[the notebook can wait. the paper, the thesis - this far removed from campus, and hawk is willing to forego it all entirely at this rate. there's just something so palpable about his excitement, contagious and openly sweet in a way hawk hasn't seen on anyone in a long time. genuine. how can a boy look so goddamn innocent - bright eyes, crucifix nudging against his heart and then look good enough to ruin in the next moment - toned muscle, the glisten of sweat, rosy-cheeked with cherry-bitten lips. what he wouldn't give to tug him by that chain across the table and plant one on him in front of all these fine, good paying customers. he belongs to hawkins fuller. this is my boy. the thought that by the time enough time had passed tim will likely have forgotten him altogether almost dampens the mood for a moment - but he won't let it weigh on him right now.
this is a moment earned for them both. exams are a week away and then...only then, will hawk let the loneliness sink back in.]
You sure you don't mean catty? I can't remember the nice time I heard anything nice come out of his mouth.
[he says it casually, flipping one of the pages and letting his brows raise mildly, tone still light and teasing in the way he knows tim doesn't really mean it and is play-goading him. but it's not hard to think about his eagerness weaponized against a man too dumb to realize what was going on, he earned that a- after all, didn't he? craig probably thought he was eating out of the palm of his hand. idiot.
the sound of his own name coming out of tim's mouth though - that's charming enough that he looks up with a broad stretch of his lips.]
Suppose we will. Think the view's better from where I'm sitting, though.
[he's not talking about the window or the fading tones of gold and pink and perwinkle either. he's talking about sitting across from tim laughlin having that same fantasy - that they drove all the way here for an evening out, fingers laced across the the arm rest and that he can kiss his boy as freely as he wants when they step back outside into a breezy summer night. that he can drive him home, pounce on him the moment they're through the door even if their hands haven't been kept to themselves the entire drive home - push him down onto the bed and give and take of him all night long. what would it be like, to lose himself in a relationship like that?
he gestures for tim to go first, the polite thing to do, taking a moment to drink in his profile and that mouth-watering expanse of his neck and collarbone. enough that he thinks maybe he misheard the order for bread and milk, brows pinching together in confusion he won't voice until after his own order for the house red, bruschetta, and oysters to start is put in.]
Hang on a minute - milk? Is this...a habit of yours?
[not that he looks judgmental about it, just confused. endeared, really, if the tug at his lips is anything to go by and the way his tone drops a little lower.]
Does a body good, they used to say. You must be the poster boy for it to be true.
[the waiter comes back with the milk, bread, and bottle of wine, two glasses set in front of them both which hawk immediately reaches to fill, along with a murmured grazie that's not so bad in the accent department. his pour is generous for them both, and when it's done he sets it off to the side and lifts his glass, nodding for tim to do the same in a mock speech.]
To doing well for me. To getting your reward.
[hawk inclines his head a little, bringing it close enough but not yet clinking it with tim's glass.]
To our date.
Alla nostra salute.
[then he clinks it, lifting it to his lips for an equally generous sip, eyeing tim over the rim as he takes a swallow to see if he'll match it. it's a fine pick to accompany their meal - not too dry or bitter, and he has a sneaking suspicion tim likes things a little sweeter than this.]
no subject
this is a moment earned for them both. exams are a week away and then...only then, will hawk let the loneliness sink back in.]
You sure you don't mean catty? I can't remember the nice time I heard anything nice come out of his mouth.
[he says it casually, flipping one of the pages and letting his brows raise mildly, tone still light and teasing in the way he knows tim doesn't really mean it and is play-goading him. but it's not hard to think about his eagerness weaponized against a man too dumb to realize what was going on, he earned that a- after all, didn't he? craig probably thought he was eating out of the palm of his hand. idiot.
the sound of his own name coming out of tim's mouth though - that's charming enough that he looks up with a broad stretch of his lips.]
Suppose we will. Think the view's better from where I'm sitting, though.
[he's not talking about the window or the fading tones of gold and pink and perwinkle either. he's talking about sitting across from tim laughlin having that same fantasy - that they drove all the way here for an evening out, fingers laced across the the arm rest and that he can kiss his boy as freely as he wants when they step back outside into a breezy summer night. that he can drive him home, pounce on him the moment they're through the door even if their hands haven't been kept to themselves the entire drive home - push him down onto the bed and give and take of him all night long. what would it be like, to lose himself in a relationship like that?
he gestures for tim to go first, the polite thing to do, taking a moment to drink in his profile and that mouth-watering expanse of his neck and collarbone. enough that he thinks maybe he misheard the order for bread and milk, brows pinching together in confusion he won't voice until after his own order for the house red, bruschetta, and oysters to start is put in.]
Hang on a minute - milk? Is this...a habit of yours?
[not that he looks judgmental about it, just confused. endeared, really, if the tug at his lips is anything to go by and the way his tone drops a little lower.]
Does a body good, they used to say. You must be the poster boy for it to be true.
[the waiter comes back with the milk, bread, and bottle of wine, two glasses set in front of them both which hawk immediately reaches to fill, along with a murmured grazie that's not so bad in the accent department. his pour is generous for them both, and when it's done he sets it off to the side and lifts his glass, nodding for tim to do the same in a mock speech.]
To doing well for me. To getting your reward.
[hawk inclines his head a little, bringing it close enough but not yet clinking it with tim's glass.]
To our date.
Alla nostra salute.
[then he clinks it, lifting it to his lips for an equally generous sip, eyeing tim over the rim as he takes a swallow to see if he'll match it. it's a fine pick to accompany their meal - not too dry or bitter, and he has a sneaking suspicion tim likes things a little sweeter than this.]