[ the mythologies of the world and the stars high above their heads suddenly mean nothing to timothy laughlin, who stands beneath them tucked into the warmth of hawkins fuller's side. this day, from start to finish, has been something he will never truly be able to remove from his memory, to take off of his heart, even he tried. the shy kiss to his lips would be enough, he's sure, to have hawk moving him toward the car, ushering them away to school to put a close on whatever this is.
tim knows better than to think he can get away with it, than to think that toeing across the line that the man has clearly drawn for him is a good idea. he'll blame it on the wine later which, true, he's feeling, but not enough to cloud his judgement. it gives him a hint of courage and that's all a boy like timothy laughlin needs.
the sound he makes when hawk's hands leave his shoulders and cradle his face, forcing his gaze up to the searing blue he's been memorizing all night, all the air leaves his chest. he thinks, at first, he's about to be scolded - told firmly that he must adhere to the limitations set for them even as far back as december, and yet -
his body acts on its own when the man's lips seal over his and his free hand comes instinctively to hawk's chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. he leans up into the kiss, hard and wanting, gasping a sound of surprised against the pressure as his eyes slip closed and his mouth parts, easy and pliable and so desperately wanting of this.
what must he taste like - all strawberry cream and wine and heady spice? will time stop passing for them in this moment where his stomach both flips giddily and churns with desperate need?
it's not fully conscious the way he closes the space between their bodies - nothing lewd or untoward, just removing air and any sign of interruption in a desperate bit for closeness. should hawk let him deepen the kiss, he will - and lick hot into his mouth on a quiet little hum even as his hand leaves hawk's chest to slide up against his shoulder and hold him a little tighter. ]
One more. Please?
[ it's a mumbled little bid, a pouting sort of demand, as he parts briefly for a breath and kisses him again, with no hesitation this time, no question as to where they are or who might see because in this brief moment. it doesn't matter, anyway - there's nothing but he and hawk here, and the stars above them. anyone else will see two lovers in the dim lamplight and move on by. ]
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tim knows better than to think he can get away with it, than to think that toeing across the line that the man has clearly drawn for him is a good idea. he'll blame it on the wine later which, true, he's feeling, but not enough to cloud his judgement. it gives him a hint of courage and that's all a boy like timothy laughlin needs.
the sound he makes when hawk's hands leave his shoulders and cradle his face, forcing his gaze up to the searing blue he's been memorizing all night, all the air leaves his chest. he thinks, at first, he's about to be scolded - told firmly that he must adhere to the limitations set for them even as far back as december, and yet -
his body acts on its own when the man's lips seal over his and his free hand comes instinctively to hawk's chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. he leans up into the kiss, hard and wanting, gasping a sound of surprised against the pressure as his eyes slip closed and his mouth parts, easy and pliable and so desperately wanting of this.
what must he taste like - all strawberry cream and wine and heady spice? will time stop passing for them in this moment where his stomach both flips giddily and churns with desperate need?
it's not fully conscious the way he closes the space between their bodies - nothing lewd or untoward, just removing air and any sign of interruption in a desperate bit for closeness. should hawk let him deepen the kiss, he will - and lick hot into his mouth on a quiet little hum even as his hand leaves hawk's chest to slide up against his shoulder and hold him a little tighter. ]
One more. Please?
[ it's a mumbled little bid, a pouting sort of demand, as he parts briefly for a breath and kisses him again, with no hesitation this time, no question as to where they are or who might see because in this brief moment. it doesn't matter, anyway - there's nothing but he and hawk here, and the stars above them. anyone else will see two lovers in the dim lamplight and move on by. ]