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homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm[UNI AU]
CAMBOY UNI AU
tell
me and i forget, teach me and i remember.
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm
no subject
[ he huffs again, almost in the very disbelief that anyone might do something as unfair or unjust, no less in an academic setting. but he's not completely foolish or naive - he knows better than to assume the good in everyone, even here.
when he glances back up, he catches the movement of professor fuller's eye - down, briefly, and he's reminded suddenly of the soreness in his kneecaps. he'd done this on purpose - wore clothing revealing enough so that the man across the desk from him would notice - but he's since forgotten in the heat of the sheer audacity of a sociology professor.
he files away the reaction for later - his blood still too heated in a different way to even address the obvious. ]
And I didn't rock the boat! [ pardon him, hawk, for being passionate, but it shows in the way he too leans forward, a little red faced, and the way his voice pitches up uncontrolled. ]
I am someone participating in a class that I have paid for. And while I try very hard not to look at the educational institution as a means of goods and services, but isn't that exactly what it is? I would complain for poor service or a poor product anywhere went should I have paid for it, and -
[ he'd been gesturing with one hand and finally it comes up to his own mouth, fingers pulling at his own chin to stop himself, before they press over his lips, almost sheepish.
cool it, laughlin.
he silently considers hawk from where he sits, breathing a little too fast for someone merely just arguing about a paper, but that's timothy laughlin to a tee - passionate, unbridled, honest. ]
Off the record. [ why does the low tone of the man's voice both soothe and rile him? there's something about it, and the way the man leans forward, that makes his own mouth go dry. it may well be the casual summerwear, too. (has professor fuller been wearing his button downs more opened at the collar on purpose?).
he shifts in the seat finally, moving instead to cross his legs at the knee, which puts a newly formed bruise on display, right at the crown of his kneecap before the dusting of hair on his thigh begins. ]
Should I shut the door so your colleagues don't hear you conspiring against another, or...?
[ there's a bit of a joke, but even his voice has gone low, quiet so that anyone coming round the corner wouldn't be able to make out what they said anyway. ]
Advice would be nice. I... already have a few ideas of my own as well. Please, sir.
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tim bursts out indignantly before he can even try and gather his thoughts on the matter, face and voice clearly heated in a way that brings him no pleasure for how frustrated this has clearly made him, and hawk has to wonder if this was the most severe case or just the final tipping point of something he's been dealing with all semester. he holds up a hand, wordlessly telling tim to dial it down a bit, particularly when it starts down the path of payment and services and goods not received - no need to go down that road again and relive one of their original arguments back at christmas.]
Hey, hey, hey - relax. That wasn't a criticism. I agree with you, but you're in hot water whether you like it or not if these actions are anything to go by. I'm not saying they're right, but think.
[hawk glances at the door too, unaware of where tim's mind has wandered in a similar vein of where his own had been moments before. still is, in between flashes of seeing the fury and the smoke practically coming out of his ears. there's no doubt he'll circle back to the bruises on his knees once this is all sorted, but tim needs him to focus on this very real, very delicate matter first - he won't let his dick take precedence here, regardless of whatever flirtation they've been toying with these last few weeks. there's an amused tug at the corner of his lips, acknowledgment of tim's joke even if it's rooted in the truth. there's no other student he'd do this for - but for his boy?
anything. within reason. for now.]
I'm sure you do. You'll tell me about them after you hear me out.
[please, sir - that one's gonna stick with him for awhile longer today. it's why his murmur is that much lower, tailored around an order that doesn't need to be issued - not really, but only because he can't resist.]
Craig doesn't like the idea of his intelligence or teaching capabilities challenged. You put him on the spot - whether you meant to or not - by wanting more out of it and exceeding his ability to answer.
[he pauses, letting it sink in along with a sympathetic look to let tim know he's still on his side, to just hear him out a little more before he objects. his eyes linger briefly on that bruise, dragging back up to his cherry-bitten lips before they slowly pull back where they belong to meet those big brown bambi eyes he's grown too fond of.]
You've only got one option now. You beat him at his own game.
Is it going to be painful to dumb yourself down for it? Absolutely.
Will it require a certain amount of flattering? Guaranteed.
But you pick your battles. You wait until you've got him cornered, until you've got the upper hand, and then you finish strong.
[hawk exhales audibly, nostrils flaring slightly and eyes glittering with the challenge of it as he tips his jaw towards tim and practically lets the words hang between them, flowing off his tongue like rich, molten heat.]
That's what I'd tell my boy to do.
no subject
he's never been one to stand idly by when someone isn't playing fair, or abiding by the rules.
he'll have a hard time in the government, he knows, but it's a challenge well worth the taking. ]
That much is obvious.
[ he huffs a little as hawk explains, outlining everything that he's seen in the sociology professor as the days pass in the summer. however, tim has always struggled to act any differently than his gut and heart tell him to. he's genuine to a fault, and even trying to eagerly persuade professor level to relax has somehow dissuaded the strange man.
and now he's being told he has to play nice? to suck up to him? to dumb down everything and sit on his hands, lips pursed?
he finds himself appalled by the suggestion, even if he himself welcomed the advice. but those bambi eyes of his own track the trail of icy-hot blues, from his knee and up, and for a split second, he's certain hawk is looking at his lips.
just as he's priming himself to open his mouth with an indignant rebuttal instead of lingering on the way his throat goes dry or his neck flushes, he's interrupted. the tip of a jaw, the glittering determination of his eyes, the exhale.
fuck, the exhale.
tim doesn't realize he's holding his breath until the man speaks again, when it comes out of him as a low, surprised sound.
my boy.
something white-hot and electric zips up his spine, widens his eyes, and makes even the hair at his nape stand on end. the air between them changes in an instant and there's nothing of the slow, easy ramp-up into flirtation that they've had all summer. oh, no. this?
this is different. and something low in tim's belly churns with a distant, strange sort of wanting. ]
Lay in wait. Play nice and flatter him - but not too far because although he's a little vapid, he's not unintelligent. Wait until the cards fall in my favor and then finish?
[ he tilts his head a little, letting himself fall back easy and relaxed into the seat, sliding just enough that the tight fabric of his t-shirt does indeed ruck itself up - but only for a hair's breadth of skin to show. ]
So, if I'm your boy -
[ he swallows hard, elbow coming to the arm of the chair so that his fingers can drum over his lips. is he taking this too far? is he too caught up in the molten heat and wonder of all this? maybe? ]
Am I? Your boy? Because if I am, well - I will have to listen. If, of course -
[ there's a pause, tim's eyes meeting hawk's the blistering silence, as though he can best determine what he's going to say by waiting to see what's there, then: ] - my mister is the one telling me to. But only him, of course.
I couldn't say no to him.
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no - this is a necessary evil. and anyway, hawk wouldn't mind being the one to take his fall if push came to shove.
except he has faith in tim to pull this off. enough that he nods slow, lazily even as his eyes drag in a blatant once over as tim repeats the steps and understanding sinks in more ways than one. this isn't just about craig and conspiracy anymore - it's past decency. and maybe hawk is reminding himself that tim won't be his student much longer, not technically, and this is just...whatever residual, lingering thing between them working itself out. giving tim the inspiration he needs.]
That's right. And keep in mind - he drops the lowest two of your grades. This one, and maybe the next, because it won't happen overnight.
[the door is still ajar, and he knows what an enormous, colossal fucking risk this is. but it's been too gorgeous to be cooped up in here - his class is over, the afternoon is lazy dragging into dusk. no footsteps have echoed down the hall since he's been here besides tim's for the last hour. hawk pushes himself up from his chair, the slow gait of a predator narrowing in on its prey as he keeps one hand atop the desk's surface using it to balance the way the rest of his body swivels around it and slides between the space left by tim's chair and the back of the solid wood. both hands shift down, bracing against the arm rests as he bends at the waist, tipping his head quite clearly into tim's space so there is no pretending around his intent any longer.
(nor is there any way to ignore the way hawk's eyes drift shut for a moment, another soft inhale of sweat and that scent he'd chased on his pillows weeks ago.)
his eyes open again, and up close he can see the hint of a pretty brown beauty mark under tim's jaw, as tempting as a cool glass of water in the sweltering heat of this summer. what he wouldn't give to lower his lips to it, to drag tim up and taste it underneath his tongue.]
You are. And I'm the one telling you.
[his head angles again, tips as his eyes unmistakably lower to tim's lips before dragging back up deliberately.]
So you will.
Say it.
"I'm your boy, sir. I'll do it for you."
[and what happens when he's done with his mission? with the semester?
hawk can't let himself think about that right now. this is bad and tempting enough already, and he pulls back to rest himself in a seated position on the opposite side of the desk, hands bracing against it and legs elongating in front of tim to nudge leather oxfords against the tip of his worn shoes.]
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[ never before has he felt so electrified and alive than he does right now - caught up in the unspoken energy on the air between them. it's only magnified by the way hawk deliberately rakes his eyes over him, and tim idly wonders now if this is what he'd looked like on the other side of the screen those months before. (well, has it been months? tim isn't so sure).
he sits, pinned, gazing across at the man and only when those eyes trip up does he swallow hard, making certain that the bob of his adam's apple is seen moving. he knows all the tricks - how to move his body, how to make the subtlest of movements to broadcast a bigger message.
nothing has ever felt like this.
he must look like a loon the way he watches hawk rise, watches him circle the table. his eyes widen just slightly, but not out of surprise or fear, but intrigue, anticipation. there's a new wildfire burning in the honey brown of his irises - want, excitement, a challenge. but it's difficult to breathe in the midst of it all when hawk invades his space, leans over him and closes his eyes.
tim's body arches without any conscious thought - a light bend in his low back, a tip of his head back just so, so that he may look up at hawk with awe under thick, dark lashes.
you are.
he is hawkins fuller's boy.
tim stays still until hawk leans back on his desk, until the tips of their shoes touch and he's sure now that he has never known how to breathe before this moment. his eyes never leave the sharp blue of the other man's, his lips parted in anticipation and awe. a thrill ripples up his spine.
the order makes his mouth run dry and he can even feel the way his nipples harden, his skin turn to goose flesh for the wanting.
he shifts forward in his seat then, enough that as he slides to the edge, his shoes knocking against hawk's, his own legs shifting so that calves and knees knock. so that his legs are perfectly tucked between the powerful spread of hawk's.
and oh, does he know how to sit pretty, palms resting on the seat of the chair at either side of the cushion, the picture of innocence. again, his eyes never once lose contact. ]
I'm your boy, sir. [ there's a momentary flicker - soft brown eyes dipping to the hard line of the man's lips then back up. ] I'll do it for you.
[ he weighs his options, then. the door is open, and yet even he knows there will be no one else in - it's practically only hawk anyway working in this office this summer, and tim laughlin does something he'd never have done six months before. he stands up, impossibly close to hawk now, encroaching the space between his thighs and the easy lean he takes on the desk. he folds his hands behind his back, prim, proper. even the bruises on his knees are prominent here, up close. ]
May I please have my paper, sir? [ the one on the desk, hidden from view by the elegant lounge of hawk's body. what would it be to reach out and touch him now? to slide his hands along the hard planes of his chest and feel the warmth of him. even here, he can smell the cologne, the after shave. ]
Your boy wants to make you proud.
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[the other thing that isn't quick or easy: this. the realization that's bubbled up and come to an outright boil - that he can ignore no longer. something has changed this summer, and with only a few weeks ahead of them, hawk has accepted that it means whatever moral technicalities he was gripping tight to are about to be relinquished. a clean slate. or maybe he's just...trying to give tim the right inspiration. kind words and encouragement can only go so far, and it's not that he's running out of them per se, but all of this is unchartered territory. so maybe that extra push he needs is back and buried where he'd left it all those months ago - the reassurance that hawk has always believed in him, has known all along what he's capable of when he puts his mind to it. that's his boy, his skippy, even if he wouldn't dare call him as much within these walls.
(the idea that that somehow is what's the step too far and not...this, is probably laughable.)
but if tim means to hook him by way of every movement, it's working. there's no missing the ripple of his throat over the bob of his adam's apple, the swallow, the perfect way his back curves like a flower seeking the sunlight before it flourishes, perched perfect and poised for the taking. and christ, those eyes - how they manage to say everything they're both thinking without a single word beneath those pretty, fluttering lashes drawing him down once more to bitten lips. and no, it doesn't escape his gaze that the pretty pink nipples he knows are extraordinarily sensitive have perked up beneath the light colour of his shirt.
fuck. what he wouldn't give to yank him back, make him beg for a kiss and put him on his knees to make the only marks on his body given to him by hawk, claiming his ownership on his boy once and for all. how he's lasted this long is a goddamn miracle. how he'll keep lasting after this is pure insanity when those legs bump innocently against his, when tim restates who he belongs to, who he's going to do this for.]
Good boy. That's what I wanted to hear.
[and foolishly, he expects that to break the tension - to bring them back into the reality of their situation like they have time and time again. but this time another one of those invisible boundaries has been wholly eroded, and tim stands with a courage that he's not sure would have been there after christmas or even before the beginning of this summer semester. he really is that perfect picture of innocence standing there - knobby knees pressed together, hands held at his back like he's waiting to be allowed use of them, for another command to breathe life and purpose into him all over again. to make him proud, like he isn't already every time he sets foot through this door or opens his mouth.
hawk lets an easy smirk pull to one side of his lips, still unbelievably blatant in the way he drinks tim in from head to toe again and doesn't budge from where he's casually splayed against the edge of the desk.]
Yeah. Go on.
[there's no move to reach for it himself.]
Stay right where you are and take it.
[which would require tim to lean in impossibly and inappropriately close, fish for it behind him on the surface of his desk. but hawk's hands remain at his side, brows lifting in an easy dare. but he's selfish, wanting even the barest hint of tim's body against his own and knowing he still can't fully take it. this will have to be enough, and the piercing blue of his eyes has a wavering edge to it - the hope that tim understands enough not to ask any questions and just take what they can for now.]
no subject
he doesn't need to know. the man's eyes say it all - the movement along his body, from his throat to his chest and down down down to his knees. were this some college fling he'd lean into his chest and kiss him hard and eager and utterly wanton with his need, but he holds perfectly still. he will not budge until the man here - his man - tells him to. so yes, if hawk thinks he's standing so prim and proper for him, he would indeed be correct.
heat creeps up his throat at the praise - good boy - and there's no denying it's said now. no hopes that drugs or sleep would wash away the memory of the low rumble. here it's even more delectable - so purposeful and intentional - tim will remember this later when he's on camera, playing the commanding sound of hawk's voice over and over in his mind.
yeah. go on.
tim's lips quirk a little, the tiniest curve, pleased and relieved and his hands drop from behind his back, to his sides. ]
Thank you, sir.
[ but god, to stay where he is and take it? no circling, no moving, but he can barely see the edge of the pages as it is, and it's settled a little farther back on the desk. for a moment, tim's head tilts as though he's eyeing the distance of the paper, but there's absolutely no mistaking the way he carefully lets his eyes travel from the bend of a knee to the swell of a thigh, up the carved front of him, the broad chest, the throat, the jaw...
tim swallows hard again.
he cannot move his feet, can he? stay right where you are, he'd said. it's easy enough - but what would hawk do if he presses the rules faintly? if he tests the boundaries? only one way to find out. he shuffles one foot forward - for balance, he'll say - just enough that his own knee skims the inside of hawk's thigh, skirting just past his knee. he won't be able to reach without falling, of course!
and tim leans into hawk's space, one arm reaching between the man's side and elbow, but the other? the other comes to press down hard against one of the man's thighs for balance, fingers curling against the hard muscle there as he leans in just before their chests might touch. (though it's close enough that even the very heat coming off of hawk's body makes something flutter deep in his belly - it's unfair how sensitive his nipples are, how this meager closeness is enough to make the flush rise against the bottom of his jaw.
what would it be like if he kissed him here, or sank his teeth into the skin available just above the collar of his shirt, or if he pressed their bodies flush to feel everything about him all at once? would hawk hold him? kiss him? throw him against the desk and - oh, god.
he lets out a little breath, both from the exertion and from the heat of their bodies so close - but his face is all but hovering near the juncture of neck and shoulder, where he can remember nuzzling in for warmth and safety before. his eyes flit to hawk as he turns his head, reaching for the paper on the other side until his finger tips catch it.
and just like that, he looks too much like a spoiled little cat having found the cream. he could take it and back away, could make space and pretend this didn't happen. instead, he drags the paper through the narrow gap at hawk's side and tilts his head, his nose brushing the hinge of his jaw. ]
I have it, sir. I promise the next one I write will receive a higher mark.
[ he huffs softly, the breath no doubt trickling over hawk's skin as he slowly, slowly applies pressure to the man's thigh to right himself. he doesn't remove it yet, instead remaining just ducked enough to meet the man's eyes, playing sheepish. ]
I'll bring it to you for proof.
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but his boy doesn't back down. doesn't shy away, and if he were playing on a technicality he didn't technically stay, dragging one foot forward and letting his hand press against the meat of hawk's thigh with a touch that may as well be a brand for how hot it feels with an unfair layer of fabric between skin to skin. fuck, what he wouldn't give to do the same - or to snake an arm around his trim waist, to hoist him up and around onto the flat surface of his desk and just...
there's another audible exhale, low and ragged and nearly animalistic for the way it's dragged out of him tinged with sheer want. tim is so fucking close, enough that one wrong inhale and their chests might brush. that he might feel the solidity of his body, and he can absolutely smell the fresh shampoo as those wayward strands of chestnut brush just shy of imperceptible against his cheek and his jaw. the soft, fluttering warmth of tim's shuddering breath against his neck nearly makes him lose all his carefully crafted restraint - and the god he doesn't believe in better fucking help him when his nose brushes at the skin under his jaw.
there's another shuddering breath, hawk glancing down the narrow bridge of his nose to take in how tim looks like this - pleased with himself, because he's managed a reaction out of hawk which is no small feat. or maybe mixed with pleasure at following orders so well, another callback to all their time spent together. part of him always wondered if it was part of the act - a couple of easy answers and simon says to make a quick buck. but this? this cements it once and for all. tim laughlin likes being ordered around.
shit. fuck.
that thought winds its way all the way down into his stomach, pooling hot and sending an aching throb straight through his dick. his thigh presses a little more insistently against tim's knee, hands white-knuckled against the desk like it's a goddamn lifeline.]
That's right.
[hawk leans in, letting the murmur of it come nearly close enough to brush against the shell of tim's ear from his lips.]
You're gonna swallow your pride, get him wrapped around your finger, and then you're going to get what you want.
[except - that sounds an awful lot like -
hawk stands abruptly, nudging tim back by the way his body moves and carefully sidesteps him back to his desk. any longer and he's not sure he could still...]
You can come show it to me when you're underway.
[there's a pause, and hawk drags his chair into the edge of his desk, hands folding atop them again.]
And one more thing.
[not a question, and not optional. his eyes are still filled with that smolder of heat, watching tim across the imposed distance that's for both of their safety now.]
The bruises. Tell me what they're from.
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god.
fuck but the feeling of warm breath against his ear coupled with the nearness and the delectable, low rumble of hawk's voice sends something hot and molted southerly for the veritable winter life will be when he's not trapped between hawk's thighs. he doesn't mean to make a noise, but he does - a faint, little whimper let out as he exhales through his nose.
there's little restraint to be had and yet there's something heavily erotic about being so close to the precipice of it all and not crossing the line. he's edged himself before on camera, brought himself to the brink and back dozens upon dozens of times but this feels different and utterly infuriating. he has no doubt that when he goes back to his dorm, sets up his room and turns that camera on that he will be nothing but filthy and wanton for the memory of his. ]
Please, sir - tell me what I want.
[ and anyone may think it's about craig, about the class, about the situation but the way his head tips back so lazily, the way his eyes drag their way to hawk's face say something else. this is a boy who will do anything for the order of the man across from him, who will bask in the praise or the punishment, who relishes in being controlled, wanted, taught, desired.
hawk moves and by instinct he steps back, the backs of his knees knocking the chair and almost setting him into it. he catches himself on the arm, turning his head to watch the way hawk circles to the desk with practiced ease and the prowess of a man whose fingers are delicately woven around the fine threads pulling every string attached to his body.
the air feels cool, but the heat hasn't left. usually, when these little confrontations are broken, the electricity dies with it. instead, something about it intensifies, even with the very way those broad palms press across the desk.
(he already knows he's going to hell, but he's certain there will be a special space for him now that he's wondering what those hands might feel like around his throat, over his mouth, twisted in his hair, or prying his lips apart and silencing him).
there's something about this order that's different and tim pauses when he rises with his bag on his shoulder.
you can come show it to me when you're underway
aha. he can't return until he's started the next paper? is that what he's after? a challenge. ]
Yes, sir. I don't have the topic yet - are your office hours off limits until I begin? What do you want me to do in the meantime?
[ he says it so easily, like student speaking to teacher, but it's all in tim's eyes, isn't it? the fiery challenge, the defiant way his jaw sets to tell hawk he will play the game, and he will follow the rules and oh, he will absolutely obey. the only thing that stops him is the question and he blinks for a moment, almost like the electricity has left his body - like the moment has passed for tim but not hawk. except it's in the pull of his lips - the faint little smile that pulls to one side, the crinkle of his nose as he huffs out a little laugh. ]
Professor Fuller, sir - [ he steps up to the desk, letting his hips hinge over the top to lean in just so - nothing that any teacher would think twice about if they passed. but there's something to be said about the way tim's glasses have slipped down the bridge of his nose just a touch in the jostling, and the way dark lashes blink and charged, brown eyes stare him down. ]
I spent all of last night on my knees in prayer. I cried out his name and found pleasure in knowing that he is always with me - I even imagined he was there beside me the whole time, sir.
[ hell.
he'll feel guilty about this later. he'd spent the previous evening on his knees with something thick splitting him open and driving him to the edge with every donation that turned the toy's vibrations up a notch for every dollar over the last. a veritable bidding war for a virtual pound of flesh. but he'd thought of hawk, strangely - thought of the aftershave, the warmth of his neck and the low rumble he'd hear if it were the man himself tell him just how good he can take it.
it had been a religious experience, really. one that has led them here, with tim leaned in, murmuring about prayers and the divine. only, it's the very divine he's sure he stands in front of now. ]
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but he still won't cross that line, and somehow that just ratchets the thrill of it even higher and hotter than before - watching tim still eager to carry this on in a way that anyone walking past wouldn't think twice. had it been this easy all along, to do it right under their noses? no, this is different. summer is their own private paradise in a way, and hawk will take as much advantage of that as he possibly can.
which is why he won't let the moment go just yet, even if he could easily dismiss tim and leave it at this. but where's the fun in that?]
You want to do this. You want to come out on the other side and soak up all the praise for a job well done.
But more than all that?
You want guidance through it all - the right push here, a whisper of advice there - anything to keep you going.
[there's a little smirk, of amusement, brows arching marginally as he leans back slightly in the chair once again.]
How'd I do?
[but frankly no - he hadn't meant for tim to skip office hours until then. except with the way things are going? maybe it's best if he does for a little while. the contents of this session are going to get a lot of mileage in his thoughts, and probably between his sheets - and he's not sure sitting with him for hours at a time alone outside of that is the best move for either of them right now. besides, there's a certain pleasure at the enormous amount of restraint they both have to exhibit for this to happen in the first place.]
Keep coming to class, obviously. You need something, you ask me there - before, during, after - but only there.
You don't come to office hours until you have your first passing grade from him.
[part of him wants to test how well he can really pull this off - will it be the first paper? the second? craig is a wildcard in this scenario - too eager and tim might arouse suspicion, too slow and they're both going to suffer.
but none of that matters as he watches the way tim settles against his desk, the indent of one slim hip against the edge close enough that he could easily yank him down into his lap if he wanted to - which he does. christ almighty if that description doesn't just hit him like a ton of bricks. of course he'd taken a stab at guessing what it was - a clumsy fall, maybe, but the way tim had been so deliberate after awhile in letting them be seen...no, it had to be from hours on them, taking something over and over. he hasn't turned on one of his streams since the day he walked out of the cafe, but fuck if he isn't strongly reconsidering it now. what kinds of new tricks and toys and scenarios has he come up with? it's been seven months - surely he's managed to get even more creative.
god doesn't even factor into this for him, not when the only heaven he can imagine is between tim's thighs.]
Awful lot of time to be bowed in servitude. I imagine they must be sore.
[hawk leans across his desk, arching up in the same way tim did almost moments before, only there's no question who holds the authority in this moment despite their juxtaposed positions.]
Get some arnica cream. And maybe when you're rubbing them down, thinking about all the ways you strive to please him - or the next time you get on your knees - you say a prayer or two for me.
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[ it's thrilling how hawk knows too well what he wants and can put a name to the very needs thrumming under his skin. a performance worth of many low murmurings of praise. marks requiring reward. a gentle hand when the gravel on the road forces him to slip. after all, it had been hawk he turned to when he received the poor mark in the first place, fiery and confused and hurt.
he remains leaned against the desk, body angled in a way that there's no doubt the way the rosy buds of his nipples ache that hawk won't see the faint indents in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. the game is all well and good until hawk lays down the rules, and something about this command makes a tiny lick of ice course through the center of his chest.
tim will go to class, and anything outside of those four classroom walls will now be off limits.
a punishment, in a way, isn't it? and maybe hawk simply thinks that the restraint will be tantalizing and electric, but tim can't shake the uncertainty that rises at the back of his throat. his free time is spent here, and even though it does not always end in palpable heat, it is usually spent in good company.
the class is 90 minutes, three times a week. 90 minutes where he will be able to learn and listen and feel for a moment that he is seen and acknowledged. but the times outside when he can breathe and feel like tim laughlin the person, and not tim laughlin the utterly dutiful student, will fade away. the campus is lonely at its busiest times, and to be robbed of the most precious, coveted human contact he has in this place?
it's dread, he feels, he realizes.
a passing grade from professor craig level, who won't even allow him to eke out the whole of his name when he calls for attendance. the bar has been set punishingly high, of course. he knew it would be, but a small, irrational part of timothy laughlin almost dares to whimper the thought - cruel.
hawk may know the level of his friendships here on campus from that dizzying, drugged night, but tim hadn't talked about it since. maybe it was obvious in the way he hung around the office doorway a little longer, the way he'd visit even when they hadn't had class, or the way he'd glow when they'd change the scenery for their talks well into the late afternoon or early evening.
a passing grade. he knows he can do it, but he also knows just how long it may truly take. hawk doesn't understand.
he looks away then, eyes falling to the bruises on his knees then easily back up at the delicate arch of hawk's back, the roll of the hips required to settle in the movement and even he can't help the way he absently wets his lips. there's no denying what waits behind the delicate zip of his slacks. ]
What are your metrics for a passing grade, sir? Tell me how hard I have to work, and I'll surprise you. I can take it - all of it. [ he dares himself to find the confidence from before, to meet the man's eyes with a fiery intensity that seems to lack some of the roaring fire from earlier. it's dimmed, just slightly, whether he means for it to be that way or not. but he can always weather the game and he tilts his head to one side, an angle he knows the man likes from their many days on the screen together. he leans his hip enough so that his thigh can hike up, just enough to lift his foot off the ground and prominently display one of the darker bruises across his knee cap.
he looks away again, fingers massaging the tender flesh as if in contemplation.
instead, he's trying desperately to quarantine the cold, creeping thing working its way through him. ]
And when I do take it all - when I do surpass all of your expectations - will your boy be rewarded, sir? I'll be sure to get the cream - slather it on this one, particularly. It's sore, but I hope you won't be upset with me, mister, if I tell you that these hands and lips have already prayed for you.
[ he drops his leg down, pushes from the desk and shakes his head to adjust the hair around his forehead. the fingers once on his knee raise and push his glasses higher on his face.
how long will it be before he gets to speak with him again privately, in the four walls that feel safer than even the confines of his own mind? he lets out a little breath and his lips pull into an easy smile. in spite of the cold, it reaches his eyes - the fire turning to something sparkling and bright.
how can it not? this man is nothing else if not the brightest, warmest thing in tim's orbit. ]
More than twice. I'll recite them for you one day, sir. I've been told I am very good with my mouth.
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it's distracting enough that he even misses the way some of the heat between them chills over, the sudden apprehension tim might have at being restricted from seeing hawk. truth be told, it's the highlight of his day too in all ways - better when it's in the privacy afforded to them by a closed door. but that's the exact same thing that's become a liability right now, a dangerous temptation to do something he can't take back. hawk doesn't know if he can trust himself not to bend tim laughlin over his desk and take and take and take what the boy so desperately has wanted to give all along. this conversation is already the riskiest thing he's had in years - somehow worse than their snowy encounter - literal and physical. and yet there's no move to shut it down, continuing instead to indulge all of this. to give him an order, to watch him obey.
cruelty isn't what he's after. it'll be a challenge, sure - time aware from the carefully crafted cadence they've so easily slipped into this summer. tim stays longer, finds more ridiculous ways to cram himself into the seat across from hawk, and they pass the time together. hours added onto 90 minutes a day, three times a week. what would the combined tally of minutes or even seconds look like? maybe he's an idiot for never having realized just how much this would affect him too - the lack of a constant presence and a vibrance that's unmistakably brightened his days. days that are lonelier than he'd like to admit. yeah, he sees marcus once in awhile. dinner with dean smith, avoiding the topic of lucy in every way that's concrete and matters. his mother for lunch, every other month if he's lucky. but beyond that? tim is the most stable thing that's taken root in his life in a very, very long time.
but it's better this way. it'll give the boy something to strive for, make it all the more convincing to craig. and it'll give hawk enough time not to let his dick convince himself into any headaches and problems he can't reverse before it's too late.
the thing is - he's not wholly unreasonable, either. when he's able to drag his gaze back up from the tight body perched in front of him and back up to tim's face, he realizes there is a falter in the fervor he'd missed earlier - only proving his own point. jesus.]
B- at the very least.
[c+ seems a little too easy.]
Of course you can do it. I know you can - and you will.
[the way he exposes his neck just a little more, it draws hawk forward again like he's pulled on a string. wishing he could taste the salty sweat there, leave his mark and let everyone know this is his boy. and then the bruise - it almost makes him want to reach out and press his finger into it, to watch the color fade temporarily into his skin before it floods back with the vivid rush of blood at the surface into red-edged purple. but touching feels like breaking some invisible barrier, the slippery slope that will lead them both into temptation, with no deliverance from that evil enticement of the flesh.]
Can't imagine being upset about that.
The only thing I'm upset about is not being able to hear it myself. Watch it in the flesh.
[his jaw flickers, tilting tipping to the side and watching something come to life in tim's eyes - beautiful, bright, bold.)]
I'd like to know how many times you can say them in one day, if I'm being honest. Not very godly of me though, is it?
[amusement shimmers, the faint lines around his eyes crinkling with a warmth that offsets ice blue.]
I guess there's only one question left.
[he pauses, voice pitching low again, letting something husky deepen the consonants.]
What does my boy want for his reward?
[(there is sudden thing that strikes him like a bolt to the chest - could he imagine giving any of this up, even if that reward was claimed? that's what he'd have to do, isn't it?)]
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[ b-
a b- he's meant to try and achieve and already tim knows that while it isn't impossible, the time spent away will be excruciating. he can't help the way his mind races, trying to read between the lines of heated words and touches and glances to figure out why he would create space now.
realistically, sure - tim has gone too far. he pressed and continued and took every challenge. he's not sure how hawk thought he wouldn't rise to and beyond the challenges themselves, and yet here they are, two people who had been chest to chest moments before, and suddenly tim feels as though that some distance has been put between them. and invisible barrier. his fingers reach for the strap of his bag, hands falling there so that it looks only like a student waiting for an answer.
this next paper won't make the cut. it's too soon. the second will be in two weeks, and he'll have time to try and figure out exactly what it is craig wants out of him. silence, probably. it's very simple. to be seen and not heard. to make sure he regurgitates craig's views on paper and deem them good and whole and just. how bland. how boring. it's a challenge he'd have been willing to take, if it didn't mean cutting off everything else.
his dorm room is eerily quiet, the building quieter. there are only a handful of students who occupy this part of campus who aren't commuters. it's too expensive for those who live out of state to stay overlong here. a tiny part of him wants to rebut, to tell hawk that he has no one all over again because it's true. to tell the man that he has become one of his dearest friends on the campus, and the best way to spend his time.
but that's the problem, isn't it? ]
It isn't difficult to say prayers in repetition. How often I close my eyes and count Hail Marys and Our Fathers - I think saying the prayers for you will be easier. Less how many I can, and how many you're willing to give me. I've discovered you can find God in anything, if you look hard enough.
[ he takes a step back, intending to turn for the door but the pause - the husky words, the low rumble of hawk's voice makes him still. his skin ripples again with heat and he laughs a little, surprised that all of it didn't end there. his face flushes with the surprise, the first sign of the soft, doe-eyed boy that hides under the mask of sexual confidence. he's always wondered how both can exist in one body.
he looks up at hawk, his nose crinkling a little, mouth pulling to one side as he thinks. ]
A reward?
[ what would he want as a reward? it's pathetic that he wants to ask for his company. that he wants to ask for all this to change, to turn around, because the next few weeks are bound to be some of the most lonely tim has had in a long, long time. but he can't say that. not here. not now.
while hawk may understand to some degree, tim can't quite bring himself to admit just how pathetic all of this is.
it's easier to play it safe, to play the game, to deny that after this semester he will have no reason to be in this office, to speak to this man, to feel like he can belong somewhere - because won't. he never will. the line is drawn between them now and if he squints he can almost see it shaped the form of a b-.
when he looks back up at hawk, there's undoubtedly something a little off in his eyes. look closely enough, and it might even be a little sad. ]
I'm sure you'll think of something, sir. I should go. Class soon, and all. I'll...
[ see you tomorrow - is what he'd normally say. but he won't. their class isn't tomorrow, and being restricted to speaking to him only before during or immediately after class? well.
he huffs a little, and finally looks away. ]
I'll see you in class. Thank you, sir.
[ tim turns his back, then, starts for the door and heads out of the office. he doesn't look back, and it's for the better. this way, he can say it's the sun that has his eyes burning a little at the edges. ]