[it had occurred to him that maybe he should just close this account down, delete it into the ether just like the first one. but maybe deep down he'd always known he couldn't keep away forever - and considering he's already tossed a hell of a lot of caution to the wind in the form of candlelit dinner and stolen kisses across the seats of his car, what's a little bit of faceless fun with plausible deniability still attached? it should be ironic that tim is the one that's trying hard to be a good catholic boy and yet hawk feels like he's the one facing temptation down head on and failing - thanking christ he doesn't believe in the pits of hell or serpents winding around his ankles while he takes a bite of forbidden flesh. maybe that's the ironic part instead - that for all his temptation, he's still keeping his hands to himself in all of this. his moral code might have been bent for one timothy david laughlin, but it's still intact, and that's gotta count for something.
hawk lights up a cigarette, keeping it in his mouth as he adjusts and enlarges tim's video feed to take up his entire screen the way it used to be muscle memory. he's not that rusty with this after all, and while he's still got both hands unoccupied it's the perfect time to get all the foreplay and teasing on the books. hawk exhales through his lips, smoke curling around the screen and washing tim in greyish and blue hues. that's the one bad thing about this, as the little whine echoes through his speakers as a poor substitute for the real thing now that he's felt it against his own lips - he wishes he could see his face in this.
there's a way he could negotiate that, he's sure, but it means lifting the veil from his own end, and it feels so early in this game to admit to caving. the part that echoes in his mind, that hawk remembers almost more viscerally than the kisses and the way his pretty pink lips looked wrapped around a fork as poor substitute for something else - were tim's words that night in the car before he'd nearly made that single mistake that could change - and ruin - everything: even a boy's gotta protect his mister sometimes.
well, sometimes a mister doesn't want to let his boy down either by succumbing too quickly to his baser instincts.
once they're settled in the privacy of their own room, hawk lets his fingers do the walking and slips into his own role here with ease.]
Got something else big for you to work on tonight, but we'll get to that.
I'll be your Professor this evening, how 'bout it? You call me Professor or sir, and I'll help you ace your homework if you follow all my instructions.
Can you do that for me like a good boy?
[it's gauche, maybe, but hawk's dick is already thickening at the idea of tim on his knees calling him professor in this get up, playing into the very real relationship they have outside of this screen.]
no subject
hawk lights up a cigarette, keeping it in his mouth as he adjusts and enlarges tim's video feed to take up his entire screen the way it used to be muscle memory. he's not that rusty with this after all, and while he's still got both hands unoccupied it's the perfect time to get all the foreplay and teasing on the books. hawk exhales through his lips, smoke curling around the screen and washing tim in greyish and blue hues. that's the one bad thing about this, as the little whine echoes through his speakers as a poor substitute for the real thing now that he's felt it against his own lips - he wishes he could see his face in this.
there's a way he could negotiate that, he's sure, but it means lifting the veil from his own end, and it feels so early in this game to admit to caving. the part that echoes in his mind, that hawk remembers almost more viscerally than the kisses and the way his pretty pink lips looked wrapped around a fork as poor substitute for something else - were tim's words that night in the car before he'd nearly made that single mistake that could change - and ruin - everything: even a boy's gotta protect his mister sometimes.
well, sometimes a mister doesn't want to let his boy down either by succumbing too quickly to his baser instincts.
once they're settled in the privacy of their own room, hawk lets his fingers do the walking and slips into his own role here with ease.]
Got something else big for you to work on tonight, but we'll get to that.
I'll be your Professor this evening, how 'bout it? You call me Professor or sir, and I'll help you ace your homework if you follow all my instructions.
Can you do that for me like a good boy?
[it's gauche, maybe, but hawk's dick is already thickening at the idea of tim on his knees calling him professor in this get up, playing into the very real relationship they have outside of this screen.]