[ never has tim sat in the chair opposite hawkins fuller's desk and felt even a modicum of power. persuasion? yes. it came in the form of a sliver of stomach, an arched back, an arm reaching for a paper behind him and - ah. the power? the power comes in this - watching hawk read, and he knows the man has to be wondering at first if the paper is about him.
in a way, it is. but in others? absolutely not. is hawk an older man, looking to shack up with some pretty young thing? maybe. is he, tim laughlin, looking for an older man to allow such behavior? maybe. but the whole thing is a smear of the falsities and hipocracy of craig level instead, painting a philosophical picture of him in clown make up.
but god, watching hawk sit beneath the intensity of his gaze and seeing, for the first time, the man squirm a little? if timothy david laughlin looks a little bit too much like the prissy feline who got caught with a paw in the cream, that's because he is. ]
No. Your rules were before class, during, and after. No mention of time in the wild. No office hours. Is your memory starting to slip, Professor Fuller? You must be tired. I don't want to keep you, of course.
[ but god he won't leave - he knows he can't leave now, heady and utterly burning with the slight tug he has on the rope tied between them. it isn't much, but the vulnerability he sees through the cracks makes it soften. can he fault the man for finding him? can he fault him when tim wanted to be found? ]
I missed you, too. So. I appreciate you bending the rules.
[ it's a small reward for reading the paper, for showing even the barest hint of something more beyond the carefully crafted facade. he can see through it, mostly, at this point, but still. it must take incredible effort and energy. ]
And maybe for letting me dig at you a little over it. Your rules are hazy at best, sir, and as your good and only boy I hope maybe you'll let me bend them sometimes, too. I'll always ask nicely.
[ again, it's evident that tim has warmed up to the tiniest bit of control he has - the new form its taken. he sits forward on the edge of the seat, reaching for the graded paper to return it to his bag when the offer comes. he stills, blinking down at his own hands before his head raises.
he'd been promised a reward, of course, but this? this seems excessive, too good to be true. the surprise shines through the defiant heat from moments before, genuine and soft and wanting. a little fearful, too - it seems like an avenue with which he will get hurt later. a dinner with hawkins fuller sounds an awful lot like something else. ]
I'd... I'd like that. Dinner. Are you asking me on...?
[ he doesn't say it - he can't. he almost curses under his breath at himself for even letting half of the question slip. a date. is hawkins fuller asking him out to dinner, on a date, after two weeks of barely any contact? probably. there's a softness in his eyes that already tim knows to be dangerous - he can't resist it. even though he wants to say no, just to wield the power he has newly gained?
he can't. ]
I mean, definitely a study date. I have my exit thesis to start working on for next year, of course, and I'll be in one of Lonegan's classes. I've heard he's awful.
[ there it is. the word, laid bare and vulnerable between them. ]
Even if you aren't, ah. Dinner would be nice. If you're amenable.
[ he doesn't have the spare cash, really, but he has enough to pay for his own and the man's dinner. maybe that's what he'll do when they go - surprise him by putting his card down first. dreaming of a world where the two of them tucked into a little table at a hole in the wall joint could be his. where he could leave school, find some ramshackle place or simply take up harbor in hawk's bed that smells of something masculine and cool and heady.
oh how he will pine and pine and pine later over a memory like this. ]
You'll have to tell me where so I could look at the bus routes.
no subject
in a way, it is. but in others? absolutely not. is hawk an older man, looking to shack up with some pretty young thing? maybe. is he, tim laughlin, looking for an older man to allow such behavior? maybe. but the whole thing is a smear of the falsities and hipocracy of craig level instead, painting a philosophical picture of him in clown make up.
but god, watching hawk sit beneath the intensity of his gaze and seeing, for the first time, the man squirm a little? if timothy david laughlin looks a little bit too much like the prissy feline who got caught with a paw in the cream, that's because he is. ]
No. Your rules were before class, during, and after. No mention of time in the wild. No office hours. Is your memory starting to slip, Professor Fuller? You must be tired. I don't want to keep you, of course.
[ but god he won't leave - he knows he can't leave now, heady and utterly burning with the slight tug he has on the rope tied between them. it isn't much, but the vulnerability he sees through the cracks makes it soften. can he fault the man for finding him? can he fault him when tim wanted to be found? ]
I missed you, too. So. I appreciate you bending the rules.
[ it's a small reward for reading the paper, for showing even the barest hint of something more beyond the carefully crafted facade. he can see through it, mostly, at this point, but still. it must take incredible effort and energy. ]
And maybe for letting me dig at you a little over it. Your rules are hazy at best, sir, and as your good and only boy I hope maybe you'll let me bend them sometimes, too. I'll always ask nicely.
[ again, it's evident that tim has warmed up to the tiniest bit of control he has - the new form its taken. he sits forward on the edge of the seat, reaching for the graded paper to return it to his bag when the offer comes. he stills, blinking down at his own hands before his head raises.
he'd been promised a reward, of course, but this? this seems excessive, too good to be true. the surprise shines through the defiant heat from moments before, genuine and soft and wanting. a little fearful, too - it seems like an avenue with which he will get hurt later. a dinner with hawkins fuller sounds an awful lot like something else. ]
I'd... I'd like that. Dinner. Are you asking me on...?
[ he doesn't say it - he can't. he almost curses under his breath at himself for even letting half of the question slip. a date. is hawkins fuller asking him out to dinner, on a date, after two weeks of barely any contact? probably. there's a softness in his eyes that already tim knows to be dangerous - he can't resist it. even though he wants to say no, just to wield the power he has newly gained?
he can't. ]
I mean, definitely a study date. I have my exit thesis to start working on for next year, of course, and I'll be in one of Lonegan's classes. I've heard he's awful.
[ there it is. the word, laid bare and vulnerable between them. ]
Even if you aren't, ah. Dinner would be nice. If you're amenable.
[ he doesn't have the spare cash, really, but he has enough to pay for his own and the man's dinner. maybe that's what he'll do when they go - surprise him by putting his card down first. dreaming of a world where the two of them tucked into a little table at a hole in the wall joint could be his. where he could leave school, find some ramshackle place or simply take up harbor in hawk's bed that smells of something masculine and cool and heady.
oh how he will pine and pine and pine later over a memory like this. ]
You'll have to tell me where so I could look at the bus routes.