[ as tim leaves hawk's office, he laughs a little, bright and easy. i'd hate to get struck by lightning, hawk says and it's hard not to find it amusing. he figures by now, he'd have been struck down a million times for his behaviors, for his choices. but he chooses not to think of that as he heads out of the building and off campus toward the church.
he thinks about hawkins fuller, the look he'd given him, the way his eyes had all but devoured him from afar. even if nothing comes of any of this, tim can't help but warm at the idea of being wanted so very much. it means that by the time he's in hawk's car, he's a little sweaty - it is a scorcher - cheeks flushed a little pink and two additional buttons undone, bringing the deep v of his shirt down just past his pecs. his sleeves are rolled up at his elbows.
the drive is easy enough, and as they settle into the restaurant, tim is already charmed. it's a small place, but being tucked into the back makes it feel strangely intimate. enough that when hawk pulls out his chair for him his face undoubtedly lights up, settling in his chair and scooting it up further to the table. sitting this way, his collar opens and the crucifix is on clear display, resting between toned muscle and skin that has been tanned slightly and freckled by the sun.
he makes sure when he leans to reach for the menu, hawk has the best view. he opens it, scanning the choices, but he can't focus. they're on a date. he really should get his notebook out like he promised, and pretend like they're here on some school meeting, but until hawk gives him that directive? he's going to live in the fantasy of this as long as he can. his eyes slip up over the menu, meeting the mischievous blue of hawk's. ]
Mm. I don't know. [ he can barely keep a straight face when he says it. ] He was very charming and nice. I bet we talked about something interesting, but I can't remember what it was. You have a lot to live up to.
[ what does he call him here? sir? professor fuller? what are the lines and who are they pretending to be here in the anonymity of the italian restaurant. there's something very cheesy american italian playing - instrumental, and there's the distant sound of cooking from the kitchen in the back. it's romantic, really. dim and quaint, the roses on the table, the promise of a red to drink. ]
But I imagine the company will be better. The food will be better. We'll see how you measure up at the end of the night, Hawk.
[ the name feels foreign on his tongue, but he's heard craig call him that. but it's nice - informal in a way that this little dinner should be. at least in a perfect world. for a few moments he can imagine they aren't bound by the ties of teacher and student. that december never happened, and they'd spent all summer enjoying each other. ]
But it all looks good. [ there's a little quirk of his head, a glance to hawk then back at the menu. the implication of all meaning more than the food. a server comes up - in classic black and white - and lists specials, some drinks, and he smiles, albeit sheepish, when he asks for their drink orders. ]
Sorry, do you have milk? Oh, and maybe some bread? To start, I mean.
[ the waiter pauses, as confused as most are, but of course they have milk here, even if it is unusual. the man takes hawk's order next - the red. he's not had wine like that anywhere outside of church, and there's something thrilling about the thought of having it here, at a dinner date, with this man. ]
I think Craig likes me. I really did do very well for you, you know.
no subject
he thinks about hawkins fuller, the look he'd given him, the way his eyes had all but devoured him from afar. even if nothing comes of any of this, tim can't help but warm at the idea of being wanted so very much. it means that by the time he's in hawk's car, he's a little sweaty - it is a scorcher - cheeks flushed a little pink and two additional buttons undone, bringing the deep v of his shirt down just past his pecs. his sleeves are rolled up at his elbows.
the drive is easy enough, and as they settle into the restaurant, tim is already charmed. it's a small place, but being tucked into the back makes it feel strangely intimate. enough that when hawk pulls out his chair for him his face undoubtedly lights up, settling in his chair and scooting it up further to the table. sitting this way, his collar opens and the crucifix is on clear display, resting between toned muscle and skin that has been tanned slightly and freckled by the sun.
he makes sure when he leans to reach for the menu, hawk has the best view. he opens it, scanning the choices, but he can't focus. they're on a date. he really should get his notebook out like he promised, and pretend like they're here on some school meeting, but until hawk gives him that directive? he's going to live in the fantasy of this as long as he can. his eyes slip up over the menu, meeting the mischievous blue of hawk's. ]
Mm. I don't know. [ he can barely keep a straight face when he says it. ] He was very charming and nice. I bet we talked about something interesting, but I can't remember what it was. You have a lot to live up to.
[ what does he call him here? sir? professor fuller? what are the lines and who are they pretending to be here in the anonymity of the italian restaurant. there's something very cheesy american italian playing - instrumental, and there's the distant sound of cooking from the kitchen in the back. it's romantic, really. dim and quaint, the roses on the table, the promise of a red to drink. ]
But I imagine the company will be better. The food will be better. We'll see how you measure up at the end of the night, Hawk.
[ the name feels foreign on his tongue, but he's heard craig call him that. but it's nice - informal in a way that this little dinner should be. at least in a perfect world. for a few moments he can imagine they aren't bound by the ties of teacher and student. that december never happened, and they'd spent all summer enjoying each other. ]
But it all looks good. [ there's a little quirk of his head, a glance to hawk then back at the menu. the implication of all meaning more than the food. a server comes up - in classic black and white - and lists specials, some drinks, and he smiles, albeit sheepish, when he asks for their drink orders. ]
Sorry, do you have milk? Oh, and maybe some bread? To start, I mean.
[ the waiter pauses, as confused as most are, but of course they have milk here, even if it is unusual. the man takes hawk's order next - the red. he's not had wine like that anywhere outside of church, and there's something thrilling about the thought of having it here, at a dinner date, with this man. ]
I think Craig likes me. I really did do very well for you, you know.