[ the reality of it all is that failing one class will do nothing to harm his gpa to any great effect - he's far enough along now that a junior level class will hardly make a dent in the weight of it all. but now it all comes down to principle, to the very just-ness of it.
he's never been one to stand idly by when someone isn't playing fair, or abiding by the rules.
he'll have a hard time in the government, he knows, but it's a challenge well worth the taking. ]
That much is obvious.
[ he huffs a little as hawk explains, outlining everything that he's seen in the sociology professor as the days pass in the summer. however, tim has always struggled to act any differently than his gut and heart tell him to. he's genuine to a fault, and even trying to eagerly persuade professor level to relax has somehow dissuaded the strange man.
and now he's being told he has to play nice? to suck up to him? to dumb down everything and sit on his hands, lips pursed?
he finds himself appalled by the suggestion, even if he himself welcomed the advice. but those bambi eyes of his own track the trail of icy-hot blues, from his knee and up, and for a split second, he's certain hawk is looking at his lips.
just as he's priming himself to open his mouth with an indignant rebuttal instead of lingering on the way his throat goes dry or his neck flushes, he's interrupted. the tip of a jaw, the glittering determination of his eyes, the exhale.
fuck, the exhale.
tim doesn't realize he's holding his breath until the man speaks again, when it comes out of him as a low, surprised sound.
my boy.
something white-hot and electric zips up his spine, widens his eyes, and makes even the hair at his nape stand on end. the air between them changes in an instant and there's nothing of the slow, easy ramp-up into flirtation that they've had all summer. oh, no. this?
this is different. and something low in tim's belly churns with a distant, strange sort of wanting. ]
Lay in wait. Play nice and flatter him - but not too far because although he's a little vapid, he's not unintelligent. Wait until the cards fall in my favor and then finish?
[ he tilts his head a little, letting himself fall back easy and relaxed into the seat, sliding just enough that the tight fabric of his t-shirt does indeed ruck itself up - but only for a hair's breadth of skin to show. ]
So, if I'm your boy -
[ he swallows hard, elbow coming to the arm of the chair so that his fingers can drum over his lips. is he taking this too far? is he too caught up in the molten heat and wonder of all this? maybe? ]
Am I? Your boy? Because if I am, well - I will have to listen. If, of course -
[ there's a pause, tim's eyes meeting hawk's the blistering silence, as though he can best determine what he's going to say by waiting to see what's there, then: ] - my mister is the one telling me to. But only him, of course.
no subject
he's never been one to stand idly by when someone isn't playing fair, or abiding by the rules.
he'll have a hard time in the government, he knows, but it's a challenge well worth the taking. ]
That much is obvious.
[ he huffs a little as hawk explains, outlining everything that he's seen in the sociology professor as the days pass in the summer. however, tim has always struggled to act any differently than his gut and heart tell him to. he's genuine to a fault, and even trying to eagerly persuade professor level to relax has somehow dissuaded the strange man.
and now he's being told he has to play nice? to suck up to him? to dumb down everything and sit on his hands, lips pursed?
he finds himself appalled by the suggestion, even if he himself welcomed the advice. but those bambi eyes of his own track the trail of icy-hot blues, from his knee and up, and for a split second, he's certain hawk is looking at his lips.
just as he's priming himself to open his mouth with an indignant rebuttal instead of lingering on the way his throat goes dry or his neck flushes, he's interrupted. the tip of a jaw, the glittering determination of his eyes, the exhale.
fuck, the exhale.
tim doesn't realize he's holding his breath until the man speaks again, when it comes out of him as a low, surprised sound.
my boy.
something white-hot and electric zips up his spine, widens his eyes, and makes even the hair at his nape stand on end. the air between them changes in an instant and there's nothing of the slow, easy ramp-up into flirtation that they've had all summer. oh, no. this?
this is different. and something low in tim's belly churns with a distant, strange sort of wanting. ]
Lay in wait. Play nice and flatter him - but not too far because although he's a little vapid, he's not unintelligent. Wait until the cards fall in my favor and then finish?
[ he tilts his head a little, letting himself fall back easy and relaxed into the seat, sliding just enough that the tight fabric of his t-shirt does indeed ruck itself up - but only for a hair's breadth of skin to show. ]
So, if I'm your boy -
[ he swallows hard, elbow coming to the arm of the chair so that his fingers can drum over his lips. is he taking this too far? is he too caught up in the molten heat and wonder of all this? maybe? ]
Am I? Your boy? Because if I am, well - I will have to listen. If, of course -
[ there's a pause, tim's eyes meeting hawk's the blistering silence, as though he can best determine what he's going to say by waiting to see what's there, then: ] - my mister is the one telling me to. But only him, of course.
I couldn't say no to him.