[there's a few moments of interrupted freedom that hawk has to drink in the picture of tim, pliant and loose-limbed like this in a moment of rare peace. that's what he's noticed most about watching his student flourish for the first part of the semester - the energy he brings every day, the unfettered thoughts that come again and again and drive the entire class forward into uncharted territory they might all explore together. but beyond that, he's watching a more refined version of tim: still fervid as ever about his ideals, his politics, his goals - but with clear purpose. the potential for real action, realistic followups, and less a shakeup of seismic proportions than a clearly driven channel. it might be the most confident he's seen the boy in all the time they've spent together, and outside of a professional context...fired up looks good on him, to say the least. just like that tempting sliver of skin, the peek of soft hair all the way down towards his navel past -
that account hasn't been logged into again, but it also hasn't been deleted. and it also doesn't erase any of the things he knows from personal experience prior, from having tim in his own bed to the dimly lit screen revealing everything else and then some. hawk keeps telling himself it's there just in case - some sort of insurance if it looks like skippy - fuck, tim needs something again. and by the looks of his book bag...maybe he does. hm. but there also doesn't seem to be as much of a struggle in tim anymore just to survive, and if he's entering senior year without the pressure of tuition on his back and the means to make money over the summer instead of down in the dirt planting trees for his father's church garden...well, he's done one good thing out of this mess.
maybe he doesn't open his mouth right away, blocking a bit of the sunlight filtering through and highlighting the golden streaks in chestnut hair, the soft smattering of freckles under his lenses from drinking the sun in on his delicate irish skin that's got just a hint of olive to it, enough that he might actually tan instead of burning up like he'd initially thought. there's something utterly decadent about the way he looks like this - worthy of some impressionist painter's park paradise. what would he look like sprawled on a beach in one of those no-name coastal towns hawk drives to when he needs stress relief? does he delight in a good swim? how about bundled up in nothing but a towel, sand between his toes and waiting for someone to haul him up into a motel room to finish with a good old fashioned romp?
and so - maybe hawk also just stands there and enjoys the goddamn view for a change, not beating himself up for an honest mistake made months ago that he never took advantage of.
but all of it seems to sink in, tim murmuring something half sleepily before sitting up in a panic, and hawk can't help the way his lips pull into a genuine smile at the urgency, the realization he's just getting shit for once.]
So I see.
[he says it dryly, crouching down to pick up the book and hold a thumb down to save what he thinks was tim's place. he flips it over, reading the back synopsis in a quick once-over. he stands back up, keeping it in his hand to note a few earmarked pages, notecards and papers stuck in between the papers. classic laughlin. his hand extends for tim to reach up and take it back.]
I'm assuming this is for work, not pleasure. Or is it both?
[his brows lift teasingly, somehow wanting to encourage that plush pout and the way there's something increasingly boyish about tim when his guard is all the way down. hawk would like to think it's just for him. a dangerous thought, but one nonetheless.]
Well, considering I'm standing here and not in much of a rush myself, I think your professor will take it easy on you this time.
[it's not particularly hot today - the breezy, dreamy sort of thing that probably fills whatever other books tim has for his course load this summer. but there's a trickle of sweat that feels like it's forming at his temple and collecting in the hollow of his throat behind the thin, rolled-cuff shirt he has tucked into dark slacks when tim turns over onto his knees in a pair of shorts. surely he's not doing it on purpose, and yet hawk can't help but stare, mouth suddenly dry as he reaches for the sunglasses slung onto the unused handle of his briefcase. he clears his throat and takes a step back, waiting for tim to get back on his feet so he can shuffle alongside so they can walk to class together in an open invitation.
all of tim's rambling apologies are immediately waved off internally, instead all focus lasering in on the joke. hawk takes a quick glance over his shoulder even though he already knows there's no one coming or going. his gaze drops back to tim, and even hidden behind the sunglasses there's no denying the low, conspiratorial tone's murmured maybe a touch too close.]
Oh, do tell. Any sweet dreams you want to share?
Maybe I should let you get back to it, considering you've never missed a day in my classes.
no subject
that account hasn't been logged into again, but it also hasn't been deleted. and it also doesn't erase any of the things he knows from personal experience prior, from having tim in his own bed to the dimly lit screen revealing everything else and then some. hawk keeps telling himself it's there just in case - some sort of insurance if it looks like skippy - fuck, tim needs something again. and by the looks of his book bag...maybe he does. hm. but there also doesn't seem to be as much of a struggle in tim anymore just to survive, and if he's entering senior year without the pressure of tuition on his back and the means to make money over the summer instead of down in the dirt planting trees for his father's church garden...well, he's done one good thing out of this mess.
maybe he doesn't open his mouth right away, blocking a bit of the sunlight filtering through and highlighting the golden streaks in chestnut hair, the soft smattering of freckles under his lenses from drinking the sun in on his delicate irish skin that's got just a hint of olive to it, enough that he might actually tan instead of burning up like he'd initially thought. there's something utterly decadent about the way he looks like this - worthy of some impressionist painter's park paradise. what would he look like sprawled on a beach in one of those no-name coastal towns hawk drives to when he needs stress relief? does he delight in a good swim? how about bundled up in nothing but a towel, sand between his toes and waiting for someone to haul him up into a motel room to finish with a good old fashioned romp?
and so - maybe hawk also just stands there and enjoys the goddamn view for a change, not beating himself up for an honest mistake made months ago that he never took advantage of.
but all of it seems to sink in, tim murmuring something half sleepily before sitting up in a panic, and hawk can't help the way his lips pull into a genuine smile at the urgency, the realization he's just getting shit for once.]
So I see.
[he says it dryly, crouching down to pick up the book and hold a thumb down to save what he thinks was tim's place. he flips it over, reading the back synopsis in a quick once-over. he stands back up, keeping it in his hand to note a few earmarked pages, notecards and papers stuck in between the papers. classic laughlin. his hand extends for tim to reach up and take it back.]
I'm assuming this is for work, not pleasure. Or is it both?
[his brows lift teasingly, somehow wanting to encourage that plush pout and the way there's something increasingly boyish about tim when his guard is all the way down. hawk would like to think it's just for him. a dangerous thought, but one nonetheless.]
Well, considering I'm standing here and not in much of a rush myself, I think your professor will take it easy on you this time.
[it's not particularly hot today - the breezy, dreamy sort of thing that probably fills whatever other books tim has for his course load this summer. but there's a trickle of sweat that feels like it's forming at his temple and collecting in the hollow of his throat behind the thin, rolled-cuff shirt he has tucked into dark slacks when tim turns over onto his knees in a pair of shorts. surely he's not doing it on purpose, and yet hawk can't help but stare, mouth suddenly dry as he reaches for the sunglasses slung onto the unused handle of his briefcase. he clears his throat and takes a step back, waiting for tim to get back on his feet so he can shuffle alongside so they can walk to class together in an open invitation.
all of tim's rambling apologies are immediately waved off internally, instead all focus lasering in on the joke. hawk takes a quick glance over his shoulder even though he already knows there's no one coming or going. his gaze drops back to tim, and even hidden behind the sunglasses there's no denying the low, conspiratorial tone's murmured maybe a touch too close.]
Oh, do tell. Any sweet dreams you want to share?
Maybe I should let you get back to it, considering you've never missed a day in my classes.