[ tim clocks hawk's body language first - the rub of his eyes between his fingers, the pinch at the bridge of his nose. at first he thinks maybe the man is bothered that he's there - annoyed, even, at his presence. it ratchets the nerves a little higher even as he hands over the papers.
even tired and tense, hawk's handsome - the cut of his jaw, the severity of his eyes. he stands at the edge of the desk, watching as hawk looks over the papers, but - the command. yes, definitely a command. something sings hot through his blood, up his spine, burning at his cheeks as he blinks a little dumbly even as his body reacts, does exactly what he knows a good boy should do.
the red pen scratching along the pages takes the wind out of his sails, but he tries hard not to show it. instead finding his whole body rigid at attention from the order, eyes focusing on the elegant movements of hawk's hand. what would happen, he wonders, if he moved. if he got up and made to crawl across his desk, to his lap, to kiss him and -
no. no, that can't happen. he's been told so many times, and yet - to hear that tone of voice here, now, in person makes his heart beat tick up a little faster. ]
I... it was a long time ago, but -
[ his words die in his throat as hawk stands, tim's head tilted to follow his movement, tension rising in his chest, and it's embarrassing that something about the way the man prowls from behind his desk goes straight to his dick, tim feeling it thicken beneath his jeans. he reaches for the paper, glancing down at it.
he doesn't turn, doesn't move, but there's the faintest gasp when hawk leans on his chair, when he feels the warmth of him, the breath against his nape. tim's fingers tighten in his lap, knuckles white. he looks straight ahead, unmoving. ]
Yes, sir. [ quiet but firm, voice a rich purr masked in the air of a nervous sigh. he waits, swallowing hard and all the muscle memory comes to life - his back arching prettily, just like hawk likes it, his head tilting to one side as he reads, nose crinkled in concentration. ]
Stay rooted in the facts. Don't get carried away. Don't be so naive. Keep your head on straight and you'll do fine, Laughlin.
[ a little breath, sitting the paper in his lap, smoothing palms over the pages, over his own thighs. ]
no subject
even tired and tense, hawk's handsome - the cut of his jaw, the severity of his eyes. he stands at the edge of the desk, watching as hawk looks over the papers, but - the command. yes, definitely a command. something sings hot through his blood, up his spine, burning at his cheeks as he blinks a little dumbly even as his body reacts, does exactly what he knows a good boy should do.
the red pen scratching along the pages takes the wind out of his sails, but he tries hard not to show it. instead finding his whole body rigid at attention from the order, eyes focusing on the elegant movements of hawk's hand. what would happen, he wonders, if he moved. if he got up and made to crawl across his desk, to his lap, to kiss him and -
no. no, that can't happen. he's been told so many times, and yet - to hear that tone of voice here, now, in person makes his heart beat tick up a little faster. ]
I... it was a long time ago, but -
[ his words die in his throat as hawk stands, tim's head tilted to follow his movement, tension rising in his chest, and it's embarrassing that something about the way the man prowls from behind his desk goes straight to his dick, tim feeling it thicken beneath his jeans. he reaches for the paper, glancing down at it.
he doesn't turn, doesn't move, but there's the faintest gasp when hawk leans on his chair, when he feels the warmth of him, the breath against his nape. tim's fingers tighten in his lap, knuckles white. he looks straight ahead, unmoving. ]
Yes, sir. [ quiet but firm, voice a rich purr masked in the air of a nervous sigh. he waits, swallowing hard and all the muscle memory comes to life - his back arching prettily, just like hawk likes it, his head tilting to one side as he reads, nose crinkled in concentration. ]
Stay rooted in the facts. Don't get carried away. Don't be so naive. Keep your head on straight and you'll do fine, Laughlin.
[ a little breath, sitting the paper in his lap, smoothing palms over the pages, over his own thighs. ]
Is that - is that right, Professor?