homosexuals | [UNI AU]

[UNI AU]

CAMBOY UNI AU

tell me and i forget, teach me and i remember.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[two and a half weeks without tim laughlin in his office is hell on earth.

it should scare hawk how easily he'd become a permanent fixture, the highlight of his entire day to see the mop of brunette hair and dark-rimmed glasses over darker eyelashes framing those sweet brown eyes - to watch him contort himself into that chair and balance his pens above his lips or chew at the tips in concentration while debating him on the complex inner workings of the senate, foreign policy, ambassadors, and everything in between. somewhere along the way it became more than that - the conversations turning from strictly business to an easy sort of camaraderie that filled his own otherwise somewhat lonely time on campus and a hole he didn't even realize was there until it was too late.

it hadn't been meant as a punishment for either of them, and yet as the days drag on near ceaselessly hawk wonders if tim is feeling the same way or if this is yet another mark that he's in over his head if he doesn't knock this shit off. there's a part of him that knows this is the way it should be - that he needs to get used to the familiarity of his life without the boy that somehow managed to capture his mind and his attention for the better part of the last two years. there are nights he lays awake during those two weeks wondering why he'd decided to chip away even more time he should be relishing before tim moves on to bigger and better things - knowing he's destined to soar, hoping maybe at least part of what he's done helping him flourish has given the boy the tools to craft wings that won't melt in the sun this time. fighting the temptation, letting it cool between them - that's the smart play.

because whatever that flirtation had been...what would have happened if he'd claimed some sort of reward? the look on tim's face, the near disappointment in his response that day had made hawk think twice. maybe he'd been the one to push it too far if the few attempts at initiating stolen contact were anything to go by - moments in the library where he'd showed up unannounced, or in the quad, embarrassingly stopped in his tracks to see the one person he'd somehow managed to isolate and push away. even then the conversation had been stiff and strictly professional - none of their usual banter, not even a wry smile or a slight entendre. hawk isn't stupid enough to think that all his time spent with craig is what's responsible for this sudden shift in their dynamic - even when the man himself drops by to ask what he's done to put the fear of god into the kid and brag that he's whipping him into shape. if only he fucking knew.

his weekends are spent out of town in a desperate frenzy to pump his dick into a warm body and have quick, brutal fucks that relieve nothing at the root of what keeps him up at night and has him surrendering to his own hand more often than not.

it's better this way. it's the responsible thing to do for them both. they need to get used to it sooner rather than later - hawk and tim together a bright spot in each other's passing journeys, now at the crossroads where tim will exceed him in all ways and hawk will watch it with pleasure. and maybe someday when his student is giving impassioned speeches in the news, or rallying his fellow countrymen in the house chambers - he'll stop and think back fondly on his time at georgetown with a man who encouraged the best in him for one fleeting moment.

exams are a week out and hawk is knee-deep in putting together study guides when there's a voice that stops his pen mid-scribble, has him glancing over at the door wondering why tim doesn't just come in with the good news. it has to be good news if he's here, doesn't it? instead tim looks skittish, a stark callback to the early weeks where his confidence had been crushed and hawk had to coax him back into himself. had craig really crushed his spirit that much? this had been meant to be a fun game of subterfuge, a triumphant moment for tim to conquer a common dislike and privately laugh about it here in hawk's office between warm glances and the verbal praise he'd been happy to start doling out. instead, they feel somehow like - ]

Hey there, stranger. Don't be shy, come on in.

[his own confidence is a practiced piece of the carefully constructed mask, even if doubt itches underneath every inch of his skin. he gestures to the chair, eyes warm and a soft pull of his lips that he hopes are encouraging for tim to at least come back out of his shell. and if he doesn't?

christ.]

I've got all the time in the world for you, Laughlin. Always.

[his hands fold atop the desk as he watches tim slink in, eyes dropping to the paper clutched between his hands. is he laying it on too thick? too distant? it always feels like one step forward, two steps back - and part of him thinks it shouldn't be nearly this complicated to figure out a boy who wears his heart on his sleeve more often than not. but that's what he's been teaching him to forgo, and hawkins fuller does it better than anyone. too good, if this is the result.]

Let's see what you've got, huh?

[he waits for tim to slide the paper over, waiting quietly until he takes in the a- stamped across the top. his gaze drags up slowly, unreadable for a moment before he lets all the pride flood into the dazzling smile and glittering shimmer of his eyes.]

Well, well. Looks like congratulations are in order.

[hawk pauses, searching his face for any hint of that simmer they've both dampened, knowing it should stay that way. that he's playing with fire if he brings it up to a boil again.

and yet - ]

Nice to welcome back my boy. You've been sorely missed.

[ hey there, stranger.

the comment seems so genial, so friendly, so practiced and perfect that it makes tim's skin crawl. they're not strangers, even now, with two weeks of silence and distance pressed between them. tim had followed the rules - played the game with an expert skill he's sure that hawk won't see the full color of. but it's no matter - being invited in feels a little like he can breathe again, and so he crosses the threshold into the office.

this isn't just about loneliness - that's something tim realized the first week in. it isn't just about company with measured attention and careful consideration. tim cares about the man named hawkins fuller, about the person beneath the carefully constructed mask which, he of course knows now is a very skillful ploy. where he falls in the slippery slope of the game hawk plays? tim doesn't know.

but he hands over the paper, turns to set his bag on the floor beside the chair that even the entirety of the department considers tim's chair and settles into it. he sits proper, both feet on the floor, hands in his lap, watching hawk's reaction like any student might under the scrutiny of faculty, but he's really watching the lines of the man's face. looking for the hint of fraying or dark circles, or anything.

anything to prove that maybe two and a half weeks was hard on him, too. or is tim simply in too deep with idealist dreams and fantasies?

he's bulletproof, his man. or is he? after all, hawk had found him throughout their quarantine - the library, the quad.

tim's face burns with the praise, and burns deeper at the way the man smiles, bright and dazzling, the blue of his eyes glittering. he is something out of a greek myth, out of a sparkling museum of wonders. tim doesn't stand a chance. ]

You didn't play by the rules.

[ and there it is - where the boy from two weeks ago would glow under the praise and simper and press, tim sits back easily in the chair, letting an elbow fall to one of the arms so that he may set his chin in his own hand. there's a little tilt, a set of his jaw, and a burning defiance in his eyes. nothing like the fury from months and months ago, no.

it's that simmer hawk is looking for, but changed. matured, aged. ]

And although you created the game, made the ruleset, I think it's only fair you draw clear, precise lines. I think I deserve more than just congratulations for going above and beyond on both the assignment, and managing you.

[ there's a tiny little smile, despite the intensity of his eyes. he's been lonely - adrift without the man and trying desperately to understand just what everything meant. he'll wonder, still, when he's not drawn in by the undeniable force that is hawkins fuller. he can't say no to him. he can't deny him. even if he wants to, something makes it simply impossible.

he'll address the sadness later. there's plenty of time to think about a world without this. it's his near future, and a part of him doesn't want to waste what little of all this he has left. ]

You didn't even read it. The essay.

[ the positive consequences of negative stereotyping in the academic community - and the essay goes on to detail the stereotypes of youth, homosexuality, and the interplay between that and an academic setting. it even details the pressures of the older generations, the faculty, and all those trapped and conforming to the old world that academia flaunts.

it's a blatant mockery of craig, an older, gay man with eyes for pretty things younger than him. caught up in the ego created by his degree and position in the university. all that, tied up in flowery language that craig may not otherwise catch as subtle digs and? an a- was artfully earned. ]

I would say I missed you, but I saw you just a few days ago in the library, sir.

[ he did miss him. a great deal. it shows in the way he keeps his eyes on hawk's face, watching, even though his body language hasn't changed. ]

Edited 2024-01-28 01:04 (UTC)

[they're not strangers. that's not what he meant - but if he knew how in his own head tim was right now, he wouldn't have made the joke and drawn attention to the fact that for all intents and purposes...for the last two weeks they may as well have been. and while on the surface hawk looks physically flawless - eyes bright, teeth pearly white when they flash in tim's direction with another wry smile, hair perfectly coiffed - it's the unseen that cut deeper. the lack of control he'd felt that day in this office, the impromptu trips both weekends to find an outlet, the way he'd slipped up and couldn't resist accosting tim outside of class - in the quad, the library, finding an excuse and letting it roll off the tongue as easily as any other lie he's told himself since december.

the loneliness was mutual. maybe he'd made a mistake - christ, he doesn't fucking know anymore. all he knows is that they've got a week and a half left of their time together, and he wants to savor it before everything he looks forward to is out of reach for good. which is exactly where it should be, and where it should stay. tim's the one with the dreams that belong in a greek myth - only this one is about the boy on his odyssey who starts from tragedy and manages to impress even the cruelest of gods and earn their favor.

hawk doesn't answer right away, leaning back comfortably into his chair and folding his hands atop his stomach with a slight shrug in response. there's a bit of amusement that seeps into his voice, mostly because this is all semantics and he knows tim will likely have something to say about it not having been made clear, not a proper wager. but maybe he'll see it for what it is: hawk laying himself bare in a way that doesn't overtly display his vulnerability, instead just an implicit understanding of i needed to see you where i could get you.]

The only rules were for you not to come by office hours. Any questions about your work were to be done in class. I didn't say anything about outside in the wild.

[but there he goes anyhow, and hawk can't help but smile because of course tim would never let such a thing slide. and of course - he'd want all of hawk's insight, because the inherent meaning of a job well done on the surface doesn't mean anything if he doesn't see how masterfully tim executed it. there's a cluck of his tongue, a quiet of course as he picks up the paper, casually lapsing into silence while trying not to feel the heat at his neck from the intensity of tim's gaze mixed with the slight distance and challenge in a way that's different than before. changed, somehow - not bad, better. making him feel a little off-footed, if he's honest.

and that's why the heat trickles slowly into an icy cold wash, a ringing in his ears as he starts reading about the pressures that very much are relatable to someone like hawk. to a gay man, older than tim by at least a decade - very much with a similar eye for pretty things. is this tim's way of saying he realizes what a sham hawk has been? what a conflict of interest he's had, crossing lines he never should have? he thought it had been both of them together - a mutual decision in this game they've been tiptoeing around, but there he was again not outlining any clear rules other than i don't fuck my students, as if that isn't riddled with opportunity to work around it. his jaw clenches, mouth thinning out into a hard line as he keeps reading and wondering -

ah. a false alarm. it's not about hawk, it's about craig, because of course it is. and craig was too vain and too stupid to even realize it.

the smile stretches wider again, eyes lifting as hawk flattens the paper against his desk once more to settle them on tim with a warm mixture of pride and relief wrapped up in that mask of confidence.]

Nice touch with the rent boy line.

[so that just leaves...

hawk puts his hands up, head dipping as he shakes it in mock exaggeration. he can bluff a little too, and he's man enough to admit where his cards are in this case now, even if tim is more guarded than he's used to. why wouldn't he be? it's only fair he'd expect the worst.]

Well, far be it from me to eat up any of your newfound freedom. But - if you're amenable - I was going to head out instead of staying cooped up in here all afternoon.

[tim is watching him with such an intent, it makes his own mask slip for just a moment, a softness in his eyes with a smile that's equal measures apprehensive at not knowing the answer and hopeful for them both.]

I'd like to take you to dinner to celebrate.

[it's not a date. not if he brings his paper and hawk brings his briefcase and a pen and they both take notes. it is not a date.]

[ never has tim sat in the chair opposite hawkins fuller's desk and felt even a modicum of power. persuasion? yes. it came in the form of a sliver of stomach, an arched back, an arm reaching for a paper behind him and - ah. the power? the power comes in this - watching hawk read, and he knows the man has to be wondering at first if the paper is about him.

in a way, it is. but in others? absolutely not. is hawk an older man, looking to shack up with some pretty young thing? maybe. is he, tim laughlin, looking for an older man to allow such behavior? maybe. but the whole thing is a smear of the falsities and hipocracy of craig level instead, painting a philosophical picture of him in clown make up.

but god, watching hawk sit beneath the intensity of his gaze and seeing, for the first time, the man squirm a little? if timothy david laughlin looks a little bit too much like the prissy feline who got caught with a paw in the cream, that's because he is. ]

No. Your rules were before class, during, and after. No mention of time in the wild. No office hours. Is your memory starting to slip, Professor Fuller? You must be tired. I don't want to keep you, of course.

[ but god he won't leave - he knows he can't leave now, heady and utterly burning with the slight tug he has on the rope tied between them. it isn't much, but the vulnerability he sees through the cracks makes it soften. can he fault the man for finding him? can he fault him when tim wanted to be found? ]

I missed you, too. So. I appreciate you bending the rules.

[ it's a small reward for reading the paper, for showing even the barest hint of something more beyond the carefully crafted facade. he can see through it, mostly, at this point, but still. it must take incredible effort and energy. ]

And maybe for letting me dig at you a little over it. Your rules are hazy at best, sir, and as your good and only boy I hope maybe you'll let me bend them sometimes, too. I'll always ask nicely.

[ again, it's evident that tim has warmed up to the tiniest bit of control he has - the new form its taken. he sits forward on the edge of the seat, reaching for the graded paper to return it to his bag when the offer comes. he stills, blinking down at his own hands before his head raises.

he'd been promised a reward, of course, but this? this seems excessive, too good to be true. the surprise shines through the defiant heat from moments before, genuine and soft and wanting. a little fearful, too - it seems like an avenue with which he will get hurt later. a dinner with hawkins fuller sounds an awful lot like something else. ]

I'd... I'd like that. Dinner. Are you asking me on...?

[ he doesn't say it - he can't. he almost curses under his breath at himself for even letting half of the question slip. a date. is hawkins fuller asking him out to dinner, on a date, after two weeks of barely any contact? probably. there's a softness in his eyes that already tim knows to be dangerous - he can't resist it. even though he wants to say no, just to wield the power he has newly gained?

he can't. ]

I mean, definitely a study date. I have my exit thesis to start working on for next year, of course, and I'll be in one of Lonegan's classes. I've heard he's awful.

[ there it is. the word, laid bare and vulnerable between them. ]

Even if you aren't, ah. Dinner would be nice. If you're amenable.

[ he doesn't have the spare cash, really, but he has enough to pay for his own and the man's dinner. maybe that's what he'll do when they go - surprise him by putting his card down first. dreaming of a world where the two of them tucked into a little table at a hole in the wall joint could be his. where he could leave school, find some ramshackle place or simply take up harbor in hawk's bed that smells of something masculine and cool and heady.

oh how he will pine and pine and pine later over a memory like this. ]

You'll have to tell me where so I could look at the bus routes.

[having the tables turned looks good on his boy. because it's not just about control and pure dominance - hawk isn't looking for a doormat. there's a part of him that likes having to fight for it, feeling the push and pull and reclaiming his authority, but somehow it's searingly arousing when it's timothy david laughlin doing it - getting a rush of confidence, that slight cockiness in his expression like he was expecting hawk to fall for his switchup in those first few paragraphs. that he wasn't supposed to break the rules he'd set and allow them a loophole to ease the agonizing distance - to show his hand in a way he'd never let himself be susceptible to before. but it really only seems fair now, all things considered. tim showed him plenty - he needed to return the favor, and even better if it let the idea sink in fully that hawkins fuller is in just as deep as he is. has been from the start, even if he wouldn't let it show.

i missed you too sinks in like a rush of nicotine, watching tim relax a little more into something closer resembling that easy intimacy they've built up over these months. it's changed after this distance - but for the better.

but there's something to be said for relishing the way he's taken off guard by the invitation hawk extends too. that doe-eyed gaze lifting, lips parted in surprise and pausing his movements at returning the paper to the safety of his tattered bag. of course he wouldn't have expected it, considering the flirtatious nature the original offer had been extended under - but there's something more meaningful about this. hours of uninterrupted time, somewhere quiet and tucked away that tim likely doesn't know, where the risk of them being noticed or questioned for their roles is almost a zero percent chance. a small way of making up that imposed distance, catching up on all the time they missed in a public setting where hawk won't do something stupid and irreversible to their relationship right now.

(there's still that nagging wonder - what happens when he's not a student anymore? is it worth trying the forbidden fruit, of consummating this wordless thing that's been hanging in the air since december?)

hawk tips his head with a knowing look - the kind that says don't finish that sentence if you know what's good for you, - because it can't be a date. but a study date. definitely that, absolutely.]

A study date. Good boy.

[ah, lonigan again. even if he doesn't really feel like mixing business with pleasure this time, he'll take what he can get.]

I'm amenable. Lonigan, exit thesis, your next assignment from Mr. Lever...we can do some work before we get to play.

I'm amenable.

[it's why he offered after all, though he's starting to wonder if maybe it's too much - if he's throwing all caution to the wind by trying to eagerly push it all to happen now. to impart upon him how lonely these few weeks had been in his seat too.]

I'm sure you've got plenty to do, but we could even go now if you like. You're dressed for it.

[his eyes twinkle with the offered flash of a smile, but it disappears just as quickly when tim suggests, laughable, the idea of taking the bus.]

Except you'll have to drop the absurd notion that you'd be taking the bus anywhere. I'm a gentleman. I'll drive.

[tim had better not dare thinking about paying either - hell would have to freeze over before hawkins fuller let him set down a card or try and take his money when he knows the frequency in which he raids his snack drawer, the struggle it was for him just to be sitting across from him right now and all throughout this semester. but it's not about the fucking money. it's the principle of it - the core notion that this is a date, trussed up like it's for school or not, and this is his chance at charming tim laughlin. skippy. pretending all the other constraints aren't there just for a few hours.]

[ the tip and tilt of hawk's head tells him everything. the word date cannot be a standalone thing here, and yet it's spelled out plainly in the quiet between them. hawkins fuller is asking him out on a date. for dinner. the two of them. and maybe it will all be under the mask of schooling and work, but a date.

thankfully, he has all of his cam work to thank for the cool calm that returns to his face despite the little moment of surprise before. otherwise he'd look stupidly giddy which would only be embarrassing at this point. what college student is giddy about a dinner date. most would be more inclined for a movie or a club, where the dark would hide all other indiscretions.

but no. hawkins fuller is a gentleman. and god the way he says good boy turns something deep in his belly a little molten, liquid fire licking its way up the low rise of his spine. ]

I wore this for lunch with Professor Lever. Didn't unbutton anything until I came here, though.

[ there's a knowing glance over the rim of his glasses, his head bowed just enough to tuck the graded paper back in his bag. but it's true - the top three buttons o his shirt are undone, a peek of chest, and as he leans it's easy to see the thin sliver of gold chain round his neck, the barest hint of a cross peeking up above the neckline. there's a faint dusting of hair there - downy soft, surely, in little wisps and nigh invisible curls.

paper tucked into his bag, he sits back up a little straighter, watching hawk for a moment before he pushes up to his feet. ]

Where should I meet you?

[ hawk's boy knows better than to assume they'll walk to the car together across campus. he knows better than to think that any chance of someone seeing them is out of the question. he adjusts his bag on his shoulder, the move only serving to pull the unbuttoned collar open more to reveal the dip of a collar bone. ]

I don't want to be late, sir. We have so much to go over.

[ they don't. tim has nothing school related to even bring up to this man, and yet he looks over his shoulder at him with the hint of something smoldering behind his eyes. ]

A block up - just past the theater building. There's a church - it's Presbyterian. Has a parking lot in the back? I'll walk.

[ he starts toward the door and pauses briefly, back to the man, before he turns again - and there it is. the simmer from weeks before, but this time burning with a confidence he hadn't had before. ah, that sweetly earned power. his voice stays low when he speaks: ]

I'll say a few prayers for you along the way.

[a date. jesus, hawk can't remember the last time he went on one of those or what they're even supposed to look like. but that's the thing with tim - he's the easiest of company. hell, the time they've spent in this temporary refuge and back in his office at the polisci building feel like more of a connection than anything he's allowed himself to remotely consider since college. giddy isn't the right word for him either, especially not as a grown man - but there's a thrilling feeling at the push and pull they've been teasing one another with, the expectations high and absence making the heart indeed grow fonder.

hawk leans forward slightly, as imperceptible as possible to try and get a closer glimpse at the state of his shirt and what's been unbuttoned - the glint of gold he knows is the crucifix tim dutifully wears, the soft tease of hair against pecs he knows would put the most toned of gq models to shame. knowing what's under there intimately - both on the grainy dimness of a webcam and in person from where it spent several hours perched against his very own pillows makes him run hot again, mind drifting down that dangerous path that leads to him pulling over and letting the teenage urge to ravish him in the backseat of his fucking car take over. christ.

his gaze is drawn up as if a puppet on a string when tim walks to the door, dipping down to the sliver of skin further revealed, then down again to the way the jeans hug his trim waist and curve around the meat of his pert ass with a hunger he doesn't bother to hide as tim looks back one more time. in all that daydreaming, he'd nearly missed the part about where to meet - even if he would have gotten around to directing him somewhere eventually. but that's the pull tim laughlin has on him, has earned after all this time trying and succeeding at taking up space in both heart and mind, even if hawk tries not to let that thought linger. he should be stronger than this, and yet he was always fucked from the minute tim walked though his door, fucked again when he started substituting his face on skippy's in the fantasies that spilled outside of the little black and white textbox, and fucked with utmost thoroughness when the two merged into one for certain on a snowy sidewalk in dupont hill.]

Hard to be stricter than Catholics, but we'd better not linger too long on hallowed ground. I'd hate to get struck by lightning.

[that's a joke at the expense of himself, offered with a wry grin.]

Twenty minutes. I'll be there - navy Mercedes coupe.

[hawk glances behind tim for a split second, voice lowering.]

Undo another button for me, while you're saying them. It's a scorcher out there, today.

[his eyes twinkle with the entendre of it all, toeing the line again and letting tim relish in having earned it along with the easy confidence that looks so damn enticing on him. what's it going to be like next to him for at least thirty minutes on the drive down to alexandria? he certainly knows what he wishes it could be after tim is buckled in and they make their way out of the parking lot: easy touches, teasing, windows down with the breeze blowing through that soft mop of hair. it's singing along to stupid 80s serenades just to see tim toss his head back and laugh. hawk's done his homework leading up to this - remembering the quaint charm of little walk-ups stacked next together with family owned businesses. it's a far cry from the hustle of dc, the tall buildings wrapped in glass and steel rather than the homey feeling of brick and individuality.

trattoria dafranco is wedged in discreetly along the block, one black door hanging open and welcoming them in to a small, intimate room of white tablecloths, roses atop each table, and the fading light of golden hour through the window to their left. hawk pulls out tim's chair for him without a glance around the room - they're far enough away from anyone who would know or care about what this is. study date, date, friendly meeting of minds. they're just two people here tonight among a romantic ambiance, only eyes for each other.

hawk slides in across tim, flipping open the menu and taking a glance at it before pushing it aside and focusing his attention wholly on tim. he leans forward, a hunt of mischief in his eyes as he folds his hands atop the table.]

So. Does this beat your riveting lunch with Craig?

[he nods towards the menu splayed in front of tim as an afterthought.]

I'll order a bottle of red for us. Get whatever you like.

[ as tim leaves hawk's office, he laughs a little, bright and easy. i'd hate to get struck by lightning, hawk says and it's hard not to find it amusing. he figures by now, he'd have been struck down a million times for his behaviors, for his choices. but he chooses not to think of that as he heads out of the building and off campus toward the church.

he thinks about hawkins fuller, the look he'd given him, the way his eyes had all but devoured him from afar. even if nothing comes of any of this, tim can't help but warm at the idea of being wanted so very much. it means that by the time he's in hawk's car, he's a little sweaty - it is a scorcher - cheeks flushed a little pink and two additional buttons undone, bringing the deep v of his shirt down just past his pecs. his sleeves are rolled up at his elbows.

the drive is easy enough, and as they settle into the restaurant, tim is already charmed. it's a small place, but being tucked into the back makes it feel strangely intimate. enough that when hawk pulls out his chair for him his face undoubtedly lights up, settling in his chair and scooting it up further to the table. sitting this way, his collar opens and the crucifix is on clear display, resting between toned muscle and skin that has been tanned slightly and freckled by the sun.

he makes sure when he leans to reach for the menu, hawk has the best view. he opens it, scanning the choices, but he can't focus. they're on a date. he really should get his notebook out like he promised, and pretend like they're here on some school meeting, but until hawk gives him that directive? he's going to live in the fantasy of this as long as he can. his eyes slip up over the menu, meeting the mischievous blue of hawk's. ]

Mm. I don't know. [ he can barely keep a straight face when he says it. ] He was very charming and nice. I bet we talked about something interesting, but I can't remember what it was. You have a lot to live up to.

[ what does he call him here? sir? professor fuller? what are the lines and who are they pretending to be here in the anonymity of the italian restaurant. there's something very cheesy american italian playing - instrumental, and there's the distant sound of cooking from the kitchen in the back. it's romantic, really. dim and quaint, the roses on the table, the promise of a red to drink. ]

But I imagine the company will be better. The food will be better. We'll see how you measure up at the end of the night, Hawk.

[ the name feels foreign on his tongue, but he's heard craig call him that. but it's nice - informal in a way that this little dinner should be. at least in a perfect world. for a few moments he can imagine they aren't bound by the ties of teacher and student. that december never happened, and they'd spent all summer enjoying each other. ]

But it all looks good. [ there's a little quirk of his head, a glance to hawk then back at the menu. the implication of all meaning more than the food. a server comes up - in classic black and white - and lists specials, some drinks, and he smiles, albeit sheepish, when he asks for their drink orders. ]

Sorry, do you have milk? Oh, and maybe some bread? To start, I mean.

[ the waiter pauses, as confused as most are, but of course they have milk here, even if it is unusual. the man takes hawk's order next - the red. he's not had wine like that anywhere outside of church, and there's something thrilling about the thought of having it here, at a dinner date, with this man. ]

I think Craig likes me. I really did do very well for you, you know.

[the notebook can wait. the paper, the thesis - this far removed from campus, and hawk is willing to forego it all entirely at this rate. there's just something so palpable about his excitement, contagious and openly sweet in a way hawk hasn't seen on anyone in a long time. genuine. how can a boy look so goddamn innocent - bright eyes, crucifix nudging against his heart and then look good enough to ruin in the next moment - toned muscle, the glisten of sweat, rosy-cheeked with cherry-bitten lips. what he wouldn't give to tug him by that chain across the table and plant one on him in front of all these fine, good paying customers. he belongs to hawkins fuller. this is my boy. the thought that by the time enough time had passed tim will likely have forgotten him altogether almost dampens the mood for a moment - but he won't let it weigh on him right now.

this is a moment earned for them both. exams are a week away and then...only then, will hawk let the loneliness sink back in.]

You sure you don't mean catty? I can't remember the nice time I heard anything nice come out of his mouth.

[he says it casually, flipping one of the pages and letting his brows raise mildly, tone still light and teasing in the way he knows tim doesn't really mean it and is play-goading him. but it's not hard to think about his eagerness weaponized against a man too dumb to realize what was going on, he earned that a- after all, didn't he? craig probably thought he was eating out of the palm of his hand. idiot.

the sound of his own name coming out of tim's mouth though - that's charming enough that he looks up with a broad stretch of his lips.]

Suppose we will. Think the view's better from where I'm sitting, though.

[he's not talking about the window or the fading tones of gold and pink and perwinkle either. he's talking about sitting across from tim laughlin having that same fantasy - that they drove all the way here for an evening out, fingers laced across the the arm rest and that he can kiss his boy as freely as he wants when they step back outside into a breezy summer night. that he can drive him home, pounce on him the moment they're through the door even if their hands haven't been kept to themselves the entire drive home - push him down onto the bed and give and take of him all night long. what would it be like, to lose himself in a relationship like that?

he gestures for tim to go first, the polite thing to do, taking a moment to drink in his profile and that mouth-watering expanse of his neck and collarbone. enough that he thinks maybe he misheard the order for bread and milk, brows pinching together in confusion he won't voice until after his own order for the house red, bruschetta, and oysters to start is put in.]

Hang on a minute - milk? Is this...a habit of yours?

[not that he looks judgmental about it, just confused. endeared, really, if the tug at his lips is anything to go by and the way his tone drops a little lower.]

Does a body good, they used to say. You must be the poster boy for it to be true.

[the waiter comes back with the milk, bread, and bottle of wine, two glasses set in front of them both which hawk immediately reaches to fill, along with a murmured grazie that's not so bad in the accent department. his pour is generous for them both, and when it's done he sets it off to the side and lifts his glass, nodding for tim to do the same in a mock speech.]

To doing well for me. To getting your reward.

[hawk inclines his head a little, bringing it close enough but not yet clinking it with tim's glass.]

To our date.

Alla nostra salute.

[then he clinks it, lifting it to his lips for an equally generous sip, eyeing tim over the rim as he takes a swallow to see if he'll match it. it's a fine pick to accompany their meal - not too dry or bitter, and he has a sneaking suspicion tim likes things a little sweeter than this.]

[ tim wishes he could take a picture of hawk as he is right now - broad, handsome, relaxed, the sun warming him and turning the strong features of his face to gold. that coupled with the dim of the restaurant, the soft ambience and the anonymity of the whole thing feels something akin to sacred. the last time he felt so truly entranced and peaceful like this had been at church - the chapel windows all stained glass and painting a corporeal heaven across the skin on the back of his hands.

he chooses not to reach for his phone, knowing it won't be received well at all, but he tries very, very hard to commit the image to memory.

it's easy to play make-believe, to imagine that when the waiter brings the milk, the wine, the starters, that this odd smorgasbord is something they entertain once a week together. a quaint little restaurant, a romantic date just the two of them. they'll talk and finish their meal and drive home together, or perhaps drive to one of the outlooks they'd passed and kiss beneath the stars before driving home to kiss some more and make stars of their own.

tim knows this will never be any of that. he knows that they will never be anything more than student and teacher, no matter how they choose to toe the line. but for this next hour, he's willing to believe that hawk is the very god apollo seated next to him, infinite and divine with the fire of the sun in his hair, and he icarus, flying up high to the moon and yearning for his favor.

would that his wings could not melt, just this once. ]

It's not a habit - [ he huffs a little, ears burning red with a sheepish embarrassment as he reaches to tug the glass toward him almost a little defensively. ] I think my parents worried that I would grow up weak. Said it would make me taller, help me work the land better. I just enjoy it, now. You'll have to tell me if you think I'd make the cut for their poster boy. I can't be sure myself.

[ but hawk pours from the bottle, their glasses generously filling with a wash of deep red wine. how apt. their table laid with bread, their glasses with wine, and tim truly believes he could forgo all other churches should this be what his masses look like from now forward.

he takes up his glass opposite hawk, his cheeks burning as he listens to the little toast made. hawk's italian is accented beautifully, not at all open and round like the american attempt at the cheers itself. their glasses clink and he can do nothing but blink, wide-eyed over the rim at hawk, a fire simmering low in his belly. ]

To our date. Salute.

[ oh, there is so much he doesn't know. it's silly, that he keeps his eyes on hawk's as he drinks from the glass, taking from it the same generous sip as the other man. it's sharp and sweet on his tongue, burning at the back of his throat but this, at least, he's used to. he knows nothing about wine, and while this one is at least sweeter than most, it still isn't quite something he'd pick on his own. his nose crinkles faintly at the burn, but he says nothing.

he will drink ever drop before the night is over, so as not to look ungrateful. he sets the glass aside and snags a breadstick for himself, pulling it into halves before his eyes flicker up at hawk again. he takes one bite, chewing and swallowing before he reaches to sip at his milk. it's silly how comforting a cold glass of milk can be, and when he looks back to hawk, there's an easy contentment in his expression.

he fidgets momentarily with the glass, fingers drumming against it before his elbows finally come up to the table, his chin perching on his hands. ]

I have the best view, by the way. [ there's a little one-shouldered shrug. calling back to hawk's comment. bravely, he decides he'll speak again. hawk has sad kind and flattering things to him, but tim cannot truly recall any time he'd given the man a compliment. ] You there, with the sun and the painting against the wall back there. Well. It's just you, really. You're - handsome. [ he clears his throat a little, mouth pulling to one side, his hands dropping to toy with the stem of his wine glass. ]

Beautiful, really. I - I know most men don't like to hear that, but I mean it. I do, Hawk.

[ the name. it feels so special to say out loud. he takes a sip of his wine before he has to put his foot in his mouth. ]

Oh yeah. No doubt about it - you'd be the main attraction. Hard to follow up a specimen as perfect as that.

[much as he'd like his own polaroid of tim - bathed in sunlight, shadows cast across the strong curvature of his face - it can't happen now. he'll do the same thing and commit it to memory, the same way he buried deep every inch of his toned body and striking jawline, the nestle of curls between his thighs and the way his cock flushes pretty pink when he's at his neediest. that never went away, and neither will this. he'll lie at night thinking about how the precise shade of tim's hair has tinges of red to it in the sun, how the golden rays bring out the olive in his delicate irish skin. that there's a beauty mark just under his chin he never noticed before - too small to have caught on camera, tucked just against his jugular as if it were meant for lips to fix around and mark. hawkins fuller was here, he'd want to say, if he could. if this weren't something monumentally foolish already, as if that matters when he's so far gone for his boy.

it's hard not to keep circling back to the idea of what happens after. no one will ever replace him - that chair may as well have his initials stamped against the fading leather like the kerchief he'd lent tim with hf embroidered so many months ago, except it's the sweet curl of "tdl" etched against both the home that his office gives him away from home and his heart. when he graduates what does hawk have to look forward to?

will tim even remember moments like this?

there is something sacred about it, reverent in a way that hawk might allow himself to finally understand the beauty of breaking bread and drinking wine and laying themselves bare in honesty to a higher power - only instead of god, it's the desire they both have for one another. isn't that just another piece of devotion, in a way? his eyes don't leave from the way tim's lips wrap around the glass of red, tipping back and watching the vibrant display of emotions that are all too easy to read. their very own communion, amen to that.

wine probably isn't skippy's thing - or at least, this one isn't, and it should be a warning sign that hawk immediately considers what to try next time until he finds the right one. he'd try every last drop in this place to find the perfect fit, the one that wouldn't make his nose scrunch and force those long, dextrous fingers wrap around the milk instead, even if it's endearing to watch him take a sip all the same. hawk reaches for some bread and dips it in olive oil, dabbing it at the edge before taking a thoughtful bite.

and then tim goes and says that, and it has him quiet while he finishes chewing, swallowing, lifting his own wine glass to his lips in contemplation. it's not that he's unaware of his exceptional good looks by any means - the craigs and miss addisons and the twinks that gravitate to him in the bars outside of washington certainly give him a good idea about it. but coming from tim? it may as well have been uttered from heaven itself, an angel coming down to proclaim it like it really means something. he stares for a moment before his face shifts into a fond smile, open in a way he's never really shared with tim even in their little rendezvous and office hours.]

That's sweet, you know? Really sweet.

I'd only want to hear it from you anyway.

[there's a pause as he lets that sink in, glancing across the table with a sudden shift to the serious - an intensity that's not borne out of lust, but instead something that much more vulnerable to say aloud.]

You've got a pair of angel wings, Skippy. You're a good boy. Not just because of the paper, or the debating, or school - I mean it.

[it's the first time since abandoning him in the cold that he's used the nickname again. it feels more intimate that way - tim is his boy, sure, but skippy? does he even know where it's from?]

[ hawk stays thoughtfully quiet, and tim can feel the word beautiful hanging on the air between them. it doesn't feel wrong, and he isn't apologetic for it but tim knows he walks a delicate line. they went so quickly from being an image on a screen merged with teacher and student, to whatever heated thing they've had lately, to this. he likes it, and if he can do all the right things to have another night like this, even if it's only one, he'll do his best.

he reaches for the milk again, fingers pressing around the glass and turning it a little and busying himself with one of the halves of breadstick again, taking a bite and chewing to make the silence make sense. it doesn't, and then something changes in the man's face. the smile? it's different. open and fond and warm and tim finds his skin prickling with heat, but not in a needy, wanting sort of way.

tim cannot help the thought that hawk truly is beautiful, but most beautiful like that. he feels startled, meeting his eyes and not quite hearing everything he says at first - tim breathing out a little huff of something similar to a nervous laugh, his face flushing hot and pink.

i'd only want to hear it from you anyway.

maybe that's how hawkins fuller woos everyone he takes to dinner, but tim doesn't care. it's so intimate and honest in a way he's never seen the other man and he knows he'll carry that with him like a brand through the end of whatever this is they have. he doesn't care if he ever gets to touch him, kiss him, hold him - he has that. it's likely more than most can say, if he had to guess. ]

I...

[ but hawk calls him an angel and he blinks, hands fumbling around the bread, elbows rising back up to the table, fingers fumbling nervously with the chain of his crucifix.

but there it is, laid plain and simple before him: skippy. he breathes out again. ]

That's really kind of you. But I'm definitely not an angel, not by a long stretch. But that's... it's one of the nicest things I think anyone has said to me, really.

[ it sounds so pathetic when he says it like that, but it's true. he sits up a little straighter in his seat, and it's with an earnest sort of intensity that he reaches for hawk's hand, catching only two fingers to give the faintest squeeze. no one can see here, no one will know who they are or what they're doing. he keeps it brief, even if every part of him wants to hold on for the rest of the night and imagine that picture perfect scene again. the two of them, the starlit night, and whatever this romantic hum around them has become.

it isn't fair to fall in love with hawkins fuller. it isn't fair to feel so strongly, so fully about one person the way he does the man across from him. he has no doubt that it isn't the same for hawk - that their lives are so different, priorities wildly opposite, and yet tim allows the tiniest seed of hope to take root.

he releases the man's fingers, sheepish, making it look as though he was simply reaching for more bread to dip into the oil.

i am not worthy to receive you - he idly thinks. of god, or hawk, he doesn't know. ]

Don't you remember? Icarus. He built the most beautiful wings to fly as high as he could. All the tales are different, but in this one, Icarus flew as far and as high as he could to find greatness for himself, to find purpose. The gods, they were furious. They threatened his family and swore he would never find love.

[ he shrugs a little, his eyes keeping with hawk's, trying to commit every moment of this to memory. ]

The gods turned the fires of the sun on him and his wings began to melt. Icarus fell for days, and just before he was destined to hit the ground, a sunbeam caught him. The gods had roiled the fires of the sun to spite Icarus, but it was the god Apollo, who had loved him for his flight, that saved him. Angry that the gods called on his power to harm him, he carried Icarus into the sky, to the Moon and wrote their names together in the dust.

[ it sounds childish, when he says it, and he can tell his face must be as red as the wine. ah, the wine. he sips at it - a little too deeply, draining a fair amount from nerves alone before he clears his throat. ]

It feels more apt, really. Than angel wings.

I think you should know by now - I'm not the sort of man to say things just because they're kind.

[it's utterly endearing to watch the ebb and flow of tim's confidence - the conviction in which he shares his compliments followed by the fidgeting of his hands, something hawk has noticed he doesn't do as much out of seeming nerves when he's in the safe space afforded by office hours. fiddling with a pencil, scrunching himself into various degrees of comfort, sure - but this is uncharted territory. it draws back to what hawk has always thought of him: he's sweet. genuine, in a way that so many people can't or refuse to be. hell, he's more sincere than hawk even is on a good day. living in his truths, standing up and fighting for the things he believes in, even if they are theoretical for the most part. no wonder that edge of heat surrounded him when he was across a screen - comfortable in his own skin and seeking out connection with a stranger who he thought was just as honest in desire.

that still might be the only open place hawk's really ever been himself, which sounds pretty depressing when he thinks of it that way. not beautiful. not brave or honest - and definitely not the way he's ever wooed anyone else before. there's been no one to do it with, certainly not the men he drags to motels for a few hours of raw physicality and kicks out or abandons before the high has even come down. tim is the first - not even kenny got him like this.

hawk watches the tinge of a blush rise up to his cheeks, spreading red across his ears and faintly down his neck. absently, it occurs to him he's never tested what it is that makes it run full body under less salacious conditions. it's not pathetic watching him react to it, only proving what hawk said to be true by immediately deeming himself not worthy of such a nickname. it's the other part he can believe - that no one else has said as much, and it shouldn't startle him nearly as much when he feels the soft press of fingers against his own hand.

it's intimate in a way that catches him wholly off guard, tamping down hard on the instinct to pull away and glance around at the rest of the patrons here. they're far outside the bounds of campus. just another couple having a romantic dinner, and hawk exhales softly, letting his thumb reach up to stroke over tim's knuckles and squeeze back. strange, the way he feels a pang of regret the moment they pull away and reach again for the bread. hawk smiles, tipping his attention back down to his wine glass while listening to the tale of angry greek gods, a boy with ambition shooting for the sun and landing among the stars instead from the mercy of the one who saw him for what he was.

very apt indeed.]

I'd rather hear it right from you. But you're right - Icarus...it does suit you.

I'm no Apollo, but watching you soar has been one of the greatest privileges of my career. And -

[hawk stares intently at him, that unmistakable fondness softening the line of his mouth and jaw - even his eyes have lost the iciness of ocean blue.]

Now, this is top secret. Doesn't leave this restaurant - you can tuck it away however you like, you got it?

[he picks up his wine again, taking another sip and swallowing thickly before leaning in and dropping his voice to a murmur.]

Tim Laughlin and my sweet Icarus started blending together in my eyes long before Christmas came along and fucked us up.

Edited 2024-02-08 04:49 (UTC)

You're more like a Apollo than you think. A god with the weight of the world on his shoulders, the heat of the sun at his back, the music of the world weaving the path at his feet and a bow with a quiver of arrows - prepared to protect the herd should he have to. He paved the way for new civilizations and foundations to be borne. The sun, incarnate.

[ he sounds so foolish, saying it out loud, but he believes it. when he looks at hawk, he shines bright, burns with an infinite sort of confidence that tim could only hope to have a piece of one day. and maybe there's much playacting to his day-to-day, but how else could a god move through the world, untouched, when one is as coveted as the sun?

but hawk mentions something top secret and tim leans in, eager and surprised, brows raised. there's a softness in hawk now that is utterly alluring - his eyes gentler, the pull of his lips in a sweetness that tim isn't certain he's seen on him before. it's remarkable - breathtaking.

but there it is.

tim would be utterly oblivious and stupid if he hadn't started piecing together the reality of skippy and tim laughlin. if he hadn't realized that hawk had begun to imagine what the face on the lewd cam boy might look like. he'd considered it - what with the heat that has radiated through them this summer, all the way back to the way hawk had started in december.

but to hear it had blended even long before that? well, that's a surprise. the sort of surprise that, should hawk peek into the deep vee of his unbuttoned shirt, he may see that even the skin dusted with downy soft curls between his pecs has flushed. every bit of him feels as though it is consumed by the flames of the sun.

it's foolish, the way he drops the bread and that hand reaches for hawk's again, the skirting of the thumb hadn't been enough before and maybe he's just like icarus now, too bold and headstrong and stubborn, but he clasps the whole of his hand this time, squeezing. ]

We weren't fucked up. [ and he believes it, really. how could something like this be a mistake? sure, there are better circumstances that could have come out of it, but a dinner date like this, with fondness and warmth? tim's heart feels like it might burst for the romance of it all. ]

I... I don't mind this. All of this. I understand it all now better than I did before, and maybe it's stupid to say it, but I'd take a million more of these than anything I thought was going to happen before. In December. [ a huff, sheepish, and the flush burns hotter. he looks away a little, nose wrinkling, mouth pulling to one side. ]

I mean - when I thought it was going to be someone else. I want to be near you. Talk to you. Spend time with you. And maybe it's just in your office or lectures but I don't know. Meeting you and being able to be honest with you is one of the most important things I think I've ever experienced.

[ what would it be like, were he not afraid of holding this man's hand even now, if he could lean over and kiss him? if he could tug him up and insist they spend an evening out under the stars or dancing or... anything? ]

I know maybe it doesn't seem like it, but I really do care. About you.

[flattering, that tim thinks any part of him is as strong as the will of a god, blazing a trail of his own design. there are things he's fought for the freedom of, sure - leaving his family and barely looking back, going into teaching, but at his core? hawk still conforms to what's expected of him in the day to day. he encourages ideals and challenging the status quo in the impressionable young minds of the future, and if tim wants to call it shaping civilizations and foundations then sure. but he doesn't live them himself, and the part of him that isn't jaded and used to living in the realities of the world feels like there's no such thing as living that free - not when you're in this deep. not with the sun beating down on his back every day, the expectations of everyone else perched on his shoulders no matter how far he's run from them. not unless life is to be lived like tim laughlin - fighting for every bit of it, wanting it for his fellow men and women too. no wonder apollo admired him from afar, elevated him where he belonged even if the path wasn't quite so simple.

but tim believes in him, and that means something too - even if he doesn't know the truth about hawk, he's seen more than his own mother in this last year and some change. not even dean smith could comment on the glimpses of hawk he's offered to this boy, and it makes his chest go warm again even as he shrugs lightly.]

I want whatever your future civilization is gonna look like. And if I had a single hand in it, then I've got a lot to be proud of.

[hawkins fuller isn't a humble man, not by any means. but he can't take credit for moulding what was already there - helping him realize his full potential.

but yeah - selfishly he wants to see how that lands on tim, and he isn't disappointed. not by the way that light flush creeps down his strong neck, teases him with the flash of his chest here and there that makes hawk want to leave now and drive off into the fading golden hour, to stretch tim across the hood of his car and see what it looks like under the same sun that seems to wish it might caress icarus without a burn as much as hawk does.

the softness of his palm lands against his own, fingers flexing gently as hawk returns the soft gesture with a stretch of his lips that doesn't quite meet his eyes this time.]

We ended up here, in the end.

Don't know that I'd do any of it differently, if I could - not when I'm sitting with someone I respect more than anyone I've known in the last five years like this.

[hawk's thumb shifts, running lightly over the back of his hand with an easy tenderness as his gaze drops to watch it while tim looks away. god, he shouldn't get used to this. this in and of itself - it's probably a one time thing. not just for the optics, but because tim is destined for the capitol itself. he's going to be rubbing shoulders with washington's elite, stirring them up in a way that's going to draw both ire and admiration from many. but his undeniable sweetness and the feisty way he manages to capture the hearts of everyone, even fucking craig lever - that's what hawk knows will be true.

that's why he knows eventually this will all be a distant memory, a hazy recollection of youthful summers and a stolen moment. hell, maybe he won't even remember any of it someday. and hawk will still be at georgetown, still hiding himself, still living his double life and watching the next generation of minds pass him by. just growing older. doesn't that sound fucking pathetic. his lips drop for a moment, a pulse in his jaw and he considers voicing any of it before immediately pushing that down. he's not going to ruin this moment for tim.]

Won't be the same without you around, you know. One more week and you're wrapping it up, focusing on the last few requirements next year, and then graduation - and then off to the Big House, if I know you.

[he offers a grin that's meant to be conspiratorial, encouraging and warm.]

I know. And Skippy - you should know how much I care about you too. Too fucking much, if we're measuring solely by the Georgetown Code of Conduct.

But we're not in Georgetown right now.

[his hand squeezes again, and if tim looks closely maybe he'll see the note of something raw in hawk's gaze.]

So here I get to tell you there never was and never will be anyone else like you, you got that?

The restaurant, my office, the sessions - all of it.

Edited 2024-02-12 05:45 (UTC)

[ there's a rawness in hawk's eyes that tim has never seen in him before. it makes the hand squeezing around his feel real and heavy, cements this moment into his mind for as long as he can remember. you should know how much i care about you too hawk says and while he's not so naive to think it a declaration of love, it's close enough.

it makes tim blush deeper, makes his fingers curl around hawk's and keep them glued there for a moment. he doesn't care about the food that was brought a little bit ago, he doesn't care about the restaurant or the people or anything eyes. his eyes stay leveled on hawk's. ]

Just because our classes are finishing up doesn't mean I won't see you. Doesn't mean we can't... do this, too. I won't be your student anymore, after all, so I think I might have more time and liberty.

[ he'd take a lifetime of little dinner dates like this, if that's what he could get. ]

Even when I'm finished with school - there won't be Georgetown Codes of Conduct or anything like that. We could go for coffee, lunch, anything I suppose.

[ he lets out a little breath, utterly romanced by the ambience of the place and the way hawk has opened up in a new way before him. ]

You mean a lot to me. And... and there won't ever be anyone else like you, either. I still remember when I walked into your class. I sat in the back because I was afraid in the front you'd see how red I was. And then you started giving your lecture and I think I was done for.

[ tim huffs a little laugh, shrugging one shoulder. with his free hand he nervously swipes his glass to sip from it - the wine is almost gone. he'd not realized he'd practically made it to the bottom of it. ]

But we're not in class, not at Georgetown. We're at a little Italian restaurant. Together. On a date.

[ his nose wrinkles, his smile pulls to one side. he looks utterly besotted with the man across him, invested in a way that, had he had the foresight, he might have stood up then and ran away. instead, he can feel the way his heart swells for the man across him. a couple more weeks and he'd no longer be his student, he could do so much more. ]

I... I would like to keep doing this. At least as time allows. After this week, I mean. Or I'll just come to your office - or... I don't know. Maybe I graduate soon and all, but you're more to me than just classes and office talks. I...

[ he swallows hard, a little embarrassed. ] I just hope you know that.

[there it is - the thing he's been avoiding ever since his lapses in judgment when it came to tim laughlin started drawing further and further stretched out. this here is maybe the most dangerous thing he's ever done in his five years with georgetown. the kicker is it's also the most intoxicating - and what he feels for tim isn't anything a warm body and nameless somebody at a bar has even remotely come close to filling for him. but the idea of tim no longer being his direct student (a semantic, really, seeing as he'd still be a student and off limits by technicality) has weighed on him heavier and heavier with each passing flirtation, every bit of banter and even the way a few teachers have taken to playing delighted audience at how well they verbally spar with each other. sometimes that little office feels more welcoming and filled with all the warmth that tim emanates in a way that screams home, his expensive walk-up not even coming close.

what happens after graduation? it's a possibility he's refused to let himself consider out of fear and obligation - fear that his darling icarus won't get struck down by the sun, he'll shoot so far past it that he'll land somewhere in the stars, adored by everyone and everything he touches. obligation to some conduct a teacher should be exhibiting in not fucking his students - definitely current and probably not former. his tenure had been the most important thing on his radar before last december ground it all to a halt, and while hawk is fully capable of playing his cards right and keeping them close enough to the chest to hide it...it's still a risk no matter how he looks at it.

but that's not what he's looking at right now: tim, a study in the beautiful light of the golden hour, flushed from the heat or the wine or the feelings that this stolen moment has stirred in both of them. whatever happens after they leave the safety of this little table or set foot back on campus - this will have changed them, altered their bond and heightened their infatuation unquestionably. how the hell do you put back pandora's box?

on some level, hawk knew when he did this - spur of the moment or not - that there was no going back. the stakes would only keep raising; the rewards and things that would satisfy would only grow interminably.

it fucking scares him to think there is no mere sliver of his heart that is clutched between tim's hands - it's a significant chunk that same day he stepped past the threshold and hurriedly rushed to the back. the memory of it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile, head tipping back with a soft laugh.]

Didn't stay in the back for long though. Just as well, seeing as you're one of the only ones who could keep up with my lessons. Then and now.

[the empty wine glass is a welcome distraction, and hawk doesn't even think before he picks up the bottle with one hand, twisting it with his wrist to give tim another generous pour and otherwise forgetting that he probably has a low tolerance. it's coming with dinner, even if their appetizers are sitting largely ignored while his fingers lightly run along the underside of tim's palm for a moment in lieu of answer - committing to anything, really.]

We are. On a date.

Listen, Skippy I -

[god, whatever bullshit he was going to say utterly dies in this throat, expression equally and helplessly endeared to the way tim is so open and honest even with his feelings and the look on his face here. christ, how can he give that up? not even taste the forbidden fruit just once in its flesh? fuck.]

I do know that. And believe me, I think about it. All the time.

[he meets tim at a level gaze, eyes bright with a hunger that's not for the feast of seafood or italian spread out in front of them.]

Ever since Christmas - I've played the "what if" game. I don't regret the way it's happened now. Getting to know you like I have...you're right. It is more than just the classes and the office hours and the debates.

[there's an inexplicable lump in his throat he swallows hard around, shaking his head to break the trance momentarily and reach for his wine too.]

It's you I can't stop thinking about. It's you I wanna see at the end of a long day. It's you I wish I was coming home to, curled up in my bed.

I don't know what that means for us after the semester right now.

[it's a bit of a delayed realization that it could sound like a rejection, so hastily he leans in and adds in a lower voice:]

Listen - I'm not writing anything off between us. We'll figure it out - alright? But first we have to get you through summer exams.

[hawk softens again, knowing he shouldn’t - but lifting tim’s hand to graze his lips against the back of his knuckles softly.]

I just wanna do right by my boy.

Edited 2024-02-21 06:06 (UTC)

[ there's something that will haunt tim about the way hawk admits he's been thinking about him for months and months now. it makes him burn a little hot now as it is, makes something roil in his belly uncomfortably, but pleasantly. he is wanted and desired by a man he also wants and desires in a way he's never experienced before. ]

It could be that. One day. If - If you want.

[ tim waiting for him, curled up in his bed after a long day. for a brief moment he allows himself to imagine the life that they might have after he graduates. the apartment he only hazily remembers, warm strong arms, the scent of his aftershave... and the way hawkins fuller is looking at him now - soft and open. whatever happens, he wants to feel as loved as he does right now, for the rest of time.

it all seems like a fairy tale really, the impossible come true.

but there it is - i don't know what that means for us. of course. it's not a rejection, and tim tries to gently remind himself it's being practical, realistic. the reality of their situation is that they can't date like this in the open, they can't do anything more than this simply due to the nature of their meeting. ]

But - right, yes. Sorry, I guess... I've been told I have a way of coming on strong.

[ because timothy laughlin can do nothing in half measures, and even falling in love means he is head first, all in. if that's what this is, anyway. but it feels like something stronger than he's ever felt, and the mere idea that there's the possibility that whatever this is could end in them apart, or separate, or anything not what they're sharing now?

it feels impossible.

but there goes his hand, hawk's lips brushing the back of it and he can't help the soft little gasp that passes by his lips - it's quiet, almost more a soft breath than anything, but his eyes widen, his face burns miserably. ]

You are. You really, really are. I... I know this is all complicated. So complicated. But I'll fly through the exams and it's just one more year. I - I want to do right by you, too. But everything will be easier after graduation. But -

[ he gives hawk's hand a squeeze, eyes falling to where the lips fell against his skin, where it feels like it's utterly burning. ]

I don't have any expectations. I know that... we have to figure things out. If you want to. I just - I don't mind what it is, so long as I can see you.

[ in the future, he'll look back at this and be furious with himself. but for now? he can't help but get wrapped up in the slow, creeping heat of attraction, nerves, and the wine. the wine that hawk refilled.

he absently takes another sip. ]

I hope that's alright.

[none of this is right - all the secrets, the admissions that are spilling out of him as easily as the elegant pour of sweet red right into tim's glass. they should stay buried and locked away, something for him to fantasize over in moments of weakness (and loneliness) while he rides out the rest of his time until tenure on iron willpower and long distance one-night stands. and yet here sits timothy laughlin in front of him - maybe the most earnest, genuine man he's ever known with secrets buried just as deep and no less alluring for it. the boy that's managed to break through every rule, every barricade, every method of protection against his integrity and all his fears combined with a sweet smile and maybe the first person in the history of dc not to have an ulterior motive. there should be a cacophony of alarm bells ringing in his head, anything to tell him to cut this off before he gets in too deep.

(shit, it's too late for that now, isn't it?)

hawk has fallen hard and not even really fast - the slow tension churning since december through a whirlwind of coaxing, trust, and genuine pleasure getting to know his student on an impossibly deeper level. no one has captivated him like this with their values, their intrinsic way of being so goddamn good despite all the bad around them. despite hawk being easily lead astray, judgment clouded by an intimacy that transcends the physical - not that he'd pass up the opportunity on that given the obvious attraction that brought them here in the first place. so yeah, maybe his fantasies alternate between the "one day" tim talks about: thinking about him barefoot and padding through the kitchen in only hawk's button down, smiling into his shoulder every morning when he wakes up, gripping his thigh or holding his hand in the car on the way to a date just like this.

just like this, except without any rules and restraints. one day.]

Yeah, it's complicated.

[he nods in agreement, only for it to turn into a subtle shake of his head like it doesn't even fucking matter to him right now.]

I don't think I'm about to make it any less complicated by telling you this - but I don't think I can go a whole semester without seeing you anymore.

[he exhales like he's just breathed out a confession, and in a way he has - not coming on as strong as tim, but revealing just enough of his own desires that simply can't be ignored by virtue of their intensity now.]

It would be better for us both to wait for graduation, sure.

[hawk's eyes bore into tim's, head tilting and hand squeezing as if it might fully say what's between the lines. it would be better, but i can't wait anymore.]

But it is alright.

[his lips curve up into a slightly more mischievous smile, eyes twinkling as he raises his own almost drained glass in mock salute.]

You may not have expectations...but I have plenty.

[there's something low and promising in that, a heat under his own skin that he hopes tim feels too when his thumb shifts inward, slowly dragging up along the delicate veins and soft pulsepoint for a few electric moments.]

Think we might want to consider eating - at least one bit of hunger we can sate tonight.

[his free hand gestures to the otherwise ignored appetizers and menus that have yet to be collected. but his eyes don't leave that pretty flush on tim's skin, nor do they stop from dropping to his lips briefly and back up again.]

I won't tell anyone.

[ it comes out before he can help himself, the wine making him a little hazy now that it has hit his otherwise empty stomach. he's encouraged by the press of a thumb against his wrist and tim's mouth runs dry, his heart pumps a little faster, and the want he feels is suddenly so stark and so real, it reminds him of the way they'd been leaned over one another weeks ago in hawk's office.

his fingers flex, sliding against hawk's palm to the cuff of his sleeve, catching under it. ]

I don't think I can go two weeks again like that without seeing you, honestly. But I'll wait - I'll do whatever you tell me.

[ because getting even this - the affection and what feels like honest attention - it makes tim bloom with heat, with desire, with hope. he's sharing dinner with a man who is caring, loving, kind, intelligent...

one day his future may just be more of this. or at a shared table in a condo, in an apartment, something that's theirs. or he'd like it to be. they can be more than just this delicate balance of teacher and student. graduation will come, tim will find some job, and then they will simply be two working professionals.

it's a beautiful dream.

his expression lights up, burns hot and pink, when hawk speaks. i have plenty. it makes him wonder just what the car ride home might be. will they hold hands like now? will his hands be allowed to roam, will he be able to sing to the radio or roll the windows down and keep a hand on the man's thigh?

right.

food. dinner. ]

O-oh. Right. Don't want the dinner to get cold.

[ and he regretfully pulls his hand from hawk's, letting his fingers drag over his skin until he pauses, finger tip to finger tip. but it's impossible to ignore the way hawk looks from his mouth and up, and the way that tim's do the same. what would he do if he leaned over now and kissed him. instead, he plucks at hawk's hand, drawing it up, leaning over just enough that he presses his lips against his knuckles once, and then, briefly? where no one may see the soft pass of his lips? the pad of his thumb.

he releases it then and grabs his wine glass, sipping from it before he starts in again on the appetizer.

it's a miracle he's even able to spit his order out when the waiter comes to take their entree orders and collect their menus, for even tim feels the heat of his boldness as he speaks. when she leaves, his eyes flicker back to hawk. ]

Thank you for bringing me here. With you.

[i'll do whatever you tell me sends a rush of blood where it absolutely shouldn't be going right now, and it's hard not to think of all those nights propped up at his desk doing exactly that with "skippy", watching him bend every which way and comply with each of his orders to simple perfection. the thought of doing some of those in person, no distance between them, where he might watch pleasure contort across every smooth angle of tim's face for his leisurely perusal...that's more intoxicating than any wine or malted liquor could ever inspire. it makes him think of the car ride too when he watches the pretty blush that seems reluctant to fade from tim's cheeks - it only hits him just now that he's been making generous pours when the boy is a self-confessed non-frequent drinker. and it means something more than just the endearing realization that he's probably getting tipsy off the energy between them and the wine and the rich italian food they're sharing - it means he trusts hawk to let himself get loose and honest and so goddamn earnest.

it's hard not to feel his chest tighten with abject affection at that. hard not to consider how difficult navigating the ride home is going to be when hawk is already reaching his limit of self-restraint at patience when all he wants to do is lean over and plant one on him, to taste how much better this wine is straight from rosy lips and breathe in the familiar scent of him that had lingered on his pillows and sheets, haunting him for weeks after tim left. god. it'll be in his car now, surely adding pep to his step when gets on campus after letting it linger in the mornings among coffee and a cigarette. it'll be there waiting for him in the parking lot, almost like he can pretend tim is at home doing just the same.

fuck. when did he let himself get into it this bad?]

Thank you for coming. With me.

[the moment dies down just a bit when tim finally pulls his hand back, and hawk thinks that'll be the end of it for now - until those soft lips mimic his earlier motion with a sweet kiss to his lips and then, impossibly, another lick of heat when they graze his thumb. he'd be stupefied if there was a kitten lick to accompany it, and thank fuck there isn't, because he's not sure he wouldn't immediately find himself at half mast. the surprise is evident in the way his brows shoot up for a moment, lips parting before he grins and recovers easily, turning and ordering his own meal with a smooth little interaction with the waiter.

the rest of the meal is rewarding in its own way - learning more about tim's aspirations as if they haven't covered it dozens of times already, yet still always revealing a glimmering pearl of something new that hawk wants to covet for himself. he opens up about his own time at georgetown nearly a decade ago, even an anecdote about craig shitfaced and doing the walk of shame across fraternity grounds to the star spangled banner on veterans day after a hookup gone wrong that made the rounds for weeks after.

the sun has long since set, the warmth now flickering across tim's honeyed gaze from the candles lit at their table and the romantic atmosphere only ticking up a notch. he finds himself sneaking glances as tim eats his meal here and there - to watch his lips wrap around a fork, to savor the flavor of something particularly rich, to offer a twinkling little glance of affection the few times he catches hawk do it.

it's a shame it has to come to an end. but hawk swirls the remnants of his final glass of wine, draining its contents in one elegant swallow before flagging down the waiter again.]

We'd be kicking ourselves if we didn't at least try dessert. Could you bring the menu when you've got a sec? Thanks, boss.

[it's an excuse to drag this out a little longer, and an utterly transparent one at that. if anything he looks a tiny bit sheepish when he shrugs at tim.]

This is going to beat anything in my snack drawer, by the way.

[an idea strikes him, and once it takes niggling hold at the root of his thoughts, there is no avoiding it. there's an amused glint in his eye, and he leans forward conspiratorially.]

How about we split something? Thoughts on strawberry cassata cake?

[ tim could never say no to a man like hawkins fuller, especially not now. even though they're not touching and instead spend the next while eating and talking, it's easy to lose track of time. the sun outside dies down to dark, the stars start peeking out in the dusk, and their conversation keeps him engaged to the point he doesn't even fully acknowledge the food he's eating.

he's sure it's a delicious meal - hawk wouldn't go for anything less - and yet he finds himself dazzled by the man across from him. he looks earnestly into the ice blue of his eyes, memorizes the way he smiles or the way he says his name. he learns about the man's time at georgetown, his younger days, craig. and in turn tim tells hawk about his journey to georgetown, some of his own wild little stints with friends thus far, but there aren't many stories like that. it all turns to the future instead.

he's just finished taking another sip of his (what, second?) glass of wine when the evening begins to wind down. this is the part with the checks, goodbyes, the drive back. everything he's dreading. ]

Dessert?

[ he huffs a little and dumbly reaches for his glass of milk, mostly drained and a replacement brought out when the waiter brings with him the dessert menu. more time purchased by way of cake and sweets. tim's smile brightens a little and he leans forward on the table with both elbows, chin perched atop the back of one wrist, hands folded to one side. ]

I don't know - the snack drawer has been pretty incredible. It's like the lady at the front desk knows me or something like that.

[ there's a playful wrinkle of his nose, and it's evident in the way he says it he knows exactly who stocks that snack drawer now. he scoots forward a little in his seat when hawk leans in, his own brows raising over the dark rims of his glasses. his face flushes again. ]

I don't know what that is, but I like strawberries. And I like you well enough so I guess we can split it.

[ there's a little smile, a shrug of a shoulder. the waiter comes back with the menus and confidently tim shakes his head, holding a polite hand up. ]

Sorry, I think we've already decided. Seems someone knows the menu well here. [ he grins. ] Strawberry cassata cake - just one, please. Two forks, though, if you don't mind? Thank you.

[ and there's a nod of understanding from the waiter and he's off again. tim's heart couldn't feel fuller. ]

This has been really wonderful, Hawk.

[yeah, the food hasn't exactly been the highlight he's focusing on here either, even if it is the top notch meal he'd brought time here to celebrate over. christ, he's even forgotten that's what they were here for in the first place - celebrating his win over craig, because it's all too easy to just melt into what he wishes this was at its core. what it is, even if they have to pretend it's not. to focus instead on everything else - every facet of tim's face in a new light - the way he chews as thoughtfully as his face shifts before spitting out some of the most complicated labor law policies, the excitement in his eyes that seems to only grow brighter with each sip of wine, the heavenly glow on his skin and the beautiful flush on his cheeks that deepens with the nighttime warmth of the atmosphere - it's even more rewarding than the steak that's sizzled to perfection placed before him, or the own flutter of warmth he feels in his chest with each additional sip of wine.

it's why he wants to draw it out just a little longer. that, and to avoid the insurmountable desire to just fucking kiss the boy - and the thought of being in close quarters after such an intimate few hours is almost too much to bear. he's already caved and done the most irresponsible possible thing multiple times: meeting skippy after christmas, letting a drugged tim crash at his home, and now - a dinner date with his top student before he's even out of his class. there's just one last line that he cannot and will not be able to justify by any means, trying steadfastly to refuse its persistent gnawing at the base of his skull where he imagines his baser instincts all lie screaming at him to let go. but then again, what would he know? he's a polisci teacher, not in biology. maybe all the bloodflow really is controlled by his dick, which is also a very possible thing.

his legs shift under the table again when tim leans in, pointed toes of his oxfords knocking against his date's with intention and a grin that plays like he's sheepishly been caught.]

Was wondering when you'd figure that out. It didn't start that way, but you're as regular a fixture in there as my favorite chair so it only seemed right.

[after he'd managed to turn tim's despair around after christmas and figured out how far he was going to save pennies for lunch, that's when it started, even if he'll probably never admit it.

he nods when the waiter takes tim's order, smiling in acknowledgment and thanks. his heart feels caught in his chest - tight with such affection and simultaneously pounding in knowing what he wants to do next.]

Yeah, it has.

[he shouldn't say it, but he finds he can't look that sweet face in the eye and leave it unsaid.]

Best date I've ever been on, actually.

[and tim will know well by now - anything hawk says doesn't come from just being kind or for the sake of it. his brows lift, chin tipping up as their thick cake layered with strawberries and cream arrives and is placed between them both.]

Ah. Here we go - I think you're gonna love this.

[hawk snags both the forks at first before tim can, not wanting to lose either the opportunity or his nerve before the moment is well and truly gone. his gaze grows a little harder, more focused as he slowly sticks the fork through the slightly chilled piece, twisting up a decadent dollop of cream and berries in one before lifting it not towards his own mouth, but extending it very clearly for tim to lean in and take himself.]

Try it for me - open up.

[a beat, voice lowering into something low and stretched out.]

Like a good boy.

Edited 2024-03-11 04:24 (UTC)

The best I've been on. I mean it.

[ he's been on a few dates here and there - once with a girl from church his mother tried to pair him with. second, with a girl from bible school. one other girl in college because he truly thought maybe he could figure himself out without the church involved. but figuring himself out meant a boy with a pretty face named arthur, and that night the timbre of his prayers changed.

it's no different now - sitting across from hawk in the dim light of the restaurant, feeling hazy and warm from the wine. he's had far, far too much at this point, he knows that much. there's no turning back now, but he would drink another bottle if it meant prolonging this little date.

the cake arrives, though, perfectly prompt to his great dismay, but hawk swipes the forks and he blinks up at him, surprised and wide-eyed. he almost opens his mouth to protest, but then -

ah. ]

It looks delicious, sir.

[ tim's mouth has suddenly run dry, his face heating a little more and he leans his chin heavily on his folded hands, watching as hawk cuts the slice, scoops some of the cream, and a slice of fresh strawberry. it moves across the table in slow motion and tim feels as though he stands on the precipice of something - something that should he leap toward and across, there will be no true return. ]

Only for you, mister.

[ tim's voice drops, a little playful, his doe-eyes heavy lidded and cheeks flushed. he looks everything the long-lashed temptress he does when on camera, lips poised into an innocent little pout that reeks of innocent curiosity. his hands drop to the table and he presses up a little, scooting out of his chair enough to lean in. there's no one too close on their side of the restaurant so he decides to milk it, opening plush lips but first extending his tongue, letting it catch the underside of the fork.

it's slow, the way he curls his tongue and lips around the helping of the cake, and it's no accident he lets some smudge at the corner of his mouth. he tips his head back enough to take the bite from the fork itself, to savor the flavor and close his eyes in a low, pleased hum.

he leaves the frosting at the corner, and remains leaned in, lifted just slightly over the dessert between them. the wine makes him bold, brave. but not enough to cross enemy lines just yet. ]

It's so good. How did you know I like strawberries and cream so much? I must have been a very good boy to earn this.

[it occurs to him that he really ought to ask how many dates tim has been on - not for ego's sake (well - maybe a little bit for ego's sake) - but to gauge what that really means. sometimes it's still hard to reconcile the boy on camera who he'd assumed must have men falling for him left and right, dying to spend even just five minutes of time with him in whatever method was allowed. that assumption had extended into the daydreams about real life too - did he have a boyfriend? single? dating around? surely he had his pick of anyone he wanted. but then there's the tim he knows and remembers the slurred words of in the hospital that day, affirming there really wasn't anyone here for him. no friends, certainly no boyfriend, and not even classmates who might think twice other than to copy notes when they'd ditched.

it seems utterly unfathomable to him that it would be that way - that the light he sees in tim that is overwhelmingly vibrant and beautiful and unique would be otherwise unobserved by almost everyone around him. of course there are other teachers who admire his contributions - but they won't remember him the way hawk does, moreso a passing fascination and a novelty that a student is willing to put in so much extra work. that someone is actually thoughtful in their answers, not on auto-pilot to get a great and get out of the class. it's why no one's gone the extra mile to nurture him, to reach in and shape the rough edges of the diamond that's inside into something glittering and spectacular, ready to dazzle the world.

(that's why he knows his own time is limited - because someday everyone else will catch up. they'll see tim for all the kindness and warmth and intelligence he possesses, and they will elevate him to the pedestal he should occupy. they'll adore him, and hawk will be the one fading into the background, irrelevant - just a stepping stone along the way.)

but there's little time to linger on the way his chest twinges with something painful at that idea, instead lining up the first bite of dessert and offering it oh so politely to his date, just like a gentleman should. none of this was going to be chaste, per se - but hawk immediately realizes there's a very solid chance he's completely underestimated tim's ability to set his entire chest ablaze, dick twitching with want as he watches the show unfold. and it really is something of a show - not the finessed, choreographed kind of thing he remembers from earlier streams, but the moment just getting the better of tim and letting him dive headfirst into it, the only way he knows how. he watches him scoot in eagerly, eyes falling half-lidded between a coquettish little declaration that this is all for hawk - his mister, and then he pushes himself up with his back arched the way he might to show off that pretty pink hole hawk knows lies beneath. sticks out his tongue, gleaming under the dim lighting as it wraps around the underside of the fork.

there's no way that cream left at the corner of his mouth is anything but intentional - made to drive him slowly into temptation with no deliverance from the evil of it. fuck, hawk wants to grip him by the collar and drag him in, taste the strawberries and cream from the inside of his mouth and no other way. lick him clean, savor every inch of that velvety warmth and cherish the precise flavor of timothy laughlin. make him moan around it, moreso than he already is over the silvery tines of the fork.

tim should know he has hawkins fuller wrapped around a finger in that moment, rooted to his seat, utterly riveted by what's on display for him. what ultimately, he just can't touch. well - not completely.]

Yeah, fucking delicious.

[he hasn't had a single bite, but that's not what he's talking about anyway. but he leans in anyway, thumb brushing against the corner of tim's mouth where that little peak of white lingers. it's tempting to bring it to his own mouth, but instead he drags it along the seam of tim's lips, waiting for him to open his mouth and suck it inward.]

You've been real good. You want some more?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject