𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚜 "𝚑𝚊𝚠𝚔" 𝚣. 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm[UNI AU]
CAMBOY UNI AU
tell
me and i forget, teach me and i remember.
homosexuals) wrote2023-12-22 11:36 pm
no subject
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. ]
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[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?]
no subject
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.
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[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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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(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.]
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[ 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.
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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?
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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.
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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.
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[ 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.
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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?
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it's different still from the boy on the camera, though. he's less lewd, less showy, less pushy, but there's a heat in his own eyes, heavy-lidded, dark lashes fanning against his cheeks at the compliment. ]
It is delicious.
[ he nearly opens his mouth to speak again, but hawk's thumb swipes at the cream, and there's so little hesitance in the way his mouth opens against the pad of his thumb, the way he doesn't just press a kitten lick like might be expected, but instead the way he sucks his thumb in to the first knuckle even, swirling his tongue around the sweet confection there against his skin before tipping his head back with a soft pop.
tim's eyes stay locked on hawk's the whole time, even as he grins, hums a low little teasing sound, all to lead up to that soft, little kitten lick against his thumbprint. just a tiny little chase for something more.
they're tucked into the back, and hawk's broad shoulders no doubt hide most of this from view anyway, tim shifts his weight a little, hips a little better on display over the arch of his back as he waits. ]
Please, sir. [ his heart pounds, the wine makes his blood simmer, and it's easy to forget the rest of the room. he will let hawkins fuller feed him this sweet cake until he chooses he's tired of it. what will it mean when this ends? when the cake has run out and they have to return to the life they had before this? ]
I want anything you're willing to give me, mister.
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but that mouth, oh jesus - it sends a searing pulse of want straight down to his groin, eyes widening briefly before narrowing in a simmer of self-control. his lips tug to one side in a pleased smirk, thumb flexing lightly in tim's mouth as he feels the soft wetness swirling around the digit. it lasts simultaneously mere seconds and yet time stands still - hawk trying to memorize the little flash of pink retreating, the way his mouth looks held open as he tilts back and releases it like he's doing something else instead. fuck, it shouldn't be this easy to make him feel hot under the collar, a pulsing throb rushing down to his dick. what hawk wouldn't give to drag him by his shirt across the table and taste the cream straight from his mouth, to swirl his own tongue against tim's.
fuck. he can't. this is playing with fire - and he forces himself to steady his breath and keep his shit together. the cold rush of reality is that tim is probably tipsy by now, and anything more than this would make him no better than the man at that pizza parlor months ago. please sir is an unfair testament to his iron will in this moment, that he doesn't do something stupid like nudge his oxford up tim's calf or worse.
still. it's hard not to be endeared much as he is utterly turned on in the moment. hawk's smirk softens into something fond, hand cupping his cheek briefly as he stabs another bite onto his fork and offers it over again.]
Here, have some more.
You make it look good.
[his gaze drops to the way tim is perched up against the table, swallowing thickly and glancing over his shoulder briefly before turning back and lowering his voice anyway.]
Better than what's on this plate, that's for damn sure.
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it's filthy, thinking this way. it's nearly filthy what he's doing, leaning over and accepting each healthy forkful. he shouldn't be so obscene in public, shouldn't show this much interest in general, but the wine has made him bold, and the romance of the night even bolder.
so he leans to take the next bite, as slow and sensuous as the one before, but just as he closes his mouth around only half the bite (resulting in icing of course spreading upon his lips), he reaches to catch hawk's wrist as his head pulls away, thumb pressing into his pulsepoint like before as his free hand pries the fork away.
licking his lips, tim turns the fork instead toward hawk - the half bite left on the tines, icing smudged and waiting. ]
But you haven't even tried it. You should. I'll share, sir.
[ he offers the fork out himself to hawk, just as the man had done for him, and tim's cheeks burn with the thought of his own audacity here - the courage he'd never had with any other date before. it doesn't help that the heat has traveled down his chest and has made his cock throb with want in a way he's not experienced.
he wants hawk to want him. and while his coquettish behavior should be punishable by some, he can't help himself. he likes being this boy for hawk, and likes exploring just what this sort of affection can be like when they're far from campus.
it's silly, that a date like this gives him some kind of hope. he's seen movies, tv shows - dates like this end in sex, end in goodbyes, end in shame. but leaning over the table, fork extended, tim's earnestness is genuine and hopeful. ]
I promise you'll love it. What's on the plate, and off.
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this would all be a lot harder to justify if they didn't only have finals to get through. and then - on a technicality, he'll be relieved of his duties as tim's professor, instead reverting to a former acquaintance. if he was worth his salt, he'd be nothing but a reference for tim to use on his future burgeoning opportunity at a career in washington - because despite all the lines he's crossing by sitting in this very seat, watching tim suck at his thumb and groan around a fork of cake like a goddamn coquette - hawk wouldn't compromise him like that. and frankly, the sane part of him that still lives somewhere in his head wouldn't do it either.
but it's awfully hard to care when he watches that pretty pink tongue drag creamy white slow across his glistening lips, when his pulse jumps against that gentle press against his wrist. he relinquishes his grip on the fork with interest, tipping his head mildly as he wonders where tim is going with this. he's half expecting him to eat the rest in some other obscene measure, something that will have him utterly throbbing beneath his already rapidly tightening inseam - but instead tim goes and surprises him, utterly thoughtful despite this heated exchange. that's the skippy he knows - never too buried in his books to remember to be sweet, wine-drunk and heady with this anomaly between them, but still focused on offering hawk something too.
there's an affectionate warmth in his eyes, hawk glancing down through his lashes for a moment in consideration before he reaches out to grab tim's wrist in an expert mimic of the motion he'd just slipped past - fingers flexing against the bare skin and using it to pull the fork closer, opening his mouth and taking the bite of it without much pretense or fanfare. he's not the one to put on a show, to make it an indulgence the way tim can - but his gaze is heavy, deliberate in the way he fixes it on tim and maintains eye contact the entire time. there should be no question how deep the ocean of want that roils inside him is for timothy laughlin - it's bottomless, much in the same way it remains almost wholly unexplored.
he pulls back with an absent lick of his own lips, nodding in agreement and stroking lightly up tim's arm for a brief moment before pulling back.]
Pretty damn good. Shame the other one isn't on the menu.
[it doesn't have to be forever. we could - ]
Not yet, anyway.
[there's a conspiratorial grin, hawk extending his hand for the fork again.]
You want some more?
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hawk eats the cake with little show, but it's the tension between them, the connection of electricity unseen between the flutter of their lashes. when hawk speaks, he lets out the breath he hadn't meant to hold, finds himself absolutely shaken by how fixed he'd been in that moment, trapped in the quick sand of want and need and heady desire, bottomless and vast - laid out cleanly on a silver-tined fork. ]
Not yet.
[ not yet, hawk says and suddenly the world shifts somehow. it'd stared with no, never, can't to this. to not yet, not now, maybe, one day. the crevasse that lies between them is vast, yes, but not daunting. hawkins fuller wants him, desires timothy laughlin - not skippy. that alone is a fucking prize tonight. ]
You should have some first.
[ and in a little hint of cheeky defiance, he reaches to set the used fork across the small dessert plate before hawk, leaning enough that when he slides back, he lets his fingers trail over his forearm again, to his wrist, to tangle idly with his fingers like before.
cheeky, bold, wanting in a way he shouldn't, but at the very least he knows he can have this. and with his free hand he takes up the clean fork, stabs a bite from the remainder of the cake and pops it to his lips, all the while his fingers trace a tiny little pattern against his palm.
the honeyed brown of his own eyes raises then behind the thick rims of his glasses and he hums, thoughtful, nose scrunching in at the corners, eyes crinkling. ]
We'll have to look for cassiopeia later, when we leave. It's dark out - clear. We should be able to see her in the sky if we look hard enough on the drive back. It's said she holds the brightest star in the night sky.
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how could he do anything but want? it's practically eletric between them - and it has been ever since he set foot into hawk's classroom, christ.
so maybe it's clouding his judgment from never, can't, no to maybe, one day, soon. because he's been living in this fog the whole time, and having tim in front of him now, wide-eyed and flushed with admiration? it's clearing it up real quick for him.
hawk lets his fingers twine around tim's again, thumb brushing across his knuckles as he watches him pick up the fork and take his own bite this time. he gestures for him with a come hither motion to do it again, to turn it his way so he can open his mouth and have another to savor. it is pretty damn good, after all, and while it's sweet enough that he doubts he'll be able to take a stab at finishing the whole thing - he wants to draw this out as long as he can. before they have to get into close quarters with tim so warm and enticing for an hour and some change. before they have to head back to campus and pretend it's business as usual between them, that this hasn't changed everything for him, left him with a burning fire in his groin and his very soul that wants to consume the pretty thing sitting across from him looking utterly enamored.
but - it's the mention of cassiopeia that has him quirking his brows for a moment before his face smooths out and he tosses his head back and actually laughs. it's a genuine thing, easy and open and when he leans forward again with a little shake from side to side before looking at tim, there's equal measures of fondness and amusement in his eyes.]
You know - the first time you mentioned that, I had no idea what the fuck it was. Went along with it because, well - I was a little preoccupied, and I wasn't about to stop things to ask.
[it's maybe the first time he's acknowledged the reality of those sessions ever since shutting it down. admitting and making the connection between the two halves of their existence - now forever merged.]
You'll have to point her out to me. Not sure she can outshine you, though.
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it's easy to think that this is what their relationship could be - soft and warm and wanting from all directions. hawk's fingers around his, words against his ear, mouth on his knuckles, and they're done. but the acknowledgement of their meeting is a lot, heavy and real between them - the first time you mentioned that. tim curls their fingers together and sets his fork down. yes, there is some cake left, of course, but he won't eat all of it.
even if he wants to. ]
You can ask, you know. I know it's stupid, but I always felt like I could say whatever I wanted with you. During those sessions. Like your intelligence could match or best mine. Interrupt, next time.
[ he shrugs one shoulder, almost sheepish. ]
I think I'd find it hot, anyway. The instructor being instructed, and all. But no, I can't outshine you. That's what I meant.
[ he smiles a little, earnest and honest, before nudging the fork back in hawk's direction. tim keeps his hand in hawk's even as the server comes to inquire about the check, brings them the bill to close out their night. the fact that it has to end at all is enough to make him want to wither and cling and beg for a few minutes more, but he doesn't.
he watches as hawk elegantly signs his name, even as the server brings a little nondescript to-go box to take the remainder of the cake (hawk insisted, of course). but it's the weight of the man's arm around his back that gets him when they rise. the wine seems to hit him a little more as he stands, but it's a pleasant, humming sort of buzz that warms him from head to toe.
he follows hawk out into the cool, night air and sighs a little, keeping one of his own arms at hawk's back, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of his shirt. what is it to touch this man - to be even in his presence like this and be wanted so much but be so out of reach? what would he do, if he tip-toed up and kissed him here in front of the flashing lights of the restaurant's signs? he won't. but the thought is there when he tips his head up, letting his chin plop on hawk's shoulder for a moment so that he can talk a little quieter and stop him just short of the car. ]
If you look up, you can see her, you know. [ he grins a little, boyish and sweet, turning his body at an angle to hawk's, chest to his side as he reaches his free hand and points to one bright star in a cluster of five, forming a faint little w in the sky, blinking brightly down at them. ]
She was said to have unrivaled beauty. But don't read into the myth too much. She's up there as a punishment, really, they say. But I just think that it's beautiful that she has the brightest star in all of the sky, anyway.
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which is why it's exceedingly tempting to think about what happens when tim is no longer his student. it's too close a technicality - one he never would have even considered months before, no matter how sweet the scrunch of his nose when he laughed, or how entrancing the way his lips wrapped around pencils in clear evidence of an oral fixation. timothy laughlin would have just been his star pupil - someone he was attracted to in both mind and body - but he wonders if the sex, physical or not, is what really tipped this over the edge. it's hard to say - and seems especially unlikely given the way hawk eagerly slips up behind him as a clearly wine-tipsy, maybe even drunk tim rises to slightly shaky feet and he can't help but slide his hand to the small of his back and guide him like a lover would to the front door.
and once they're out in that perfect summer breeze - he lets it lift to wrap around his shoulders and keep him close as they walk side by side down the sidewalk and up the block to his car.
what might it be like, years from now? will he and tim be more than a fleeting infatuation and do this every other night? or will they be too gone on each other to do more than race home to get into bed with each other and stay there until hunger reminds them takeout is the only thing still open at such an obscene hour? or...worse, will they simply fade apart and peter out like everything else in hawk's life? it's hard not to consider it - to be reminded again no matter how much he tries to think around it, that tim is the one that's going to have options. his dreams are going to catapult him skyward, higher maybe even than the smattering of stars in a brilliant array spread out above them.
it'd be punishment for hawk, no one else. maybe he deserves it.]
I see her. She's nice and bright, but she's got nothing on you.
[hawk nudges tim's hip lightly in a tease, still not making any moves to guide them back towards the car. a little longer and he can pretend this is how it'll be.]
Why'd she end up being punished anyway? What was it you said - instructing the instructor?
Go on, Professor Laughlin.
[hawk turns, grin stretching his lips and pressing against the shell of his hear. it's audible in the teasing tone, the way he sounds near almost childish giggling.]
Hawkins Z. Fuller - present for class. I'm listening. But I hope there's no quiz later.
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he sways a tiny bit with the bump of a hip, letting his fingers grip against hawk's side where his arm has come to rest, slung low round his back and broad palm on his side. he's warm, sturdy, and the lips against the shell of his ear send heat white-hot and whip-fast shooting down down down south making the black, slender jeans feel all the tighter at their seams. but hawk sounds delighted, giddy even and something about that makes his heart skip a beat in his chest.
when he turns his head to speak to hawk, he realizes how close they are, nose bumping the man's, but it doesn't stop him from speaking as they walk. ]
It's really not romantic. I've been told I'm a terrible liar, or I'd just make something up that was much more interesting. But the tale's told that she boasted about her beauty - that she was even more beautiful than the Nereids. Poseidon was furious with this, and it's said he made her sacrifice her daughter to the sea and he sent her to sit in the throne she felt she deserved, but in the sky. Upside down, so no one could ever truly behold her beauty.
[ he huffs a little, sheepish, shrugging one shoulder as he finishes the tale, glancing away from hawk and up the street. two blocks more to the car, and then the dream will shatter beneath their feet. the pavement turned to glass, the carriage into pumpkins, and all the magic will wash away.
he tilts his head back up then to hawk, nose crinkled, brow pinched in thought. ]
And maybe I shine bright, but I don't think there's anyone on this whole Earth so beautiful as you. It's probably better she's way up there - there would be no competition.
I hope you took excellent notes, Mr. Fuller. I can't promise there won't be a quiz later - divulging that to you would go against my code of conduct. Lips sealed, alright?
[ and it's so brief, so faint and light, the way he boyishly lets his lips catch the corner of hawk's mouth after his own nose bumps against hawk's cheek, the way it's fleeting and shy like a doe spooked at the coming of dawn, and tim tilts his head a little surprised by his own boldness but a youthful, burning pride in it, too. his eyes are turned again on the sidewalk. ]
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