[ two weeks have passed since their summery, italian date, and with the summer semester coming to a close, tim has been equally hard at work in his schooling and his extra-curricular activities. he still spends an inordinate amount of time in hawk's office, arguing and conversing until even the building feels stuffy with that late summer humidity that eventually drives them out of the political wing altogether.
it's strange to miss someone - to miss the electric, visceral connection that had been encouraged in the dim light of a restaurant and street lamps. maybe it had been pure lust - that's what anyone else would tell him, given the circumstances - but their conversations have changed. charged still with something else, although to the outsider it would be innocent and hidden. it doesn't change the subtle touches that come to pass - fingers across a desk, pencil, arm of a chair. a secret whispered close to an ear or elbows propped on a desk for a long lean.
secrecy. careful cover. hard boundaries that could have been crossed had tim merely pressed over that center console and said fuck it all for once in his life. but tim laughlin is careful, considerate, empathetic. to a fault, of course.
it's not enough to stop the work he must do to fund the upcoming fall semester where one class has already fallen through. he'd sent an email to professor fuller earlier in the evening, detailing the issue - he needs credit hours, needs a course, could take some kind of interdisciplinary course, but why wouldn't he want to spin up a class with the man on deep political theory, political ethics, and the us government system?
it had been a full syllabus, written up and carefully planned by tim himself, but the end of the email had been quick -
I appreciate your consideration, Professor Fuller, and would enjoy the opportunity to challenge myself further in my final semester here at Georgetown, and I can't think of anyone better to do so.
However, I will be busy this evening and next and may not be able to answer any questions until Monday. Sorry - work calls.
it's a hint, of course. hawk has gotten rid of the app, or so he says - but a few new visitors to his chat have stayed oddly quiet. maybe it's just desperate wanting, maybe it's just foolish delusion, but.
his followers get a little notification when he goes live:
SCHOOL'S BACK IN SESSION - WANNA GRADE MY PAPER? 🍎
and should anyone at all come by the stream they will find the same outline of the faceless boy. a white button up shirt, tight fitting to reveal the strong line of his shoulders, a plaid tie, and a gray sweatervest. the navy shorts he wears with him look to be uniform shorts, but a few inches too short, revealing a bare knee, with high navy socks cresting just beneath his knee cap.
he has what appears to be basic math homework spread across his lap, toying idly with a pencil, letting the eraser trace invisible lines along the top of one thigh as some of the tip incentives roll through the chat. dollar amounts listed for every piece of clothing that could be pulled off, activities he could be made to do, and a private session. ]
➤ ℎ𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑎𝑑
it's strange to miss someone - to miss the electric, visceral connection that had been encouraged in the dim light of a restaurant and street lamps. maybe it had been pure lust - that's what anyone else would tell him, given the circumstances - but their conversations have changed. charged still with something else, although to the outsider it would be innocent and hidden. it doesn't change the subtle touches that come to pass - fingers across a desk, pencil, arm of a chair. a secret whispered close to an ear or elbows propped on a desk for a long lean.
secrecy. careful cover. hard boundaries that could have been crossed had tim merely pressed over that center console and said fuck it all for once in his life. but tim laughlin is careful, considerate, empathetic. to a fault, of course.
it's not enough to stop the work he must do to fund the upcoming fall semester where one class has already fallen through. he'd sent an email to professor fuller earlier in the evening, detailing the issue - he needs credit hours, needs a course, could take some kind of interdisciplinary course, but why wouldn't he want to spin up a class with the man on deep political theory, political ethics, and the us government system?
it had been a full syllabus, written up and carefully planned by tim himself, but the end of the email had been quick -
I appreciate your consideration, Professor Fuller, and would enjoy the opportunity to challenge myself further in my final semester here at Georgetown, and I can't think of anyone better to do so.
However, I will be busy this evening and next and may not be able to answer any questions until Monday. Sorry - work calls.
it's a hint, of course. hawk has gotten rid of the app, or so he says - but a few new visitors to his chat have stayed oddly quiet. maybe it's just desperate wanting, maybe it's just foolish delusion, but.
his followers get a little notification when he goes live:
SCHOOL'S BACK IN SESSION - WANNA GRADE MY PAPER? 🍎
and should anyone at all come by the stream they will find the same outline of the faceless boy. a white button up shirt, tight fitting to reveal the strong line of his shoulders, a plaid tie, and a gray sweatervest. the navy shorts he wears with him look to be uniform shorts, but a few inches too short, revealing a bare knee, with high navy socks cresting just beneath his knee cap.
he has what appears to be basic math homework spread across his lap, toying idly with a pencil, letting the eraser trace invisible lines along the top of one thigh as some of the tip incentives roll through the chat. dollar amounts listed for every piece of clothing that could be pulled off, activities he could be made to do, and a private session. ]
Math is just so hard.
[ ... and his audio is live. ]