it hadn't seemed like a good idea at the time, per se, just slightly better than the very real temptation of bending tim over in the middle of his office or dragging him across his desk, into his lap and fucking him within an inch of his life. that's a mistake he absolutely cannot come back from: just like kissing him like a man starved of sunlight and air, buried underground for decades and coming to the surface to drink it all in. he could have spent hours in that car - could have gotten carried away. but there's still one shred of his dignity and his very, very questionable responsibility here as the adult. part of him knows none of it will ever be fair or right the way it should, an implicit power imbalance that won't ever even out until tim has long graduated and spent time away from him and this campus - and by then, he'd surely know he can do a hell of a lot better than hawkins fuller.
it's selfish. dangerous. but every night he logs on all the same, clicks into his private room and keeps paying tim's bills to see him debauched and desperate at night, demure and determined by day in his class with tongue worrying the tip of his pen and eyes following his every move. there's an electric heat between them he's shocked no one else has managed to pick up on, especially on the hard days like mondays - two days without seeing him in person and spending extra hours tugging his dick nearly raw with want, or fridays - the crisp winds outside growing more beckoning to sequester inside a coffee shop or by a fireplace and invite someone over for a cozy weekend in.
but against all odds: they've both made it. the last week of the semester, one more paper, a final grade...and then freedom. on a technicality, but freedom nonetheless.
his focus has been wandering all damn day - thinking about the way tim sounds when he's bent in half and begging for permission to come. the way he looks with hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, cheeks rosy and lips bitten red with desire and that slight shyness he never loses when hawk asks to really see him, wide open and vulnerable. it's the same look now, somehow when he glances up just in time to catch the sliver of skin and the exquisite details high on his cheekbones and nose and in the tousle of his hair. fuck.
hawk swallows thickly, placing his pen down and folding his hands before nodding towards the door.]
Mr. Laughlin - sure. Come on in.
[maybe the last office hours they'll ever have. just one more. they're so close to the finish line.]
What about the paper? Your initial pitch was solid - are you thinking of changing it?
no subject
it hadn't seemed like a good idea at the time, per se, just slightly better than the very real temptation of bending tim over in the middle of his office or dragging him across his desk, into his lap and fucking him within an inch of his life. that's a mistake he absolutely cannot come back from: just like kissing him like a man starved of sunlight and air, buried underground for decades and coming to the surface to drink it all in. he could have spent hours in that car - could have gotten carried away. but there's still one shred of his dignity and his very, very questionable responsibility here as the adult. part of him knows none of it will ever be fair or right the way it should, an implicit power imbalance that won't ever even out until tim has long graduated and spent time away from him and this campus - and by then, he'd surely know he can do a hell of a lot better than hawkins fuller.
it's selfish. dangerous. but every night he logs on all the same, clicks into his private room and keeps paying tim's bills to see him debauched and desperate at night, demure and determined by day in his class with tongue worrying the tip of his pen and eyes following his every move. there's an electric heat between them he's shocked no one else has managed to pick up on, especially on the hard days like mondays - two days without seeing him in person and spending extra hours tugging his dick nearly raw with want, or fridays - the crisp winds outside growing more beckoning to sequester inside a coffee shop or by a fireplace and invite someone over for a cozy weekend in.
but against all odds: they've both made it. the last week of the semester, one more paper, a final grade...and then freedom. on a technicality, but freedom nonetheless.
his focus has been wandering all damn day - thinking about the way tim sounds when he's bent in half and begging for permission to come. the way he looks with hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, cheeks rosy and lips bitten red with desire and that slight shyness he never loses when hawk asks to really see him, wide open and vulnerable. it's the same look now, somehow when he glances up just in time to catch the sliver of skin and the exquisite details high on his cheekbones and nose and in the tousle of his hair. fuck.
hawk swallows thickly, placing his pen down and folding his hands before nodding towards the door.]
Mr. Laughlin - sure. Come on in.
[maybe the last office hours they'll ever have. just one more. they're so close to the finish line.]
What about the paper? Your initial pitch was solid - are you thinking of changing it?