[ tim knows that he should think of himself sad and pathetic for hoping that every anonymous tipper, that every one-on-one could be hawk at the other end of the text. there's no telling, not really. sure, he could look up names and donation histories and do some detective work, but a small part of him doesn't want to be disappointed.

the date had been wonderful - something he calls back to when he remembers that his schooling is coming to an end, and very possibly his... relationship? with the man may be, too. he lets all that fall to the wayside when the first messages pop up and tim hums, letting his knees splay wide with the way he sits on his heels, lets his body shift forward a little more so that the trim line of his waist is exaggerated on camera. ]

You think I can handle such a big project, Professor? That really means a lot to me.

[ there's a tilt of his head and if hawk pays enough attention he can see the faintest move of a muscle in his jaw - tim is worrying the plump swell of his bottom lip between his teeth. ]

Of course I can follow all of your instructions, Professor. After all, this is your class. I want you to teach me how to be a good boy for you - I really need this grade. I'll do whatever you tell me, sir.

[ he sits back on his bottom a little more, palms resting on his own thighs, which makes the hem of his shorts ride up just a little. ]

Please, Professor. Guide me. Tell me how you want me - I'll be your best student.