[yeah, that sticks with him well past the balmy day and interlude of minimal attendance at class that day - resisting the urge at any given moment to complete their mutual understanding that would end in a low rumble of good boy. this summer is maybe the closest thing to paradise hawk has had in any of his years teaching at georgetown, something he'll remember long past the semester drawing to a close. most especially on the days where hawk lets tim's boyish restless be contagious to him - continuing to toe that line of indecency and secrecy during their shared time. there's always the change of scenery to blame - the fact that it isn't his usual chair tim finds new ways to stuff himself into in an amusing display of uncomfortable positions - and not his usual lecture hall either. it's just a matter of indulging while he can, knowing the electric chemistry between them whether professional or otherwise won't be readily available to him anymore.
he's going to miss tim, and that's the thought he absolutely can't afford to linger on. so instead he throws himself into passionate debates, pushing the envelope with harder discussions, deeper dives into the psyche of american politics and parties and history - giving him and the rest of his advanced students something to really sink their teeth into.
it's also why his door is almost always open, considering tim is most usually the one walking through it. carrying on his thoughts, wordlessly slotting himself into hawk's afternoon to the point that he doesn't even bother posting up his office hours or reminding the rest of the class to take advantage of them - nor does he book anything important during that time either. tim is permanently, proverbially pencilled into his day now, and the absence will eventually eat at him based on previous experience of long nights and wandering hands and avoiding a certain url - but for now he's just letting it happen.
it is unusual, however, to see him looking any form of dismayed rather than determined to prove one his points no matter what the cost. dejection hasn't been a face he's needed to wear under this newfound freedom, so looking up to see it etched into his face as his teeth worry against that tempting fullness of his mouth. there's a wash of color in his cheeks that isn't just the sun or the heat - it looks like he's one wrong move away from having a cry.
(hawk's not expecting the immediate way it makes him sit up straighter, shoulders drawn back - like all that testosterone and the flare of will tim feels is pooling hot under his skin. who did this to my boy?)]
Tim - not a bad time, no. Come on in.
[as if he even needs to say it when tim walks right in anyway, and hawk makes sure his tone stays neutral, placid even as his hands stay folded atop his desk to start. his gaze fixes on the paper in his hand, seeing what must be revisions or drafts that have been compiled together. but it's not any quantity he recognizes, and with no pending assignments of his own - this is someone else's class. frankly, hawk doesn't really think about the other courses tim is taking when it's clear to anyone with two eyes and a set of working ears that this is what keeps him up at night and brings passion blooming to life within him. the thought of tim going into anything besides politics or something that would actively shape the country they stand in is laughable.
he wracks his brain for what tim had said back in his condo some weeks ago - what was it? literature? astronomy? no - he'd decided against that one for the extra expense. psychology?
hawk's gaze draws down to the paper between his fingers before lifting and taking in the way his eyes look. there's confusion there, maybe a little bit of hurt too, which he's unfortunately become familiar with. it makes his own brows furrow, lips pulling together in a tight smile for reasons that he hopes aren't obvious.]
Sure I can. No promises I'll be the expert here, but let's have a look.
[as is also customary, he doesn't bother inviting tim to sit - knowing he'll do it on his own, or find some loose approximation of setting his body down into some shape vaguely resembling it. he reaches for the paper, glancing at the title and the date first before drawing up to the course information and the professor as it all immediately sinks in.
ah.
no, he shouldn't laugh before he reads it over, but hawk almost feels like he doesn't need to in order to get the gist of what's going on here now. craig hadn't named names, but he'd come in here lamenting during the first week of classes that his "sociology of race, ethnicity, and culture" course wasn't going to be the cakewalk he'd been planning. admittedly, his own thoughts had been wandering at the time and trying to suppress the notion that craig was probably the last person who should be teaching much on culture unless it was pointers on properly administering poppers - but he hadn't put two and two together that one of the "know-it-alls" ruining the "vibe" was none other than tim laughlin.
but he reads it over nonetheless - a thoughtful commentary exploring the nature of inequality and the way racism was baked into the foundations of america long before the concept was ever challenged. definitely not his lane, but it's a well-written piece that he'd expect nothing less of from his top student. his fingertips splay across it, sliding it back to tim after a few minutes of perusing the piece in its entirety.]
Well, it's a solid piece in my book. You've made your case and supported it with plenty of examples. I'd certainly give it an A.
[he sucks in a breath, knowing craig would not have seen it remotely the same way, probably rearing back against the idea and considering it "controversial" and "subjective". hawk leans back, putting his hands up behind his head against the leather of his desk chair and kicking his feet up onto the desk in a casual motion.]
no subject
he's going to miss tim, and that's the thought he absolutely can't afford to linger on. so instead he throws himself into passionate debates, pushing the envelope with harder discussions, deeper dives into the psyche of american politics and parties and history - giving him and the rest of his advanced students something to really sink their teeth into.
it's also why his door is almost always open, considering tim is most usually the one walking through it. carrying on his thoughts, wordlessly slotting himself into hawk's afternoon to the point that he doesn't even bother posting up his office hours or reminding the rest of the class to take advantage of them - nor does he book anything important during that time either. tim is permanently, proverbially pencilled into his day now, and the absence will eventually eat at him based on previous experience of long nights and wandering hands and avoiding a certain url - but for now he's just letting it happen.
it is unusual, however, to see him looking any form of dismayed rather than determined to prove one his points no matter what the cost. dejection hasn't been a face he's needed to wear under this newfound freedom, so looking up to see it etched into his face as his teeth worry against that tempting fullness of his mouth. there's a wash of color in his cheeks that isn't just the sun or the heat - it looks like he's one wrong move away from having a cry.
(hawk's not expecting the immediate way it makes him sit up straighter, shoulders drawn back - like all that testosterone and the flare of will tim feels is pooling hot under his skin. who did this to my boy?)]
Tim - not a bad time, no. Come on in.
[as if he even needs to say it when tim walks right in anyway, and hawk makes sure his tone stays neutral, placid even as his hands stay folded atop his desk to start. his gaze fixes on the paper in his hand, seeing what must be revisions or drafts that have been compiled together. but it's not any quantity he recognizes, and with no pending assignments of his own - this is someone else's class. frankly, hawk doesn't really think about the other courses tim is taking when it's clear to anyone with two eyes and a set of working ears that this is what keeps him up at night and brings passion blooming to life within him. the thought of tim going into anything besides politics or something that would actively shape the country they stand in is laughable.
he wracks his brain for what tim had said back in his condo some weeks ago - what was it? literature? astronomy? no - he'd decided against that one for the extra expense. psychology?
hawk's gaze draws down to the paper between his fingers before lifting and taking in the way his eyes look. there's confusion there, maybe a little bit of hurt too, which he's unfortunately become familiar with. it makes his own brows furrow, lips pulling together in a tight smile for reasons that he hopes aren't obvious.]
Sure I can. No promises I'll be the expert here, but let's have a look.
[as is also customary, he doesn't bother inviting tim to sit - knowing he'll do it on his own, or find some loose approximation of setting his body down into some shape vaguely resembling it. he reaches for the paper, glancing at the title and the date first before drawing up to the course information and the professor as it all immediately sinks in.
ah.
no, he shouldn't laugh before he reads it over, but hawk almost feels like he doesn't need to in order to get the gist of what's going on here now. craig hadn't named names, but he'd come in here lamenting during the first week of classes that his "sociology of race, ethnicity, and culture" course wasn't going to be the cakewalk he'd been planning. admittedly, his own thoughts had been wandering at the time and trying to suppress the notion that craig was probably the last person who should be teaching much on culture unless it was pointers on properly administering poppers - but he hadn't put two and two together that one of the "know-it-alls" ruining the "vibe" was none other than tim laughlin.
but he reads it over nonetheless - a thoughtful commentary exploring the nature of inequality and the way racism was baked into the foundations of america long before the concept was ever challenged. definitely not his lane, but it's a well-written piece that he'd expect nothing less of from his top student. his fingertips splay across it, sliding it back to tim after a few minutes of perusing the piece in its entirety.]
Well, it's a solid piece in my book. You've made your case and supported it with plenty of examples. I'd certainly give it an A.
[he sucks in a breath, knowing craig would not have seen it remotely the same way, probably rearing back against the idea and considering it "controversial" and "subjective". hawk leans back, putting his hands up behind his head against the leather of his desk chair and kicking his feet up onto the desk in a casual motion.]
So what was the damage?