[his arm snakes hard around tim's middle, the sudden aroma of soap and something he's grown familiar to recognize as tim wafting by when his hair - which suddenly seems that much longer and boyish when wet - flips slightly behind them from the stumble. his other hand presses against tim's chest to steady him, watching the way he hides his face and mumbles out something utterly unrelated as if in slight embarrassment for his condition. of course he would, and of course it tugs at that piece that's threatened to break loose around his chest all night seeing tim at his most vulnerable - grateful for the care and still sweet when he has every right to be bitter and angry and lash out especially at hawk for being responsible he's in this situation in the first place. the gratitude feels wholly unearned, and it makes him swallow hard and look away again to the bedroom.]
Not a bad place to lay my head every night, yeah. Thanks.
[doubtful tim is taking much of this in with great detail, even though he has a sneaking suspicion the boy would love to get a closer look at some of the stylistic choices and aesthetic and insight into the man that he'd thought he'd known before everything shifted. sometimes that man only exists between these four-and-then-some walls, but no one needs to know that. honestly, it's a miracle tim's eyes don't slip shut the moment his head hits the pillow for the ringer he's been through tonight. and hawk would bet his non-tenured but nothing to sniff at salary that this bed is a miles more comfortable and inviting than whatever small, borderline cardboard crap they've got stuffed in the dorms. maybe they haven't even upgraded them after ten or so years - wouldn't be a shock. it brings a soft smirk to his face, one that is less amused at tim's sudden contentment than it is at what a world of difference it probably is.
what he hadn't fully thought through was what the sight of the star of his late night fantasies suddenly doing look quite snug and blissed out in his bed was going to do to him. not to mention, this might be the first person besides marcus or estelle who's even been in this room let alone the most sacred of his private retreats. there's that damn tightness again - and if he weren't in perfectly good shape save a little too much whiskey and the smoking, he'd think maybe he was developing signs for an early heart attack. his body goes rigid when tim lets out a soft groan, not unlike another kind of context he's heard it in. and it was one thing when it wasn't attached to a face, just a rock-solid body near sinful, but now....
now hawk hums lightly, pushing it down and reaching once more to pluck the glasses half pressed into tim's face off his nose, folding them and setting them down with a soft tap against his nightstand. he pulls up the sheets and the comforter all the way up, past tim's shoulders until it's near his neck and only the soft mop of brown and his eyes are visible, tucking it in slightly around his sides so it'll keep the chill to a minimum. there's a blanket somewhere in his closet, far too thick for breezy summer nights and the humidity creeping up from the south, but he takes that out too where it's folded neatly and perched in a shelf high above rows of pressed shirts and rich leather oxfords and matching suits. everything its place, an empire of streamlined navy and black and grey and white - just the way he tries to live his life. he flaps it out a bit, tossing it up and over the bed on top of tim's body which is looking smaller and smaller underneath it all.]
There, that should help with the cold. Now you just - get some rest. You must be exhausted. I'll be up the hall if you need anything.
[he turns on his heel, but not before tim stops him with an invitation into his own bed. hawk pauses, glancing over his shoulder where he hasn't budged and won't see the look on his face. it is an awful big bed for just one person, but he doesn't have it in him to explain that's intentional, and that it goes double for his student. even one he'd gladly slide in next to and warm with more than just an expensive blanket, or ruffle his hair and try to do away with the blemish on his neck out of some twist of possession he's got no right to feel.
skippy.]
Goodnight, Tim.
[he leaves the door cracked, turning off the hallway and bathroom lights along the way. the initial plan had been to crash on the couch - but it's too far away if tim needs help in the middle of the night. to his office then, where he practically launches himself into his chair and scrubs a hand over his face as the exhaustion he'd expected to finally sink in is nowhere to be found. christ. he's a little too busy thinking about the fact that not six feet away, on the other side of a wall, tim laughlin is in his bed.
what did he need the money for?
that's a slippery slope to start down, one he might not like the answer to, but it doesn't make it any less impossible to stop now that he's started. he tips his head back against the leather of his desk chair, closing his eyes and wondering if he can try and doze off for a few hours before checking on tim again later. the nurse had warned him about alternating from sudden bouts of chill, feverishness, nausea...he might be needed sooner than he thinks.]
no subject
[his arm snakes hard around tim's middle, the sudden aroma of soap and something he's grown familiar to recognize as tim wafting by when his hair - which suddenly seems that much longer and boyish when wet - flips slightly behind them from the stumble. his other hand presses against tim's chest to steady him, watching the way he hides his face and mumbles out something utterly unrelated as if in slight embarrassment for his condition. of course he would, and of course it tugs at that piece that's threatened to break loose around his chest all night seeing tim at his most vulnerable - grateful for the care and still sweet when he has every right to be bitter and angry and lash out especially at hawk for being responsible he's in this situation in the first place. the gratitude feels wholly unearned, and it makes him swallow hard and look away again to the bedroom.]
Not a bad place to lay my head every night, yeah. Thanks.
[doubtful tim is taking much of this in with great detail, even though he has a sneaking suspicion the boy would love to get a closer look at some of the stylistic choices and aesthetic and insight into the man that he'd thought he'd known before everything shifted. sometimes that man only exists between these four-and-then-some walls, but no one needs to know that. honestly, it's a miracle tim's eyes don't slip shut the moment his head hits the pillow for the ringer he's been through tonight. and hawk would bet his non-tenured but nothing to sniff at salary that this bed is a miles more comfortable and inviting than whatever small, borderline cardboard crap they've got stuffed in the dorms. maybe they haven't even upgraded them after ten or so years - wouldn't be a shock. it brings a soft smirk to his face, one that is less amused at tim's sudden contentment than it is at what a world of difference it probably is.
what he hadn't fully thought through was what the sight of the star of his late night fantasies suddenly doing look quite snug and blissed out in his bed was going to do to him. not to mention, this might be the first person besides marcus or estelle who's even been in this room let alone the most sacred of his private retreats. there's that damn tightness again - and if he weren't in perfectly good shape save a little too much whiskey and the smoking, he'd think maybe he was developing signs for an early heart attack. his body goes rigid when tim lets out a soft groan, not unlike another kind of context he's heard it in. and it was one thing when it wasn't attached to a face, just a rock-solid body near sinful, but now....
now hawk hums lightly, pushing it down and reaching once more to pluck the glasses half pressed into tim's face off his nose, folding them and setting them down with a soft tap against his nightstand. he pulls up the sheets and the comforter all the way up, past tim's shoulders until it's near his neck and only the soft mop of brown and his eyes are visible, tucking it in slightly around his sides so it'll keep the chill to a minimum. there's a blanket somewhere in his closet, far too thick for breezy summer nights and the humidity creeping up from the south, but he takes that out too where it's folded neatly and perched in a shelf high above rows of pressed shirts and rich leather oxfords and matching suits. everything its place, an empire of streamlined navy and black and grey and white - just the way he tries to live his life. he flaps it out a bit, tossing it up and over the bed on top of tim's body which is looking smaller and smaller underneath it all.]
There, that should help with the cold. Now you just - get some rest. You must be exhausted. I'll be up the hall if you need anything.
[he turns on his heel, but not before tim stops him with an invitation into his own bed. hawk pauses, glancing over his shoulder where he hasn't budged and won't see the look on his face. it is an awful big bed for just one person, but he doesn't have it in him to explain that's intentional, and that it goes double for his student. even one he'd gladly slide in next to and warm with more than just an expensive blanket, or ruffle his hair and try to do away with the blemish on his neck out of some twist of possession he's got no right to feel.
skippy.]
Goodnight, Tim.
[he leaves the door cracked, turning off the hallway and bathroom lights along the way. the initial plan had been to crash on the couch - but it's too far away if tim needs help in the middle of the night. to his office then, where he practically launches himself into his chair and scrubs a hand over his face as the exhaustion he'd expected to finally sink in is nowhere to be found. christ. he's a little too busy thinking about the fact that not six feet away, on the other side of a wall, tim laughlin is in his bed.
what did he need the money for?
that's a slippery slope to start down, one he might not like the answer to, but it doesn't make it any less impossible to stop now that he's started. he tips his head back against the leather of his desk chair, closing his eyes and wondering if he can try and doze off for a few hours before checking on tim again later. the nurse had warned him about alternating from sudden bouts of chill, feverishness, nausea...he might be needed sooner than he thinks.]