[this semester has been a much bigger rollercoaster than hawk ever anticipated, but as with all things - he's ridden it out and ended up almost at a point where he can land smoothly and step out of the ride into a well-earned summer of fucking and floating in the pool of an overpriced hotel to work on a tan. maybe a trip to see his mother, even if he'd rather eat glass than be within twenty feet of the rest of his family and especially his father. but summers have always done him good - given him the proper amount of time to blow off all the steam he's been holding back, to shake off the professional exterior a bit and get to loosen up for a few blissful, student-free weeks.
at least, before summer classes start up again.
there was a point in time last winter when he'd been tensed up at every turn, convinced his faux-pas with tim laughlin was going to send the house of cards he'd carefully built up over decades crashing down. but to his credit, he'd been doing all of this a long time, and tim was quite possibly the best thing to ever walk through his door. there was no way he'd let things lie, not a chance he'd give up on ironing this out into whatever the "new normal" was meant to be for their working relationship. a few hiccups and tim continued his exponential trajectory toward greatness, reclaiming his throne as the class's top debater and star pupil with each insightful essay that hit his desk in between thesis revisions. it had been a long time since hawk was actually proud of the work he was doing, but with tim...it came a little too easy, sometimes.
not to mention, it did come at the expense of his stress relief. sure, keeping an extra five-hunred or so in his pocket was maybe better in the long run for his wallet, but it meant any of his late nights or moments of frustration had a drastically smaller option for an outlet than it did before. and yes, it had occurred to him that it was equally five-hundred dollars tim laughlin needed a lot more than most. but there was no ethical way around it, no turning back time to pretend they'd never accidentally exposed each other for who they were. it's just how things needed to be until - well, until tim walked out on graduation day, and he no longer had to think about the repercussions of this debacle. not to say that he had intentions of picking up any of his habits after - and by then, he sure as hell hopes tim doesn't have to resort to selling himself to keep food in his mouth and a roof over his head.
but that doesn't mean it's not a struggle. he'll never admit it, not wanting to liken himself to one of pavlov's dogs - but sometimes when the sky darkens and the whiskey hits just right, his mind wanders to those sessions and his dick twitches at the thought of what he's missing out on. the account is long since deleted, and for now any of his urges are handled by trips out on long weekends or a few tried and true videos scattered across corners of the internet. the first time it sank in that this was likely to be a problem he forced himself to stay longer at the office - to do his work in a place he absolutely would never dare to do something stupid. and then it just turned into a simple habit, two to maybe three times a week burning the midnight oil and staying on top of his work until late enough in the evening that the temptation would pass.
ironic that it still existed with or without the pesky idea of god or religion. tim would laugh at that, he thinks.
hawk is just considering packing up and heading out for a smoke before calling it a night when he hears...something like a slow commotion up the hall. majority of his colleagues have long since left, and even the janitors are finishing up their shifts. but this doesn't sound like buffing floors or the heavy plod of leather oxfords out to the main entrance. this sounds a lot more like someone off-kilter, lost and stumbling with the squeak of rubber soles and hands grasping at the wall for stability. did someone get drunk and accidentally wander in here? hawk really could care less about underage drinking or someone who needs to sleep it off, so it doesn't immediately make him leap out of his seat to investigate.
until it ends up just outside his door before it swings open and has his head jerking up in concerned surprised.]
Tim - ?
[the last thing he's expecting to see is tim laughlin looking like he's been through the ringer - barely standing in the same spot on his own two feet, eyes like fucking saucers and skin glistening with the kind of sweat that comes when someone has made a very fucking poor decision. at first he thinks maybe the boy is just drunk, letting loose for a change - but he remembers their discussion at the beginning of the semester.
i don't have any friends, i don't go to parties.
tim is too out of it to notice the drag of his gaze from the way his hair is a mess all the way to that sliver of bare skin courtesy of his partially untucked shirt. it makes his stomach churn the way things start to fall into place with a sort of dread. he's on his feet immediately, reaching to close the door behind tim on the off chance that anyone is still here. this is beyond the norm - far past inappropriate, and...something bubbles up in his throat when this close he sees the marks on his neck.
tim looks woozy, like he might trip over air at any moment, and hawk puts a firm hand on his shoulders and guides him towards the chair he usually occupies opposite his desk. one foot hooks under it, dragging it to face parallel to the polished cherrywood, enough so that tim can collapse into it and hawk can kneel in front of him at eye level and try to take stock of anything he missed.
who did this to him? did he - ?
his palms reach up to steady tim's face, gaze flickering across his pupils and the way it threatens to loll back at any moment. two fingers slide down to check his pulse, not surprised to find it completely rabbiting against his jugular.]
no subject
at least, before summer classes start up again.
there was a point in time last winter when he'd been tensed up at every turn, convinced his faux-pas with tim laughlin was going to send the house of cards he'd carefully built up over decades crashing down. but to his credit, he'd been doing all of this a long time, and tim was quite possibly the best thing to ever walk through his door. there was no way he'd let things lie, not a chance he'd give up on ironing this out into whatever the "new normal" was meant to be for their working relationship. a few hiccups and tim continued his exponential trajectory toward greatness, reclaiming his throne as the class's top debater and star pupil with each insightful essay that hit his desk in between thesis revisions. it had been a long time since hawk was actually proud of the work he was doing, but with tim...it came a little too easy, sometimes.
not to mention, it did come at the expense of his stress relief. sure, keeping an extra five-hunred or so in his pocket was maybe better in the long run for his wallet, but it meant any of his late nights or moments of frustration had a drastically smaller option for an outlet than it did before. and yes, it had occurred to him that it was equally five-hundred dollars tim laughlin needed a lot more than most. but there was no ethical way around it, no turning back time to pretend they'd never accidentally exposed each other for who they were. it's just how things needed to be until - well, until tim walked out on graduation day, and he no longer had to think about the repercussions of this debacle. not to say that he had intentions of picking up any of his habits after - and by then, he sure as hell hopes tim doesn't have to resort to selling himself to keep food in his mouth and a roof over his head.
but that doesn't mean it's not a struggle. he'll never admit it, not wanting to liken himself to one of pavlov's dogs - but sometimes when the sky darkens and the whiskey hits just right, his mind wanders to those sessions and his dick twitches at the thought of what he's missing out on. the account is long since deleted, and for now any of his urges are handled by trips out on long weekends or a few tried and true videos scattered across corners of the internet. the first time it sank in that this was likely to be a problem he forced himself to stay longer at the office - to do his work in a place he absolutely would never dare to do something stupid. and then it just turned into a simple habit, two to maybe three times a week burning the midnight oil and staying on top of his work until late enough in the evening that the temptation would pass.
ironic that it still existed with or without the pesky idea of god or religion. tim would laugh at that, he thinks.
hawk is just considering packing up and heading out for a smoke before calling it a night when he hears...something like a slow commotion up the hall. majority of his colleagues have long since left, and even the janitors are finishing up their shifts. but this doesn't sound like buffing floors or the heavy plod of leather oxfords out to the main entrance. this sounds a lot more like someone off-kilter, lost and stumbling with the squeak of rubber soles and hands grasping at the wall for stability. did someone get drunk and accidentally wander in here? hawk really could care less about underage drinking or someone who needs to sleep it off, so it doesn't immediately make him leap out of his seat to investigate.
until it ends up just outside his door before it swings open and has his head jerking up in concerned surprised.]
Tim - ?
[the last thing he's expecting to see is tim laughlin looking like he's been through the ringer - barely standing in the same spot on his own two feet, eyes like fucking saucers and skin glistening with the kind of sweat that comes when someone has made a very fucking poor decision. at first he thinks maybe the boy is just drunk, letting loose for a change - but he remembers their discussion at the beginning of the semester.
i don't have any friends, i don't go to parties.
tim is too out of it to notice the drag of his gaze from the way his hair is a mess all the way to that sliver of bare skin courtesy of his partially untucked shirt. it makes his stomach churn the way things start to fall into place with a sort of dread. he's on his feet immediately, reaching to close the door behind tim on the off chance that anyone is still here. this is beyond the norm - far past inappropriate, and...something bubbles up in his throat when this close he sees the marks on his neck.
tim looks woozy, like he might trip over air at any moment, and hawk puts a firm hand on his shoulders and guides him towards the chair he usually occupies opposite his desk. one foot hooks under it, dragging it to face parallel to the polished cherrywood, enough so that tim can collapse into it and hawk can kneel in front of him at eye level and try to take stock of anything he missed.
who did this to him? did he - ?
his palms reach up to steady tim's face, gaze flickering across his pupils and the way it threatens to loll back at any moment. two fingers slide down to check his pulse, not surprised to find it completely rabbiting against his jugular.]
Tell me what happened.
Now.