[ there are a thousand bad decisions college students tim's age could make at this point in his academic career, so close to the end of his final semester as a junior. he could go to some pledge party, some rave or rager held by frat boys, run with the campus misfits who break and enter offices and classrooms, or get blitzed in the hidden corners of the dorms with the RAs.
but tim's bad decision came in the form of a prize package (an early summer deal!), and $3,000.
that icy day outside the coffee shop in december cemented the fact that hawkins fuller would no longer be watching his streams, and with that would also go the extra money he'd make weekly from their one on ones or other little trysts. it's a good thing, that he's not getting his professor's money on moral grounds alone, but the income is something he'd planned for.
and so the new package went up, and while he'd expected no takers at first, he'd been deeply surprised when, in the middle of one of his history lectures, his phone at buzzed.
NEW TIP RECIEVED
a username he recognizes faintly - they all start to look the same in his general chat. bigstrongman69 or hard_daddy01. and he foolishly, foolishly messages them.
messages turn to a date and time, which turn to a place, which turn to the reality of him meeting some mystery-faced man at a busy pizzeria just outside of campus. this guy had to travel - a few hours from wherever he'd come from - and it shows in his eagerness when they meet.
tim should have trusted his gut when he saw him. soft middle, buggy eyes, bald head, and a smile that made tim's blood run cold. but he stayed, reminding himself that this money and this meet-up would be the difference in his summer classes. would be the difference in suffering months at home in staten island, disconnected from everyone and everything, or spending a summer on the quiet campus, taking new and exciting classes simply for the thrill of it before entering his senior year.
when the guy slipped something into his drink, he doesn't know. it could have been in the brief moment he'd turned to talk to a waitress who was making worried eyes at him, or even in the thirty seconds he'd needed to dig out his wallet, his phone, something. he can't remember.
he remembers the swimming feeling coming over him first - the head to toe uncomfortable warmth that blossomed under his skin like fever. he can almost remember the feeling of the man's hand on his upper thigh, over the seam of his jeans, and the way his wet lips smacked against his ear as he whispered something into it.
what had he said?
it's the waitress that interrupts - that causes some kind of commotion enough that the man immediately backs away, caught off guard by the sudden attention on him. she says something to tim, but he must be convincing enough that she lets him go once she's sure the older man has long since run off.
his phone buzzes - angry messages on his only fans account. the deposit rescinded, reports made about his false advertising. something like that. but tim just walks - walks out in the warm summer night and fumbles his way miraculously onto a bus that leads back to campus.
the whole ride is a blur, the dc streets looking like nothing but some wild monet painting, colors and shapes all blurring together to make some sort of picture. he can't make out what it is, even as he stumbles off the bus toward campus. "college kids these days, i swear - shameless" he hears one older woman say, and tim huffs to himself.
she can't be talking about him.
but the further he walks up into the quad, the worse he feels. the warmth becoming unbearable, his thoughts swimming, his vision tipping - all of this somehow leading him to the polisci building. there's a couch there. he can sit there. rest his head and close his eyes and take a second to just breathe and get his shit together. as he stumbles in, however, there's a light on at the end of one of the halls.
professor fuller.
professor fuller is in his office and while he'd felt a lazy sort of concern about his own wellbeing at first, seeing the man's name on the little plate in the wall makes panic rise up into his chest. he doesn't entirely remember how he got here, or why his body led him here of all places, but he approaches the doorway and reaches out for it, his back nearly falling off his shoulder as he sways into it. ]
Professor?
[ tim thinks he's holding it together much better than he is. and should hawk look up, he'll find a disheveled tim laughlin at his door - hair mussed from sweaty, heavy palms. cheeks flushed, pupils blown out, the glisten of sweat at his temples. there's a tiny mark at the crook of his jaw, where it meets his earlobe - beard-burn, maybe, or the beginnings of a hickey. even his shirt is rucked up a little revealing a slim line of his midriff where it had slid up on the bus seat and he hadn't noticed. ]
➤ 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑏𝑜𝑦 𝑟𝑢𝑛
but tim's bad decision came in the form of a prize package (an early summer deal!), and $3,000.
that icy day outside the coffee shop in december cemented the fact that hawkins fuller would no longer be watching his streams, and with that would also go the extra money he'd make weekly from their one on ones or other little trysts. it's a good thing, that he's not getting his professor's money on moral grounds alone, but the income is something he'd planned for.
and so the new package went up, and while he'd expected no takers at first, he'd been deeply surprised when, in the middle of one of his history lectures, his phone at buzzed.
NEW TIP RECIEVED
a username he recognizes faintly - they all start to look the same in his general chat. bigstrongman69 or hard_daddy01. and he foolishly, foolishly messages them.
messages turn to a date and time, which turn to a place, which turn to the reality of him meeting some mystery-faced man at a busy pizzeria just outside of campus. this guy had to travel - a few hours from wherever he'd come from - and it shows in his eagerness when they meet.
tim should have trusted his gut when he saw him. soft middle, buggy eyes, bald head, and a smile that made tim's blood run cold. but he stayed, reminding himself that this money and this meet-up would be the difference in his summer classes. would be the difference in suffering months at home in staten island, disconnected from everyone and everything, or spending a summer on the quiet campus, taking new and exciting classes simply for the thrill of it before entering his senior year.
when the guy slipped something into his drink, he doesn't know. it could have been in the brief moment he'd turned to talk to a waitress who was making worried eyes at him, or even in the thirty seconds he'd needed to dig out his wallet, his phone, something. he can't remember.
he remembers the swimming feeling coming over him first - the head to toe uncomfortable warmth that blossomed under his skin like fever. he can almost remember the feeling of the man's hand on his upper thigh, over the seam of his jeans, and the way his wet lips smacked against his ear as he whispered something into it.
what had he said?
it's the waitress that interrupts - that causes some kind of commotion enough that the man immediately backs away, caught off guard by the sudden attention on him. she says something to tim, but he must be convincing enough that she lets him go once she's sure the older man has long since run off.
his phone buzzes - angry messages on his only fans account. the deposit rescinded, reports made about his false advertising. something like that. but tim just walks - walks out in the warm summer night and fumbles his way miraculously onto a bus that leads back to campus.
the whole ride is a blur, the dc streets looking like nothing but some wild monet painting, colors and shapes all blurring together to make some sort of picture. he can't make out what it is, even as he stumbles off the bus toward campus. "college kids these days, i swear - shameless" he hears one older woman say, and tim huffs to himself.
she can't be talking about him.
but the further he walks up into the quad, the worse he feels. the warmth becoming unbearable, his thoughts swimming, his vision tipping - all of this somehow leading him to the polisci building. there's a couch there. he can sit there. rest his head and close his eyes and take a second to just breathe and get his shit together. as he stumbles in, however, there's a light on at the end of one of the halls.
professor fuller.
professor fuller is in his office and while he'd felt a lazy sort of concern about his own wellbeing at first, seeing the man's name on the little plate in the wall makes panic rise up into his chest. he doesn't entirely remember how he got here, or why his body led him here of all places, but he approaches the doorway and reaches out for it, his back nearly falling off his shoulder as he sways into it. ]
Professor?
[ tim thinks he's holding it together much better than he is. and should hawk look up, he'll find a disheveled tim laughlin at his door - hair mussed from sweaty, heavy palms. cheeks flushed, pupils blown out, the glisten of sweat at his temples. there's a tiny mark at the crook of his jaw, where it meets his earlobe - beard-burn, maybe, or the beginnings of a hickey. even his shirt is rucked up a little revealing a slim line of his midriff where it had slid up on the bus seat and he hadn't noticed. ]
Sorry. It's late. I just... can I come in?