[UNI AU]

[homosexuals]

CAMBOY UNI AU

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

Comments

[apologetics]

I really am your good boy. Just for you.

[ there's a husky, airy sort of confidence to it in the way his voice drops back into a low, lazy rumble. the aftereffects of his orgasm have left him feeling absolutely fluid, and even the way he shifts to make some room for himself on the bed is lazy and slow, near feline in the way he stretches out. if he could somehow dispel some of the fiery heat that writhes beneath his skin, he would, and it shows in the curl of his toes, the twist of his fingers in the sheets.

and this is where it all comes to an end, usually. the fantasy shatters by the ring of a notification of payment, brought on by a screen going black and the room going strangely quiet. so he doesn't look at the screen when he hears the first notification. it will be the money, a goodbye.

but then another, and another. his head tips, eyes fluttering open and when he looks at the screen he feels suddenly, strangely overwhelmed. he swallows hard, sucks in a breath, and though it might look like he's just caught up in the throes of an afterglow, tim knows better.

he hums, softly. ]

It was.

Intense.

[ but that You alright, Skip? - a shortening even of the pet name he's earned, the concern. the careful care. he stares at the screen for a long time, the hand on his abdomen sliding up his chest, but the motion is absent in the way he reaches for his own chin, tacky fingers lingering there, as though caught in sudden thought. ]

I'm good. Ah. Great.

[ and he is. tim just breathes for a second, and in the dim light, there might be the faintest peek of a quirk at the corner of his lips. wry, maybe. a little self-surprised. but he's coming down, slowly, from the high of it all - from the burning thing the last hour has been, and somehow, here alone in his dorm room, even when the knowledge that he's been looked after on the other side of the screen - he feels strangely alone. ]

You?

I guess that's silly. Of course you're alright.

[ a soft huff, embarrassed at himself. what else can he even say? this crosses the lines he never thought existed, that he never wondered about.

i wish you were here. i wish you would stay. i wish you were real. i wish you cared for me like it seems. i wish someone did. ]

Hope I wore you out enough to get some good, good sleep. Coming up on the holidays, like you said. [ and there's a small pause, consideration for what he should say, how he should end this, if he should end this. ]

They better not work my man too hard. Try not to let them. For your boy's sake.

[ a bit of the fantasy, the playacting, the return from a place he's unfamiliar with, but he's doing a bad job at finding the tone, the notes to hit. instead, he sounds soft (too soft) and sincere. god, is this why he's always calling him sweet?

and where he'd use the name milton in the past, where he'd trust that the man had monogrammed stationery or clothes with the letter M scrawled beautifully across them? he doesn't now. no. ]

Sweet dreams, mister.

[homosexuals]

[there's a few moments where it's hard to read the tone on the other end - wondering if it's just the lazy satisfaction of coming back down to earth, dropping from the high of a climax that must have wrung him out and exhausted him down to his bones. hawk would bet money, if he were a betting man that is, on skippy sleeping nice and deep tonight. or is it a discomfort? was hawk the one reading too much into these little slips of a more intimate side of skippy? the voice chats, the unadulterated pleasure, the way he obeyed every single command, wanted to please him? maybe he has misread after all, and maybe his little tagline is the signal to get gone, both of them coming back down to reality that this is at its very core just a transactional exchange. there's a distance he can't pinpoint even if it feels like it isn't necessarily towards him.

hawk doesn't feel lonely, even if the awkwardness is starting to settle in just a little. he's never done pillowtalk before, and he wasn't really planning to start. his own cock has since settled, and he's more than ready to jump in the shower and get another good round in before crashing into bed himself. and he's absolutely not thinking about what it would be like to come back out to a warm body - skippy's languid limbs stretched out on cream sheets and a navy duvet kicked down and loose around his legs. that would just be stupid - part of the fantasy he'll never have, so why start thinking about it now?]

Yeah? Me too. Great.

[skippy must be on the same wavelength then, and yeah, there's the sweetness he's always making a point to mention. it makes his lips twitch upward with a smile, ducking his head too and staring at the keyboard for a few more moments.]

You did. But that goes double for you - try and take it easy and enjoy them.

[he's not always around on the app - which is only on his desktop for obvious reasons, but he does know the frequency that he typically gets skippy's notifications on his throwaway email account. and besides, the holidays should be a time for family in any normal circumstance, just not his own - the kid deserves a break where he's not performing to a bunch of married, miserable old bastards.

better not work my man too hard.

it should earn a firm reply, another wall - the typical boundary that comes with every bit of baggage in hawkins fuller.

i'm my own man.

i don't belong to anybody.

i like my freedom, thanks.

but it doesn't come, because there's something in the haze of his soft, almost tender declaration that makes hawk's throat burn and chest clench with an emotion he won't let himself feel beyond this desk.]

I'll do what I can. Wouldn't want to worry my boy when he should be enjoying his holidays.

Get some rest.

Night, Skippy.

[it's only after he's closed out the chat does the other tip go through - five minutes after he hopes the boy has logged off and won't have to think about until the light of day reminds him that it was all just the dream of a fantasy anyway.]