[ he's been on a few dates here and there - once with a girl from church his mother tried to pair him with. second, with a girl from bible school. one other girl in college because he truly thought maybe he could figure himself out without the church involved. but figuring himself out meant a boy with a pretty face named arthur, and that night the timbre of his prayers changed.
it's no different now - sitting across from hawk in the dim light of the restaurant, feeling hazy and warm from the wine. he's had far, far too much at this point, he knows that much. there's no turning back now, but he would drink another bottle if it meant prolonging this little date.
the cake arrives, though, perfectly prompt to his great dismay, but hawk swipes the forks and he blinks up at him, surprised and wide-eyed. he almost opens his mouth to protest, but then -
ah. ]
It looks delicious, sir.
[ tim's mouth has suddenly run dry, his face heating a little more and he leans his chin heavily on his folded hands, watching as hawk cuts the slice, scoops some of the cream, and a slice of fresh strawberry. it moves across the table in slow motion and tim feels as though he stands on the precipice of something - something that should he leap toward and across, there will be no true return. ]
Only for you, mister.
[ tim's voice drops, a little playful, his doe-eyes heavy lidded and cheeks flushed. he looks everything the long-lashed temptress he does when on camera, lips poised into an innocent little pout that reeks of innocent curiosity. his hands drop to the table and he presses up a little, scooting out of his chair enough to lean in. there's no one too close on their side of the restaurant so he decides to milk it, opening plush lips but first extending his tongue, letting it catch the underside of the fork.
it's slow, the way he curls his tongue and lips around the helping of the cake, and it's no accident he lets some smudge at the corner of his mouth. he tips his head back enough to take the bite from the fork itself, to savor the flavor and close his eyes in a low, pleased hum.
he leaves the frosting at the corner, and remains leaned in, lifted just slightly over the dessert between them. the wine makes him bold, brave. but not enough to cross enemy lines just yet. ]
It's so good. How did you know I like strawberries and cream so much? I must have been a very good boy to earn this.
no subject
[ he's been on a few dates here and there - once with a girl from church his mother tried to pair him with. second, with a girl from bible school. one other girl in college because he truly thought maybe he could figure himself out without the church involved. but figuring himself out meant a boy with a pretty face named arthur, and that night the timbre of his prayers changed.
it's no different now - sitting across from hawk in the dim light of the restaurant, feeling hazy and warm from the wine. he's had far, far too much at this point, he knows that much. there's no turning back now, but he would drink another bottle if it meant prolonging this little date.
the cake arrives, though, perfectly prompt to his great dismay, but hawk swipes the forks and he blinks up at him, surprised and wide-eyed. he almost opens his mouth to protest, but then -
ah. ]
It looks delicious, sir.
[ tim's mouth has suddenly run dry, his face heating a little more and he leans his chin heavily on his folded hands, watching as hawk cuts the slice, scoops some of the cream, and a slice of fresh strawberry. it moves across the table in slow motion and tim feels as though he stands on the precipice of something - something that should he leap toward and across, there will be no true return. ]
Only for you, mister.
[ tim's voice drops, a little playful, his doe-eyes heavy lidded and cheeks flushed. he looks everything the long-lashed temptress he does when on camera, lips poised into an innocent little pout that reeks of innocent curiosity. his hands drop to the table and he presses up a little, scooting out of his chair enough to lean in. there's no one too close on their side of the restaurant so he decides to milk it, opening plush lips but first extending his tongue, letting it catch the underside of the fork.
it's slow, the way he curls his tongue and lips around the helping of the cake, and it's no accident he lets some smudge at the corner of his mouth. he tips his head back enough to take the bite from the fork itself, to savor the flavor and close his eyes in a low, pleased hum.
he leaves the frosting at the corner, and remains leaned in, lifted just slightly over the dessert between them. the wine makes him bold, brave. but not enough to cross enemy lines just yet. ]
It's so good. How did you know I like strawberries and cream so much? I must have been a very good boy to earn this.