tim anyway. surely his hints have been enough, and tim's not so oblivious anymore to his intentions or his desires. maybe he doesn't know how had it's been for hawk to stay away, but he's here now, because fuck the rules and fuck the way he shouldn't. he should have never met skippy for coffee on a blustery december day that close to his business, but here they are.
they found each other all the same, didn't they?
his mouth goes dry, cock thickening underneath his slacks as hawk easily starts undoing his fly and letting his palm brush over the seam in a slow squeeze. is this a bad idea? is it dangerous? of fucking course it is, and hearing his own name as tim settles into position looking every bit the angelic school boy with a side of something feisty and begging to be debauched should send a chill down his spine at how fast and loose he's playing. how vulnerable he is in this moment even if tim's the one on camera letting his guard down and putting those big brown eyes into view. but instead, it just makes him throb harder, want even deeper, sinking into this clandestine thing they've entirely unspoken until dinner - and even then, this wasn't the part they talked about. tim's voice rings loud and clear, the familiar timbre of it that he's heard animatedly across his desk, mumbled around his fingertips as he taps them deep in thought. that's his boy, alright.
god, he almost regrets telling him to lay down that way, watching the hard studs of his nipples and the light dusting of hair along his tight, toned body. the ripple of his abdomen, the strain of the shirt as it catches along his biceps. fuck, what hawk wouldn't give to drag his lips along every inch of it right now - something he should probably share.]
Shame I'm not there. I'd kiss my way down your spine, take my time along every muscle you've got. All the way down to that pert ass of yours - pulling you open and -
Shit.
You're here because you need a good grade.
Well, you're gonna earn it with me, sweetheart. I'd like to see you on top, alright. But your concentration is lacking, and now it's affecting my performance.
I know what you keep in that box of yours in front of the bed.
[the small toy chest, the one stuffed with gifts from hungry, hopeful subscribers.]
Pull out a good one and get it nice and wet. Keep your mouth full for a minute - keep it from distracting me.