[ hawk leans in and tim can feel the heat of him close at his back - it makes the little hairs at his nape rise and stand at attention, makes his whole body flush with heat, the tips of his ears down the line of his throat. he regrets that the paper can't hide his own desire - the fly of his pants growing the barest hint tighter from the anticipation alone.
he repeats the last sentence, slowing his words and enunciating each one, but his voice wavers when the heat of hawk's breath sits so close to his ear. he can't help the little gasp, the way his spine straightens. he bites his lip to keep anything else from slipping between his lips.
only when ordered does he start back up, voice stuttering again when hawk guides his hand down his chest, to the press of his thighs. his fingers flex against the fabric, along the line of his dick, just the way he knows hawk likes to see. it's dexterous enough to undo the button, to unzip his jeans, but he pauses.
his hand stays rested over his fly, the words of the paper forgotten as he reaches the end of them. ]
Sir? [ a little breathless, wanting. ] What should I do next?
[ he wants instruction, wants to do whatever hawk tells him, and so his hand rests idle, bending only enough for hawk to feel it where he holds him, the man's hand like a brand on his skin. ]
I want to - I want to make sure I get a good grade. [ it doesnt have the voice of the boy on the camera - pandering and cheesy, but instead it's a little husky, pleading, wanting in as much as it is dirty talk. there's no doubt he'll do well on his paper - he knows better than that. ]
no subject
he repeats the last sentence, slowing his words and enunciating each one, but his voice wavers when the heat of hawk's breath sits so close to his ear. he can't help the little gasp, the way his spine straightens. he bites his lip to keep anything else from slipping between his lips.
only when ordered does he start back up, voice stuttering again when hawk guides his hand down his chest, to the press of his thighs. his fingers flex against the fabric, along the line of his dick, just the way he knows hawk likes to see. it's dexterous enough to undo the button, to unzip his jeans, but he pauses.
his hand stays rested over his fly, the words of the paper forgotten as he reaches the end of them. ]
Sir? [ a little breathless, wanting. ] What should I do next?
[ he wants instruction, wants to do whatever hawk tells him, and so his hand rests idle, bending only enough for hawk to feel it where he holds him, the man's hand like a brand on his skin. ]
I want to - I want to make sure I get a good grade. [ it doesnt have the voice of the boy on the camera - pandering and cheesy, but instead it's a little husky, pleading, wanting in as much as it is dirty talk. there's no doubt he'll do well on his paper - he knows better than that. ]