the validation there makes his blood sing with warmth and the fact that they have to end this is almost crushing. what would they be like, messy and tossed in the car, or what would the tension rise to if this car took him anywhere other than the georgetown campus dorms?
hawk's mouth trails along his cheek and jaw and tim arches toward him instinctively, sighing in a way that could only fall just short of a moan. hawk's mouth on him, his hands - the vision is everything he thought it would be when he laid in his dorm room on camera for this man. but he knows that can't be their reality - not right now. and he tells himself it's temporary, even though the reality of hawk rejecting him again after this, going back to strictly business, is very real. ]
I didn't want to take advantage.
[ funny, considering he's the one buzzing still with warmth from the wine, though he feels he has more clarity now than ever, even as hawk's lips find his forehead. his eyes flutter closed and he smiles, the gesture scrunching his nose as he nods softly and moves to sit back into his seat, pulling his seatbelt on.
it doesn't stop him from perching in the seat like he would were they in the privacy of hawk's office - heels coming up to catch the seat's edge, knees peeking up over the car door to the window. the car purrs to life when hawk starts it, and only when they're safely moving again does he reach for one of hawk's hands, delicately lacing their fingers and bringing their joined palms to rest over one of his knees.
it's not kissing, it's not the desperate touches and wanting, but a quiet little reminder that the tension on the air isn't all sexual and carnal. tim traces little patterns against the top of hawk's knuckles as the car moves on the road, the radio low in the background. ]
I like it when you call me Skippy, you know. [ he shrugs, grinning almost sheepishly over at him, leaning to prop his chin almost boyishly against their joined hands. ]
And good boy, of course. But Skippy, mostly. I don't have any inventive names for you, I'm sorry. Mister and sir - they're not very original, huh? [ and then, to add to the wry little mood hawk tries for? ]
I could call you Milton. Milty? Milt? Mr. M? [ he hums, knowing too well how this will go over. ]
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the validation there makes his blood sing with warmth and the fact that they have to end this is almost crushing. what would they be like, messy and tossed in the car, or what would the tension rise to if this car took him anywhere other than the georgetown campus dorms?
hawk's mouth trails along his cheek and jaw and tim arches toward him instinctively, sighing in a way that could only fall just short of a moan. hawk's mouth on him, his hands - the vision is everything he thought it would be when he laid in his dorm room on camera for this man. but he knows that can't be their reality - not right now. and he tells himself it's temporary, even though the reality of hawk rejecting him again after this, going back to strictly business, is very real. ]
I didn't want to take advantage.
[ funny, considering he's the one buzzing still with warmth from the wine, though he feels he has more clarity now than ever, even as hawk's lips find his forehead. his eyes flutter closed and he smiles, the gesture scrunching his nose as he nods softly and moves to sit back into his seat, pulling his seatbelt on.
it doesn't stop him from perching in the seat like he would were they in the privacy of hawk's office - heels coming up to catch the seat's edge, knees peeking up over the car door to the window. the car purrs to life when hawk starts it, and only when they're safely moving again does he reach for one of hawk's hands, delicately lacing their fingers and bringing their joined palms to rest over one of his knees.
it's not kissing, it's not the desperate touches and wanting, but a quiet little reminder that the tension on the air isn't all sexual and carnal. tim traces little patterns against the top of hawk's knuckles as the car moves on the road, the radio low in the background. ]
I like it when you call me Skippy, you know. [ he shrugs, grinning almost sheepishly over at him, leaning to prop his chin almost boyishly against their joined hands. ]
And good boy, of course. But Skippy, mostly. I don't have any inventive names for you, I'm sorry. Mister and sir - they're not very original, huh? [ and then, to add to the wry little mood hawk tries for? ]
I could call you Milton. Milty? Milt? Mr. M? [ he hums, knowing too well how this will go over. ]