[ in the last few weeks, something has irrevocably changed between them. maybe it's just what summer heat does to men, maybe it's just the flare of wills and testosterone as they begin to make their final rounds across from one another in the class room. there will be no more battle of wills, no more noses in text books or long chats in the office.
well, not as many, certainly, but tim relishes in the idea that he's been able to carefully push and pry the last few weeks and make hawk meet him on a different sort of battlefield. one charged with electricity, thick and heavy as it surges between them. even now, simply talking about class (but is it about class?) tim finds himself itching to listen, to want, to obey.
hawk closes the distance, slots up against him, touching his hand on the door and then there's the hot murmur in his ear. tim's blood alights with fire and he huffs something that may be too close to a sigh. sure, professor fuller is touching his hand, but one might think he'd just been touched all over with the way he goes molten, the way his eyes flutter to hawk's face, unmasked in their want for the briefest moment.
the heat turns into an easy smile, the carefree whims of a boy doing college courses in the summer and even as hawk pulls away he gives a nod. he steps into the doorway, but pauses, shoulder squared up to the broad plane of hawk's chest, then looks up at him. he's too close, close enough even that when he tips his head up his nose nearly brushes the man's chin when he speaks, low and quiet: ]
Yes, I can handle it for you, sir. [ a momentary pause - and then he tilts his head away, glancing into the hall. no one in immediate sight. ]
Your boy can handle anything, sir.
[ he doesn't make eye contact with him before he steps inside the building, bounding in like a student late and desperate to not be caught, disappearing round the bend toward the lecture hall.
and their days pass with relatively playfulness that comes and goes - electricity bubbling up and fizzling out between conversations about politics and monuments and assignments. usually, when tim arrives at hawk's office during the summer it's for discussions about class, it's for thoughts on assignments, it's for company on days when the campus is quiet and a boy like tim laughlin is restless.
this time, though, when he knocks on the door, tim's brow is pinched, like he's still confused or thinking over something from before he'd chosen to find hawk's office. he leans in the doorway, looking a little flushed (maybe upset?), lips pulled to one side as he chews on the soft swell of his bottom lip. there's a paper in his hand, several sheets stapled together - and he keeps looking down at the front page. ]
Sir - Professor Fuller? Sorry, if this is a bad time...
[ and as is customary? he doesn't wait before he comes in, pacing up to his desk, the paper held between both of his hands. ]
If it is, I can just leave this here. I wanted your opinion on something - your honest opinion. Could you read this? It's a little long, but I'd really like to know what mark you think I deserve. Ah, here.
[ he steps up to his desk and offers the clean copy out - it's unmarked, ungraded, but atop is the name of the professor - craig lever and SOC302 across the top. ]
no subject
well, not as many, certainly, but tim relishes in the idea that he's been able to carefully push and pry the last few weeks and make hawk meet him on a different sort of battlefield. one charged with electricity, thick and heavy as it surges between them. even now, simply talking about class (but is it about class?) tim finds himself itching to listen, to want, to obey.
hawk closes the distance, slots up against him, touching his hand on the door and then there's the hot murmur in his ear. tim's blood alights with fire and he huffs something that may be too close to a sigh. sure, professor fuller is touching his hand, but one might think he'd just been touched all over with the way he goes molten, the way his eyes flutter to hawk's face, unmasked in their want for the briefest moment.
the heat turns into an easy smile, the carefree whims of a boy doing college courses in the summer and even as hawk pulls away he gives a nod. he steps into the doorway, but pauses, shoulder squared up to the broad plane of hawk's chest, then looks up at him. he's too close, close enough even that when he tips his head up his nose nearly brushes the man's chin when he speaks, low and quiet: ]
Yes, I can handle it for you, sir. [ a momentary pause - and then he tilts his head away, glancing into the hall. no one in immediate sight. ]
Your boy can handle anything, sir.
[ he doesn't make eye contact with him before he steps inside the building, bounding in like a student late and desperate to not be caught, disappearing round the bend toward the lecture hall.
and their days pass with relatively playfulness that comes and goes - electricity bubbling up and fizzling out between conversations about politics and monuments and assignments. usually, when tim arrives at hawk's office during the summer it's for discussions about class, it's for thoughts on assignments, it's for company on days when the campus is quiet and a boy like tim laughlin is restless.
this time, though, when he knocks on the door, tim's brow is pinched, like he's still confused or thinking over something from before he'd chosen to find hawk's office. he leans in the doorway, looking a little flushed (maybe upset?), lips pulled to one side as he chews on the soft swell of his bottom lip. there's a paper in his hand, several sheets stapled together - and he keeps looking down at the front page. ]
Sir - Professor Fuller? Sorry, if this is a bad time...
[ and as is customary? he doesn't wait before he comes in, pacing up to his desk, the paper held between both of his hands. ]
If it is, I can just leave this here. I wanted your opinion on something - your honest opinion. Could you read this? It's a little long, but I'd really like to know what mark you think I deserve. Ah, here.
[ he steps up to his desk and offers the clean copy out - it's unmarked, ungraded, but atop is the name of the professor - craig lever and SOC302 across the top. ]