[ never before has he felt so electrified and alive than he does right now - caught up in the unspoken energy on the air between them. it's only magnified by the way hawk deliberately rakes his eyes over him, and tim idly wonders now if this is what he'd looked like on the other side of the screen those months before. (well, has it been months? tim isn't so sure).
he sits, pinned, gazing across at the man and only when those eyes trip up does he swallow hard, making certain that the bob of his adam's apple is seen moving. he knows all the tricks - how to move his body, how to make the subtlest of movements to broadcast a bigger message.
nothing has ever felt like this.
he must look like a loon the way he watches hawk rise, watches him circle the table. his eyes widen just slightly, but not out of surprise or fear, but intrigue, anticipation. there's a new wildfire burning in the honey brown of his irises - want, excitement, a challenge. but it's difficult to breathe in the midst of it all when hawk invades his space, leans over him and closes his eyes.
tim's body arches without any conscious thought - a light bend in his low back, a tip of his head back just so, so that he may look up at hawk with awe under thick, dark lashes.
you are.
he is hawkins fuller's boy.
tim stays still until hawk leans back on his desk, until the tips of their shoes touch and he's sure now that he has never known how to breathe before this moment. his eyes never leave the sharp blue of the other man's, his lips parted in anticipation and awe. a thrill ripples up his spine.
the order makes his mouth run dry and he can even feel the way his nipples harden, his skin turn to goose flesh for the wanting.
he shifts forward in his seat then, enough that as he slides to the edge, his shoes knocking against hawk's, his own legs shifting so that calves and knees knock. so that his legs are perfectly tucked between the powerful spread of hawk's.
and oh, does he know how to sit pretty, palms resting on the seat of the chair at either side of the cushion, the picture of innocence. again, his eyes never once lose contact. ]
I'm your boy, sir. [ there's a momentary flicker - soft brown eyes dipping to the hard line of the man's lips then back up. ] I'll do it for you.
[ he weighs his options, then. the door is open, and yet even he knows there will be no one else in - it's practically only hawk anyway working in this office this summer, and tim laughlin does something he'd never have done six months before. he stands up, impossibly close to hawk now, encroaching the space between his thighs and the easy lean he takes on the desk. he folds his hands behind his back, prim, proper. even the bruises on his knees are prominent here, up close. ]
May I please have my paper, sir? [ the one on the desk, hidden from view by the elegant lounge of hawk's body. what would it be to reach out and touch him now? to slide his hands along the hard planes of his chest and feel the warmth of him. even here, he can smell the cologne, the after shave. ]
no subject
[ never before has he felt so electrified and alive than he does right now - caught up in the unspoken energy on the air between them. it's only magnified by the way hawk deliberately rakes his eyes over him, and tim idly wonders now if this is what he'd looked like on the other side of the screen those months before. (well, has it been months? tim isn't so sure).
he sits, pinned, gazing across at the man and only when those eyes trip up does he swallow hard, making certain that the bob of his adam's apple is seen moving. he knows all the tricks - how to move his body, how to make the subtlest of movements to broadcast a bigger message.
nothing has ever felt like this.
he must look like a loon the way he watches hawk rise, watches him circle the table. his eyes widen just slightly, but not out of surprise or fear, but intrigue, anticipation. there's a new wildfire burning in the honey brown of his irises - want, excitement, a challenge. but it's difficult to breathe in the midst of it all when hawk invades his space, leans over him and closes his eyes.
tim's body arches without any conscious thought - a light bend in his low back, a tip of his head back just so, so that he may look up at hawk with awe under thick, dark lashes.
you are.
he is hawkins fuller's boy.
tim stays still until hawk leans back on his desk, until the tips of their shoes touch and he's sure now that he has never known how to breathe before this moment. his eyes never leave the sharp blue of the other man's, his lips parted in anticipation and awe. a thrill ripples up his spine.
the order makes his mouth run dry and he can even feel the way his nipples harden, his skin turn to goose flesh for the wanting.
he shifts forward in his seat then, enough that as he slides to the edge, his shoes knocking against hawk's, his own legs shifting so that calves and knees knock. so that his legs are perfectly tucked between the powerful spread of hawk's.
and oh, does he know how to sit pretty, palms resting on the seat of the chair at either side of the cushion, the picture of innocence. again, his eyes never once lose contact. ]
I'm your boy, sir. [ there's a momentary flicker - soft brown eyes dipping to the hard line of the man's lips then back up. ] I'll do it for you.
[ he weighs his options, then. the door is open, and yet even he knows there will be no one else in - it's practically only hawk anyway working in this office this summer, and tim laughlin does something he'd never have done six months before. he stands up, impossibly close to hawk now, encroaching the space between his thighs and the easy lean he takes on the desk. he folds his hands behind his back, prim, proper. even the bruises on his knees are prominent here, up close. ]
May I please have my paper, sir? [ the one on the desk, hidden from view by the elegant lounge of hawk's body. what would it be to reach out and touch him now? to slide his hands along the hard planes of his chest and feel the warmth of him. even here, he can smell the cologne, the after shave. ]
Your boy wants to make you proud.