[ it comes out before he can help himself, the wine making him a little hazy now that it has hit his otherwise empty stomach. he's encouraged by the press of a thumb against his wrist and tim's mouth runs dry, his heart pumps a little faster, and the want he feels is suddenly so stark and so real, it reminds him of the way they'd been leaned over one another weeks ago in hawk's office.
his fingers flex, sliding against hawk's palm to the cuff of his sleeve, catching under it. ]
I don't think I can go two weeks again like that without seeing you, honestly. But I'll wait - I'll do whatever you tell me.
[ because getting even this - the affection and what feels like honest attention - it makes tim bloom with heat, with desire, with hope. he's sharing dinner with a man who is caring, loving, kind, intelligent...
one day his future may just be more of this. or at a shared table in a condo, in an apartment, something that's theirs. or he'd like it to be. they can be more than just this delicate balance of teacher and student. graduation will come, tim will find some job, and then they will simply be two working professionals.
it's a beautiful dream.
his expression lights up, burns hot and pink, when hawk speaks. i have plenty. it makes him wonder just what the car ride home might be. will they hold hands like now? will his hands be allowed to roam, will he be able to sing to the radio or roll the windows down and keep a hand on the man's thigh?
right.
food. dinner. ]
O-oh. Right. Don't want the dinner to get cold.
[ and he regretfully pulls his hand from hawk's, letting his fingers drag over his skin until he pauses, finger tip to finger tip. but it's impossible to ignore the way hawk looks from his mouth and up, and the way that tim's do the same. what would he do if he leaned over now and kissed him. instead, he plucks at hawk's hand, drawing it up, leaning over just enough that he presses his lips against his knuckles once, and then, briefly? where no one may see the soft pass of his lips? the pad of his thumb.
he releases it then and grabs his wine glass, sipping from it before he starts in again on the appetizer.
it's a miracle he's even able to spit his order out when the waiter comes to take their entree orders and collect their menus, for even tim feels the heat of his boldness as he speaks. when she leaves, his eyes flicker back to hawk. ]
no subject
[ it comes out before he can help himself, the wine making him a little hazy now that it has hit his otherwise empty stomach. he's encouraged by the press of a thumb against his wrist and tim's mouth runs dry, his heart pumps a little faster, and the want he feels is suddenly so stark and so real, it reminds him of the way they'd been leaned over one another weeks ago in hawk's office.
his fingers flex, sliding against hawk's palm to the cuff of his sleeve, catching under it. ]
I don't think I can go two weeks again like that without seeing you, honestly. But I'll wait - I'll do whatever you tell me.
[ because getting even this - the affection and what feels like honest attention - it makes tim bloom with heat, with desire, with hope. he's sharing dinner with a man who is caring, loving, kind, intelligent...
one day his future may just be more of this. or at a shared table in a condo, in an apartment, something that's theirs. or he'd like it to be. they can be more than just this delicate balance of teacher and student. graduation will come, tim will find some job, and then they will simply be two working professionals.
it's a beautiful dream.
his expression lights up, burns hot and pink, when hawk speaks. i have plenty. it makes him wonder just what the car ride home might be. will they hold hands like now? will his hands be allowed to roam, will he be able to sing to the radio or roll the windows down and keep a hand on the man's thigh?
right.
food. dinner. ]
O-oh. Right. Don't want the dinner to get cold.
[ and he regretfully pulls his hand from hawk's, letting his fingers drag over his skin until he pauses, finger tip to finger tip. but it's impossible to ignore the way hawk looks from his mouth and up, and the way that tim's do the same. what would he do if he leaned over now and kissed him. instead, he plucks at hawk's hand, drawing it up, leaning over just enough that he presses his lips against his knuckles once, and then, briefly? where no one may see the soft pass of his lips? the pad of his thumb.
he releases it then and grabs his wine glass, sipping from it before he starts in again on the appetizer.
it's a miracle he's even able to spit his order out when the waiter comes to take their entree orders and collect their menus, for even tim feels the heat of his boldness as he speaks. when she leaves, his eyes flicker back to hawk. ]
Thank you for bringing me here. With you.