𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 "𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔" 𝚣. 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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?)]
no subject
[ 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. ]