homosexuals | [UNI AU]

[UNI AU]

CAMBOY UNI AU

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

[tim's final is the first one he grades out the gate - which is becoming more and more of a habit. but there's a sense of triumph to know that he's made it throughout the last year and some change without breaking his rule: and now they're both free of it. on a technicality, sure, but all those things they'd had to keep reserved for fantasies and the future could be a reality now. to say hawk thinks feverishly about that night across candlelight and under the stars, filled with so much of what could be before he'd succumbed to his baser instincts and cracked under the desire to taste and feel and have tim - that doesn't even seem to come close to what it really is. everything he's forced himself to bury since december has come to a boil, barely contained under the surface. his dreams are both blissfully and torturously plagued by the feeling of tim's succulent lips - replaying the way they felt against his mouth and his body was firm and solid and everything he'd love to pull apart underneath sure hands.

it's no surprise he's had to spend many a morning jacking off or under a cold shower - greeting the day with morning wood and an empty bed that he's practically counting down to having filled. eventually. soon.

the semester draws to close with neither a bang nor a whimper, and hawk feels somewhat of a sinking in his gut when he realizes tim hasn't burst through his door or found some other way to reach out for their - dare he say it, happily ever after. maybe he's got cold feet. maybe he's realized the amount of obligations it's still going to take to make this a reality for another semester, until graduation and even beyond. but the answer comes in the form of an email from tim himself, hawk's blood rushing straight to his ears as he clicks to open it knowing nothing his boy is too smart to send anything untoward with their school emails still attached.

the good news: he'll still be seeing a lot of tim next semester.

the bad news: it won't be exactly the sort of tim he was hoping to get to finally see.

not that he's complaining, and there's something to be said for edging himself for another semester in close quarters entirely with his prized student. there was a certain melancholy that hadn't settled in at the knowledge that his classroom would be a little quieter, a whole lot less intelligent when it started up again in the fall. but this? this all but ensures his own stimulation and energy when it comes to teaching will be fulfilled - quite literally, his cup might runneth over. a full syllabus customized to the advanced level and precision a student like tim needs, and it'll look fucking spectacular on his resume to boot when it comes time to argue his case for an internship in dc.

still. it's the equivalent of balls that are bordering on the kind of crisp blue only found in the arctic. christ.

of course hawk accepts, polite and complimentary with only a few minor adjustments to his proposal. but it's the footnote that catches his eye, and after the last few days of coy back and forth, no real direction - it feels like he's a man in the desert with the promise of water and an oasis dead ahead. no mirage, no need to hide it anymore. two can play at this game, after all. not that he's going to compromise everything he's worked at so far, nor is he going to give tim the satisfaction of letting it be obvious right away. he knows he's being baited, and a part of him is immediately twitching behind his fly at the thought of tim dangling his own power over hawk here, drawing him in like a moth to the pretty flame.

the account he'd used to send the money for tim's summer class is still active, even if it's been idle ever since. but he logs in thinking about the hint of "work" and wonders what he's been missing. maybe he can just pay for an old one, or a few photos to keep as a personal spank bank through the next fifteen weeks.

instead, he gets something so blatant it makes his mouth run dry: tim, ever the perfect little student in a uniform that looks ripped from the pages of some rigid boarding school or private catholic institution. it hugs him in all the right places, youthful despite the obvious work put into his muscles that hawk has only had the briefest hint of lately. fuck. he looks good. he'd look even better if his face were in the picture - he can just picture the pout, the way he'd tongue the eraser or put the pencil over pursed lips.

before he can even think about it, closes out of all his actual work for the day, leaving only the browser with tim's livestream open. he thinks about it for a moment, bypassing the rest of the chat and sending over the amount for a private session. if he's gonna do this - he might as well go big since he's already home.]

Math's not my forte, but I think I can help.

You wanna play hot for teacher?

[ although tim can't be sure that hawk will be tuning in or not, he can't help but feel a little warm under the collar at the very thought of his own brazenness. perhaps it's the date that's made him bold - the way his mouth wrapped around hawk's finger, the fork, or the kissing on the sidewalk, in the car. he's thought about that night many times since returning, perching in hawk's office still like none of it happened. well, at least as much as he can.

tim's responding to chat, striking poses, running hands along his chest and thighs when asked to. it's all mundane, boring things. the occasional tip to say someone's name in that playful little purr, or the way he can wiggle his hips just so to make the school shorts seem tighter around his hips. it's his usual fare, really - but it pays. and this little stint has been lucrative. (he chooses not to think about the whys).

a name pops up in the viewing list though that sparks his eye - he remembers it. he'd specifically gone back to look at the heft donation made for his summer classes and committed the username to memory. he'd half expected hawk to delete it, but seeing that name pop back up makes him sit up a little straighter, makes him a little more attentive to how he looks on camera, or the way he sighs when one of his hands roams over a sensitive nipple beneath the sweater vest.

and then there it is - the donation. the message.

it's early enough in his stream that it won't hurt to move to a private. he's got footage thankfully he can stream on the back end so that those watching? well, they won't know the difference unless they're a regular viewer. thankfully he doesn't have to worry much about that.

the camera feed switches and tim hums, almost like a pouty little whine as he gets settled. ]

I don't think I know how to play that, mister. Wanna teach me?

[ tim slides the papers and pencil to the side, leaning forward on his palms so that the light accentuates the muscle of his forearms, and even reveals a loose button beneath his tie, where his adam's apple bobs. ]

That's a mighty big tip you gave me already - but it still didn't help me with my homework. I'm sorry, I'm not a very good boy tonight.

[ he can't be 100% sure that it's hawk, of course, but something in his gut tells him that it is. and it doesn't stop him from wanting it to be him. in fact, he's willing to take a little risk with this one - it's nice to think it could be hawk. that it could be his man on the other side of that screen, and he can almost imagine the way it felt to have his arms around him and his lips kiss-swollen. ]

How can I make it up to you, mister?

[it had occurred to him that maybe he should just close this account down, delete it into the ether just like the first one. but maybe deep down he'd always known he couldn't keep away forever - and considering he's already tossed a hell of a lot of caution to the wind in the form of candlelit dinner and stolen kisses across the seats of his car, what's a little bit of faceless fun with plausible deniability still attached? it should be ironic that tim is the one that's trying hard to be a good catholic boy and yet hawk feels like he's the one facing temptation down head on and failing - thanking christ he doesn't believe in the pits of hell or serpents winding around his ankles while he takes a bite of forbidden flesh. maybe that's the ironic part instead - that for all his temptation, he's still keeping his hands to himself in all of this. his moral code might have been bent for one timothy david laughlin, but it's still intact, and that's gotta count for something.

hawk lights up a cigarette, keeping it in his mouth as he adjusts and enlarges tim's video feed to take up his entire screen the way it used to be muscle memory. he's not that rusty with this after all, and while he's still got both hands unoccupied it's the perfect time to get all the foreplay and teasing on the books. hawk exhales through his lips, smoke curling around the screen and washing tim in greyish and blue hues. that's the one bad thing about this, as the little whine echoes through his speakers as a poor substitute for the real thing now that he's felt it against his own lips - he wishes he could see his face in this.

there's a way he could negotiate that, he's sure, but it means lifting the veil from his own end, and it feels so early in this game to admit to caving. the part that echoes in his mind, that hawk remembers almost more viscerally than the kisses and the way his pretty pink lips looked wrapped around a fork as poor substitute for something else - were tim's words that night in the car before he'd nearly made that single mistake that could change - and ruin - everything: even a boy's gotta protect his mister sometimes.

well, sometimes a mister doesn't want to let his boy down either by succumbing too quickly to his baser instincts.

once they're settled in the privacy of their own room, hawk lets his fingers do the walking and slips into his own role here with ease.]

Got something else big for you to work on tonight, but we'll get to that.

I'll be your Professor this evening, how 'bout it? You call me Professor or sir, and I'll help you ace your homework if you follow all my instructions.

Can you do that for me like a good boy?

[it's gauche, maybe, but hawk's dick is already thickening at the idea of tim on his knees calling him professor in this get up, playing into the very real relationship they have outside of this screen.]

[ tim knows that he should think of himself sad and pathetic for hoping that every anonymous tipper, that every one-on-one could be hawk at the other end of the text. there's no telling, not really. sure, he could look up names and donation histories and do some detective work, but a small part of him doesn't want to be disappointed.

the date had been wonderful - something he calls back to when he remembers that his schooling is coming to an end, and very possibly his... relationship? with the man may be, too. he lets all that fall to the wayside when the first messages pop up and tim hums, letting his knees splay wide with the way he sits on his heels, lets his body shift forward a little more so that the trim line of his waist is exaggerated on camera. ]

You think I can handle such a big project, Professor? That really means a lot to me.

[ there's a tilt of his head and if hawk pays enough attention he can see the faintest move of a muscle in his jaw - tim is worrying the plump swell of his bottom lip between his teeth. ]

Of course I can follow all of your instructions, Professor. After all, this is your class. I want you to teach me how to be a good boy for you - I really need this grade. I'll do whatever you tell me, sir.

[ he sits back on his bottom a little more, palms resting on his own thighs, which makes the hem of his shorts ride up just a little. ]

Please, Professor. Guide me. Tell me how you want me - I'll be your best student.

[it's not. in fact - it's probably a hell of a lot sadder for hawk to be here at all, hoping for the slip of a mention about him. he'd like to think he's not really as arrogant or condescending as he acts for the sake of posturing sometimes, but this whole setup tonight feels awfully point - if not outright catered - to him specifically. maybe they're both feeling the bite of loneliness, handling it the best way they can without breaking any rules or letting themselves give in to that magnetic pull of physicality and fall into a bed, against a wall, the floor...fuck, he'd take tim anywhere he could get him if it meant more of those fiery kisses, the splay of his palm and the warmth of his tight body pressed against hawk. for now though it just means miles apart, filling in all the blanks and relying on muscle memory from that night.

god, he fucking wants to see him. that's the one thing he's been denied - watching his face as he falls apart, curled with pleasure. to see the flush that he's positive starts at the tips of his ears and carries all the way down into that full body blush he's mastered the art of inflicting on him and devours every time.

of course - there's an easy way to do it. but that means losing his plausible deniability, and frankly - there's a bit of a thrill to this cat and mouse bit that he's certain his student must feel too. if this is to be their current channel of flirtation and stolen moments, of keeping the fantasy alive until this is all over and they can throw themselves into the real thing - they might as well make the most of it. and honestly, he should do this while he's got both hands, opening up a google window and typing in his best stab of a guess at how to spell this shit, doing halfway decent with a grin around his cigarette.]

Oh, I know you can take it. I can see it on you - even in the way you're sitting so fucking pretty for me.

[his gaze drops to those hands he knows from experience now have a callouses beyond where he grips his pen and scribbles away at his notes, still nimble in the way they traipse and press against skin. to the thighs that look firm and thick from the way they're bent underneath him right now, straining against those shorts he wishes he could rip right off the body below that belongs in museum for how finely carved it is.]

Yeah, I'll bet you do. You've been distracted lately - like you've got something on your mind. I want your full attention on me, and I promise you'll be rising right to the top of the class in no time.

[his fingers hesitate for a moment, and then he decides to simply fuck it all, punching in the keys and pressing enter before he can think twice.]

You follow my instructions, you'll be the brightest. Brighter than even Cassiopeia up there in the sky.

[what would be the chances of someone bringing that up? hawk had never even heard of it before tim typed it out in their chat, telling him the story. but maybe there's some other horny guy out there deeply into astronomy and birth charts and whatever the hell else the kids these days seem to get tangled up in. he's just got to hope tim takes a leap of faith here.]

I don't mean to be distracted, Professor. But I can't stop looking at your mouth in class, and your lectures are so interesting.

[ he shifts his weight just a little, letting his thighs spread just a few inches further so that the hard press of his slowly thickening dick can be seen against the fabric, waiting for attention.

otherwise, he preens a little at being told he's sitting so well and there's a little huff. ]

You've always had my full attention, sir. I'd like -

[ ... cassiopeia. there's a pause that he covers a fraction of a second later with some movement, letting his hands press up to his sweater vest and give it a little tug.

it can't be. he suspected, of course, with the user name and the history, but there's no telling. he wishes he could see a camera to the other side suddenly, could peer into the room hawkins fuller is sitting and see if he wants him now just as much as he did tucked away in that car.

he does, doesn't he? want him? or will it always be behind these screens with stolen and fleeting kisses from afar?

either way, even that would be enough, wouldn't it? ]

I didn't know you liked astronomy sir. Greek myths. God, you're the one distracting me now.

[ and there's a little coy laugh, light and a little baffled, but he bows his head enough so that the camera can see his jaw, the lobe of his ear - and how flushed they've become. ]

I'm listening, professor. For your instructions. I'll be good, I promise. Teach me what you want - teach me how to be the perfect boy for you. I'm a fast learner. How can I prove it to you?

You know what else must be awfully distracting? Those goddamn shorts. Starting to look a little tight - and I know it's hot in that room of yours. You'd think Dean S. could shell out on a better wall unit for the students, huh?

[another little hint sprinkled in. if skippy doesn't get it now, he's either playing coy on purpose or he's keeping it extra safe, which hawk couldn't possibly blame him for. he's given an inch with the expectation of taking a mile - no way in hell he'd hop on a camera in this scenario, exquisite date or not. audio? probably not, even if his dick twitches at the idea of tim getting to hear the praise he deserves heaped onto him. speaking of which, he stubs out his cigarette into his ashtray and reaches down to palm himself slow and easy just the way tim is toying with the hem of his sweater.]

Take the sweater off and unbutton your shirt. Get comfortable - one less distraction for you.

I dunno about full attention - not yet, it looks like.

[a clear tease about the strain in his shorts that's still roomy enough based on his extensive experience watching tim's cock bloom to life under his coaxing words. it's not often hawk finds himself practically salivating at the idea of someone like that, let alone has the obscene desire to press his mouth against their crotch and suck them off. he hasn't thought about anything like that since -

nope. not gonna let that derail this little performance. especially since if he didn't know any better, it feels tailored specifically for him.]

Mm, I'm no expert. Sweet boy told me her story recently - something tragic, only I was too busy drinking him in and committing the moment to memory to remember all the details.

Oh, you look nice and flushed. Get moving on that sweater, and then I want you to lie down on your stomach with your homework.

But Skippy? Don't you dare think about humping the bed.

Not until I give you permission, anyway. But you gotta earn it.

[ tim's spine straightens suddenly when he reads the text - dean s. the electrifying knowledge that yes, between the reference of the stars, the boy telling a story, and the dean?

hawkins fuller rests on the other side of the screen.

it's unfair how he aches suddenly to hear the rich, warm notes of his voice giving him instructions. to hear how his voice goes husky or hoarse with want. he knows too well hawk won't be seen on camera of course, but a yearning has made the fire burn low and hot in his belly all over again.

all the more reason to begin working the sweater up slowly, letting it ruck the shirt enough to show a dusting of fine hair down his abs to the happy little trail leading to his shorts. he wriggles out of the sweater, tossing it aside on a little sigh before he arches is back to start on one button, then two. ]

... Professor? [ does he even dare? is it worth acknowledging the way his voice hitched earlier when reading the name dean s.? yes. ] Should I put my glasses on for you?

[ it's a small offering - the plaintive, tentative little request for direction, but also an acknowledgement. he knows. he knows that now on the other side sits the one man he's wanted to tune in for all this time and it does make the tent in his school shorts show.

he doesn't wait for an answer when he reaches for them, letting them slide into view and then out of frame. he starts back on the shirt, undoing and fumbling with buttons until it opens all the way, revealing pretty, pink nipples already well at attention, the fair trail of hair on his chest, the tone of his muscles as he flexes to get the shirt off.

usually, he'd lay on his side - let the man see the long line of his body and just what he can do with those hips. but instead, he rises up on his knees and shifts down onto the bed after adjusting the camera. there's one strong arm, then the reveal of a shoulder, and soon? in view on the camera is the freckled, sun-kissed face of timothy laughlin, glasses perched upon flushed cheeks, hair a little mussed from removing his sweater.

he swipes his pencil, biting the eraser, scrunching his nose as he looks at the papers before him. there's an easy sigh, and next he speaks? the voice changer has gone altogether. there's no need for it. ]

I want to earn it, Professor. [ his hips wriggle behind him, where hawk can see the curve of his ass before he kicks his feet up, revealing the long socks, and crossing his ankles behind him. ]

I hope you aren't replacing your boy with that other sweet boy. I'll do anything to make it to the top of your roster. Tell me how you want it - how I can earn it. I'm very good at taking directions, Professor Fuller.

Yeah, Skippy. You should do that.

[hawk's heart rabbits up a notch at the insinuation - because the only way he'd know if tim obliged him is if he were to scoot that camera down and share the face of a boy he knows scrunches up in concentration. a face that's bloomed with an easy summer tan, surprising him considering he'd expected the delicate irish skin to burn before it would deepen pretty olive undertones. a face he's substituted into dozens of his fantasies leading up to this moment, pretending it was tim anyway. surely his hints have been enough, and tim's not so oblivious anymore to his intentions or his desires. maybe he doesn't know how had it's been for hawk to stay away, but he's here now, because fuck the rules and fuck the way he shouldn't. he should have never met skippy for coffee on a blustery december day that close to his business, but here they are.

they found each other all the same, didn't they?

his mouth goes dry, cock thickening underneath his slacks as hawk easily starts undoing his fly and letting his palm brush over the seam in a slow squeeze. is this a bad idea? is it dangerous? of fucking course it is, and hearing his own name as tim settles into position looking every bit the angelic school boy with a side of something feisty and begging to be debauched should send a chill down his spine at how fast and loose he's playing. how vulnerable he is in this moment even if tim's the one on camera letting his guard down and putting those big brown eyes into view. but instead, it just makes him throb harder, want even deeper, sinking into this clandestine thing they've entirely unspoken until dinner - and even then, this wasn't the part they talked about. tim's voice rings loud and clear, the familiar timbre of it that he's heard animatedly across his desk, mumbled around his fingertips as he taps them deep in thought. that's his boy, alright.

god, he almost regrets telling him to lay down that way, watching the hard studs of his nipples and the light dusting of hair along his tight, toned body. the ripple of his abdomen, the strain of the shirt as it catches along his biceps. fuck, what hawk wouldn't give to drag his lips along every inch of it right now - something he should probably share.]

Shame I'm not there. I'd kiss my way down your spine, take my time along every muscle you've got. All the way down to that pert ass of yours - pulling you open and -

Shit.

You're here because you need a good grade.

Well, you're gonna earn it with me, sweetheart. I'd like to see you on top, alright. But your concentration is lacking, and now it's affecting my performance.

I know what you keep in that box of yours in front of the bed.

[the small toy chest, the one stuffed with gifts from hungry, hopeful subscribers.]

Pull out a good one and get it nice and wet. Keep your mouth full for a minute - keep it from distracting me.

[ if tim could close his eyes, he has no doubt he could imagine what hawkins fuller's lips might feel like down his spine, the way his hands would travel his body. he would take anything this man happens to want to offer him, he realizes, even if he's never quite done some of these things in real life. it's easy to play pretend on the screen - but there's a level of reality here that adds to his boyish, studently charm.

no, he doesn't know what it feels like to be pulled open and devoured but suddenly he wants to, which contributes to the little, rumbling whine that leaves his throat. ]

I do need a good grade. Do whatever you want, Professor - but make sure you grade me fairly. Hard.

[ he huffs, airy and wanton already now that he knows for certain that the professor he croons to is the man he sits opposite of on campus almost daily. he can almost picture himself splayed out on hawk's desk, and just how small and weightless he would feel beneath the pressure of a man as domineering and perfect as hawk.

tim pouts a little at the camera - a little wrinkle of his nose and a hint of that defiance hawk can see in him in the classroom. a student doing what he's told, even if it's not what he wants. ]

Yes, sir. I'm sorry my mouth is distracting - I thought you liked it.

[ he pushes up from his front, letting his legs splay easily behind him, displaying how flexible he is, with his thighs spread wide and the burgeoning bulge of his shorts grinding into the mattress. he leans sideways to the little chest, revealing the muscles of his side, his chest, and from it draws out what looks like a large plug - shiny and blue, the length of tim's palm from base to tip. ]

Professor, is this what you were thinking?

[ he sprawls back on his belly again, sitting up and arching enough so that the puffy pink of his nipples can be seen. he reaches with one strong arm off camera - and there's a look in the honey brown of his eyes behind those glasses - a sort of knowing - as the chat sends a link.

whatever tim has in his hands? it can be controlled via the website.

he slides back into place, and with no preamble, gets to work. first, a kittenish lick at the tip of it, then he wastes no time sinking his mouth around it, hollowing his cheeks and sucking as he might were he between hawk's thighs just now. god, what he would do to be doing just that. ]

I hope you like my first assignment, Professor.

[ said on a gasp, just as he comes up from one bob, before his mouth gets busy once again, eyes focused on the camera. ]

[jesus - fuck. it's a wonder hawk doesn't just blow his entire goddamn load on the spot. tim is so good at this, and suddenly he wants to fucking strangle every asshole who's seen him like this with his bare hands. because he had to learn this from someone, didn't he? hawk can't fathom a world where tim is this good and well practiced from anything other than experience. he'd said he doesn't have many friends here on campus, and it's true for some reason he also can't fathom, no one ever seems to look his way other than to grumble or roll their eyes when he gets too enthusiastic at class. i mean, christ - are they all blind to the fucking adonis that's right in front of them? but then he's grateful, because it means he doesn't have to bite his tongue and feel guilty for lusting after his own student who should absolutely be sewing his wild oats or whatever the fuck fathers are supposed to tell their sons before they go off to college, and he'd feel guilty for keeping tim from something that would unquestionably be the better and more normal experience for him to have.

all this talk, knowing tim knows it's him on the other side - it makes all of this that much more heated, knowing he's probably going to have a semi the next time tim calls him professor to his face or mentions getting a good grade and handing in an assignment. all he's gonna think of are the little noises tim's making, the stretch of taut muscle and slightly tanned skin. the peek of freckles in secret places and the way his eyes never leave the camera, burning with a determination that makes hawk feel himself already leaking in his boxers and throbbing with an ache that his palm barely even satisfies.]

That's exactly what I was thinking. Now, you know I like when your mouth gets to talking a mile a minute - but sometimes a good boy's gotta learn when to keep it busy.

Just like that honey. Fuck. Looks nice and wide. And you - well, we'd be here all night if I told you what I thought about how goddamn irresistible you look.

[hawk watches him - well, like a hawk, aptly so - blue eyes scanning every inch of the screen as he watches tim's cheeks hollow around the length and take all of it with ease. a part of him wonders if he'd take cock just as easily, and when the hell he managed to get rid of his gag reflex which circles back into that hot thrum of jealousy that he feels childish even as much as it makes his blood rush with possession that one day might actually have the opportunity to be acted on.]

Yeah - see how nice you take that. Good boy.

[when the link comes through though, that's when hawk utterly freezes. if he were on camera, tim could absolutely see the moment it registers on his face, jaw and lips slackening with realization. eyes widening and pupils dilated like fucking saucers, mouth wet and tongue dragging across his lips in a hungry lick. he's gonna be the one calling the shots. but that also means - ]

The wonders of technology never cease, huh? Mighty fine present you got for me here. But you know...my hands are gonna be a bit busy. One taking care of my boy, and one for - well, you're smart enough to figure it out.

[what he's offering, it's risky. as if this isn't already partway down the rabbit hole anyway. the dots on tim's side of the chat take a little longer than usual, and it isn't because hawk is nervous. god no - he's good at this part. it's just, this is unchartered territory for them both. admitting to something they've pretended to overlook for some time, taking another step into crossing the boundary that they are playing fast and loose with. but fuck if he doesn't want it. jesus, he wants it more than he thinks he's ever wanted anything in the last decade, let alone his whole goddamn life.]

I was thinking maybe you'd want me to tell you exactly what to do. To hear me praise you and get that good feedback to finish your assignment, yeah?

But it's only if you want it, sweetheart. And if not, that's alright too.

Jesus, I could watch you like this all day.

[ coming up on a little gasp from the toy, tim's eyes lift to the camera again and he pauses, licking his bottom lip as they all but shimmer slick in the camera lighting. they've gone rosy red for the stretch and movement and he's sure to show it in the way his bottom lip pouts just so as he catches a breath. ]

Tell me everything you want to, Professor, please. I only take it this nice for you. No one else.

[ just as he dips his head back down to take the toy, he arches his back, spreads his thighs a little so that hawk can see the way the muscle strains the rigid fabric. one sock rolls a little in the movement, and he licks one long stripe up the toy as he reads what hawk offers next.

if he looks surprised, he can't help it - brows jumping a tiny bit over the frames of his glasses, a pretty flush lighting up under his cheeks and creeping down his neck. it looks like it might well make even his chest go rosy and pink. one hand for the toy - one hand for -

oh, to be that sweet, divine hand.

he almost misses the offer - the little risk that his man is making and he tilts his head a little and it's an accident the way he utterly moans around the toy on the way up. ]

Please. I - I want it. To hear you - to take anything you want to give me, Professor. I'll do anything to earn it.

[ and maybe there's something a little to genuine in it, a little too honest, but it's true. to hear hawkins fuller - listen to the man coo his name and praise him, to hear the rumble of his voice with the sounds of skippy on his tongue?

it will never be as good as kissing him in the lamplight outside the restaurant. it will never beat the romance of their date, the sizzle on the air between them. how badly tim wants to be his now more than ever. even if it's through a screen, where they can't touch, they can't kiss. where hawk is still anonymous and safe, and tim rips open his chest for him. ]

I know I can do a good job for you, Hawk - Professor. Let me show you - prove it to you. Please, let me hear everything you need from me.

[ ah. he's nearly forgotten the toy and he bashfully sort of ducks his head, shrugs one freckled shoulder before he dips back down and takes the toy all the way to the back of his throat and he sits there, lingering, waiting for a few seconds before he comes back up, face tinged and warm, and the brown of his eyes imploring the camera. ]

I'll be the best boy you've ever taught.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[UNI AU]

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