[ every shuddering breath that falls from hawk's lips feels like gold, and there's such heady power in the fact that he was able to do all that himself with only a few small touches. a hand here, mouth hovering there, a nose against and jaw and -
god.
fuck but the feeling of warm breath against his ear coupled with the nearness and the delectable, low rumble of hawk's voice sends something hot and molted southerly for the veritable winter life will be when he's not trapped between hawk's thighs. he doesn't mean to make a noise, but he does - a faint, little whimper let out as he exhales through his nose.
there's little restraint to be had and yet there's something heavily erotic about being so close to the precipice of it all and not crossing the line. he's edged himself before on camera, brought himself to the brink and back dozens upon dozens of times but this feels different and utterly infuriating. he has no doubt that when he goes back to his dorm, sets up his room and turns that camera on that he will be nothing but filthy and wanton for the memory of his. ]
Please, sir - tell me what I want.
[ and anyone may think it's about craig, about the class, about the situation but the way his head tips back so lazily, the way his eyes drag their way to hawk's face say something else. this is a boy who will do anything for the order of the man across from him, who will bask in the praise or the punishment, who relishes in being controlled, wanted, taught, desired.
hawk moves and by instinct he steps back, the backs of his knees knocking the chair and almost setting him into it. he catches himself on the arm, turning his head to watch the way hawk circles to the desk with practiced ease and the prowess of a man whose fingers are delicately woven around the fine threads pulling every string attached to his body.
the air feels cool, but the heat hasn't left. usually, when these little confrontations are broken, the electricity dies with it. instead, something about it intensifies, even with the very way those broad palms press across the desk.
(he already knows he's going to hell, but he's certain there will be a special space for him now that he's wondering what those hands might feel like around his throat, over his mouth, twisted in his hair, or prying his lips apart and silencing him).
there's something about this order that's different and tim pauses when he rises with his bag on his shoulder.
you can come show it to me when you're underway
aha. he can't return until he's started the next paper? is that what he's after? a challenge. ]
Yes, sir. I don't have the topic yet - are your office hours off limits until I begin? What do you want me to do in the meantime?
[ he says it so easily, like student speaking to teacher, but it's all in tim's eyes, isn't it? the fiery challenge, the defiant way his jaw sets to tell hawk he will play the game, and he will follow the rules and oh, he will absolutely obey. the only thing that stops him is the question and he blinks for a moment, almost like the electricity has left his body - like the moment has passed for tim but not hawk. except it's in the pull of his lips - the faint little smile that pulls to one side, the crinkle of his nose as he huffs out a little laugh. ]
Professor Fuller, sir - [ he steps up to the desk, letting his hips hinge over the top to lean in just so - nothing that any teacher would think twice about if they passed. but there's something to be said about the way tim's glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose just a touch in the jostling, and the way dark lashes blink and charged, brown eyes stare him down. ]
I spent all of last night on my knees in prayer. I cried out his name and found pleasure in knowing that he is always with me - I even imagined he was there beside me the whole time, sir.
[ hell.
he'll feel guilty about this later. he'd spent the previous evening on his knees with something thick splitting him open and driving him to the edge with every donation that turned the toy's vibrations up a notch for every dollar over the last. a veritable bidding war for a virtual pound of flesh. but he'd thought of hawk, strangely - thought of the aftershave, the warmth of his neck and the low rumble he'd hear if it were the man himself tell him just how good he can take it.
it had been a religious experience, really. one that has led them here, with tim leaned in, murmuring about prayers and the divine. only, it's the very divine he's sure he stands in front of now. ]
no subject
god.
fuck but the feeling of warm breath against his ear coupled with the nearness and the delectable, low rumble of hawk's voice sends something hot and molted southerly for the veritable winter life will be when he's not trapped between hawk's thighs. he doesn't mean to make a noise, but he does - a faint, little whimper let out as he exhales through his nose.
there's little restraint to be had and yet there's something heavily erotic about being so close to the precipice of it all and not crossing the line. he's edged himself before on camera, brought himself to the brink and back dozens upon dozens of times but this feels different and utterly infuriating. he has no doubt that when he goes back to his dorm, sets up his room and turns that camera on that he will be nothing but filthy and wanton for the memory of his. ]
Please, sir - tell me what I want.
[ and anyone may think it's about craig, about the class, about the situation but the way his head tips back so lazily, the way his eyes drag their way to hawk's face say something else. this is a boy who will do anything for the order of the man across from him, who will bask in the praise or the punishment, who relishes in being controlled, wanted, taught, desired.
hawk moves and by instinct he steps back, the backs of his knees knocking the chair and almost setting him into it. he catches himself on the arm, turning his head to watch the way hawk circles to the desk with practiced ease and the prowess of a man whose fingers are delicately woven around the fine threads pulling every string attached to his body.
the air feels cool, but the heat hasn't left. usually, when these little confrontations are broken, the electricity dies with it. instead, something about it intensifies, even with the very way those broad palms press across the desk.
(he already knows he's going to hell, but he's certain there will be a special space for him now that he's wondering what those hands might feel like around his throat, over his mouth, twisted in his hair, or prying his lips apart and silencing him).
there's something about this order that's different and tim pauses when he rises with his bag on his shoulder.
you can come show it to me when you're underway
aha. he can't return until he's started the next paper? is that what he's after? a challenge. ]
Yes, sir. I don't have the topic yet - are your office hours off limits until I begin? What do you want me to do in the meantime?
[ he says it so easily, like student speaking to teacher, but it's all in tim's eyes, isn't it? the fiery challenge, the defiant way his jaw sets to tell hawk he will play the game, and he will follow the rules and oh, he will absolutely obey. the only thing that stops him is the question and he blinks for a moment, almost like the electricity has left his body - like the moment has passed for tim but not hawk. except it's in the pull of his lips - the faint little smile that pulls to one side, the crinkle of his nose as he huffs out a little laugh. ]
Professor Fuller, sir - [ he steps up to the desk, letting his hips hinge over the top to lean in just so - nothing that any teacher would think twice about if they passed. but there's something to be said about the way tim's glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose just a touch in the jostling, and the way dark lashes blink and charged, brown eyes stare him down. ]
I spent all of last night on my knees in prayer. I cried out his name and found pleasure in knowing that he is always with me - I even imagined he was there beside me the whole time, sir.
[ hell.
he'll feel guilty about this later. he'd spent the previous evening on his knees with something thick splitting him open and driving him to the edge with every donation that turned the toy's vibrations up a notch for every dollar over the last. a veritable bidding war for a virtual pound of flesh. but he'd thought of hawk, strangely - thought of the aftershave, the warmth of his neck and the low rumble he'd hear if it were the man himself tell him just how good he can take it.
it had been a religious experience, really. one that has led them here, with tim leaned in, murmuring about prayers and the divine. only, it's the very divine he's sure he stands in front of now. ]