homosexuals | [UNI AU]

[there are probably some out there who would call a friday night with a tumbler of whiskey, a stack of ungraded papers, and the intention to rub one (or a few) out talking to a faceless entity on the internet pathetic, but hawkins fuller wouldn't consider himself a member of that faction.

one: a man has needs, of which they should never feel guilty for, and two: he gets exactly what he wants, gets off, and gets out. no hassle, no awkward extrication, no tears or meltdowns when he declines a number, and absolutely no accidentally running into one of his students and semi-outing himself for an entire semester. his nsa rules don't seem to have followed him onto the great expanse of the world wide web, that or he's just happened to stumble on the walking embodiment of earnest obedience with the trimmest waist and tightest ass he could have practically dreamt up. christ, this little dalliance he's picked up is probably the second most consistent thing to the relationship he has with his own mother at this point.

but it's worth every penny and then some, and when the clock ticks past 10:36 and his hand starts wandering south after his second shot - his free hand knows how to let the fingers do the walking.]

30 Minutes
🔒 UNLOCK FOR $200

🔥💲💳 250 TIP SENT ✅

Nice to see you again, Skippy.
Though I hope I'll get to see a whole lot more before we're through tonight.

Edited 2023-12-23 06:41 (UTC)

[ the days pass following the one on one with relative quiet - the semester is coming to an end and tim doesn't make enough time to get on camera as he should, considering his financial situation. the registrar sends him e-mails once a week reminding him of his balance, and the hold they've put on his classes next semester. it's always the same story, always the same struggle. six months of quiet, and then rush at the end.

he keeps his head down in classes, keeps focused, studies hard and participates. mr. fuller must even see his resolve changing, as he's let up on the dogged, pointed questions he asks him during their class debates.

but really, he spends his time instead planning. he texts with some of his regulars in the app - tips for sexting, for a picture here and there. it's easy, mindless money, and truly the only reason his instagram account exists on top of his only fans. after all, his dms bring in a little extra currency on their own.

there's been a buzz, lately. his regulars seeing the added incentives, the added package options. a video message, a phone call, a few sexting options, a few cam options, but? the most expensive? a vip meet and greet. on the surface, it's nothing special. a meet up, a photo op, even a cute little cameo video. but there's always the hint of something more - something more illicit he can't exactly advertise even there.

$3,000.00 - enough to satisfy the bursar, to get his classes on the schedule so he doesn't have his seat pulled, to get his books, the more deluxe meal plan for next semester. it's not smart, he knows. he knows it's not.

and yet, he also knows there is only one fan who would even consider the cost worth it. or so he hopes.

the added perks go live at 9 AM - the right time for working men to see it and get a little flustered in their day to day.

he's sitting in the dining hall with a half-eaten bowl of cheap, flavorless oatmeal when he decides to open the app. he's not sure what comes over him when he opens the messages from the man formerly known as milton, but: ]

Good morning, mister.
Your boy added a few things I think you might like.

Don't work too hard today.

[ if this was anyone else? he might feel like he's begging for money, tricking them into something for a dollar. and yes, he does need the money. more than anything.

but if the money came with a faceless, kinder stranger behind it?

it's a stupid dream. ]

Edited 2023-12-31 03:03 (UTC)

[ there are a thousand bad decisions college students tim's age could make at this point in his academic career, so close to the end of his final semester as a junior. he could go to some pledge party, some rave or rager held by frat boys, run with the campus misfits who break and enter offices and classrooms, or get blitzed in the hidden corners of the dorms with the RAs.

but tim's bad decision came in the form of a prize package (an early summer deal!), and $3,000.

that icy day outside the coffee shop in december cemented the fact that hawkins fuller would no longer be watching his streams, and with that would also go the extra money he'd make weekly from their one on ones or other little trysts. it's a good thing, that he's not getting his professor's money on moral grounds alone, but the income is something he'd planned for.

and so the new package went up, and while he'd expected no takers at first, he'd been deeply surprised when, in the middle of one of his history lectures, his phone at buzzed.

NEW TIP RECIEVED

a username he recognizes faintly - they all start to look the same in his general chat. bigstrongman69 or hard_daddy01. and he foolishly, foolishly messages them.

messages turn to a date and time, which turn to a place, which turn to the reality of him meeting some mystery-faced man at a busy pizzeria just outside of campus. this guy had to travel - a few hours from wherever he'd come from - and it shows in his eagerness when they meet.

tim should have trusted his gut when he saw him. soft middle, buggy eyes, bald head, and a smile that made tim's blood run cold. but he stayed, reminding himself that this money and this meet-up would be the difference in his summer classes. would be the difference in suffering months at home in staten island, disconnected from everyone and everything, or spending a summer on the quiet campus, taking new and exciting classes simply for the thrill of it before entering his senior year.

when the guy slipped something into his drink, he doesn't know. it could have been in the brief moment he'd turned to talk to a waitress who was making worried eyes at him, or even in the thirty seconds he'd needed to dig out his wallet, his phone, something. he can't remember.

he remembers the swimming feeling coming over him first - the head to toe uncomfortable warmth that blossomed under his skin like fever. he can almost remember the feeling of the man's hand on his upper thigh, over the seam of his jeans, and the way his wet lips smacked against his ear as he whispered something into it.

what had he said?

it's the waitress that interrupts - that causes some kind of commotion enough that the man immediately backs away, caught off guard by the sudden attention on him. she says something to tim, but he must be convincing enough that she lets him go once she's sure the older man has long since run off.

his phone buzzes - angry messages on his only fans account. the deposit rescinded, reports made about his false advertising. something like that. but tim just walks - walks out in the warm summer night and fumbles his way miraculously onto a bus that leads back to campus.

the whole ride is a blur, the dc streets looking like nothing but some wild monet painting, colors and shapes all blurring together to make some sort of picture. he can't make out what it is, even as he stumbles off the bus toward campus. "college kids these days, i swear - shameless" he hears one older woman say, and tim huffs to himself.

she can't be talking about him.

but the further he walks up into the quad, the worse he feels. the warmth becoming unbearable, his thoughts swimming, his vision tipping - all of this somehow leading him to the polisci building. there's a couch there. he can sit there. rest his head and close his eyes and take a second to just breathe and get his shit together. as he stumbles in, however, there's a light on at the end of one of the halls.

professor fuller.

professor fuller is in his office and while he'd felt a lazy sort of concern about his own wellbeing at first, seeing the man's name on the little plate in the wall makes panic rise up into his chest. he doesn't entirely remember how he got here, or why his body led him here of all places, but he approaches the doorway and reaches out for it, his back nearly falling off his shoulder as he sways into it. ]

Professor?

[ tim thinks he's holding it together much better than he is. and should hawk look up, he'll find a disheveled tim laughlin at his door - hair mussed from sweaty, heavy palms. cheeks flushed, pupils blown out, the glisten of sweat at his temples. there's a tiny mark at the crook of his jaw, where it meets his earlobe - beard-burn, maybe, or the beginnings of a hickey. even his shirt is rucked up a little revealing a slim line of his midriff where it had slid up on the bus seat and he hadn't noticed. ]

Sorry. It's late. I just... can I come in?

Edited 2024-01-03 05:34 (UTC)

["dragon lady", as the bursar's administrative frontrunner is so affectionately dubbed by students and staff alike, is all too happy to have it laid on thick when hawkins fuller sets foot into her office for a pleasantly surprising preamble to her lunch hour. listening to her rattle on about the grandchildren, her husband's awful dinner table etiquette, dancing with the stars...but a the flash of a few smiles, a dry joke here or there and she's eating out of the palm of his hand. enough that when she finally lets him slip through a gap in the conversation, he's able to sling an arm against the counter, leaning against it and nonchalantly asking - edna, would you be a doll and double check one of my students that's been dropped from the roster? now i know it wasn't you, but i think there's been a mistake. yes it's laughlin, tim laughlin. l - a - u - g - h - l - i - n. do me a favor - can you hold out until the end of the week for him? good catholic boy, just like your johnny.

that's monday after he'd shipped off tim in a cab later that evening, feeling his own stomach oddly swooping at the idea of sending him away even though there was no more immediate need for supervision. tidying the bathroom and a shower had been the first order, then papers, and pushing off the inevitable moment where his head hit the pillow in his unwashed, unmade sheets before he turned onto his side and buried his nose against them for the scent of tim. skippy. fuck. none of this made it any easier on either of them, and yet he feels strangely like they've both ended up in a better place after that weekend.

tim will be none the wiser then as he comes to class for exam prep, a few dark circles under his eyes as he's surely scrambling to study in between packing and possibly panicking at the idea of traveling back to staten island in less than a week. that's the part that almost makes him want to cave - to alleviate some of that stress by telling him don't bother, you won't need to soon enough.

because come the early hours of thursday morning that week, hawk finally opens the site he's been avoiding for months - punching in the username that's branded into his mind whether he likes it or not, and avoiding actually looking at any of the upcoming times, the promises of what a new registration will bring. he doesn't even look at the randomly assigned username that's been suggested, a number in the cog of subscribers: user962108 before plugging in a password he'll pretend not to remember and navigating straight to the tip jar. $3,000. the exact amount he'd already paid once before, that he knows after today he won't have to pay again. because tim promised him - because after this, it truly is out of his hands, and tim will be moving on to greener pastures during his senior year and eventually a new campus altogether in the form of washington's hallowed halls.

the final roster comes through a few days after hawk gives tim a completely expected "a+" on his exam, resisting the urge to write see you in a few weeks.

there's two weeks he has to blow off steam, pointedly ignoring craig's suggestion they meet for celebratory drinks at some point and taking a quick trip south for hookups that are neither memorable nor particularly satisfying before he spends the last few days reviewing his lesson plans and already imagining what tim is going to focus in on this semester. there's only sixteen classmates - which means plenty of spotlight and attention on topics he already knows will bring more passion and substance to a class that's usually already more promising than his larger lecture halls.

he doesn't say a damn word about anything else that's happened between them, just tips his head when that familiar mop of brunette hair walks through his door with his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he follows along the instructions for making it to the classroom outside their regular building. good to see you made it, laughlin, is the casual greeting when tim slides into a chair and eagerly gets out his books from a bag that finally looks like it's on its last thread, pen poised above paper and that look in his eye before he hungrily consumes everything out of hawk's mouth.

and so it goes.

the thing about summer school that hawk appreciates most is the lack of eyes on him - no risk of audits, no nosy teachers checking in on what they're doing. the students here are neither remedial nor taking his course out of a requirement, which means it's a hell of a lot more fun and a lot more lax than working out of the polisci building. it also means the weather is too damn gorgeous not to take advantage of, and hawk finds himself rolling up his sleeves, taking his class to one of the many campus greens and courtyards to soak it up and dismissing class a few minutes early when they're all talked out. and then there's office hours - not sitting in the stuffy room that's his office or even the temporary one set up specifically for this summer course only. no, he doesn't have any qualms meeting elsewhere - a park bench, an outdoor cafe, something to shake it up a little for the ones who want to put in the extra time.

tim is always one of them. lunch, coffee, sitting in the shade - it's becoming quite a constant, one that he finds dangerously enjoyable.

but everyone has their moment. which is why hawk is currently standing over the body of said student, splayed out underneath one of the large trees, bookbag askew and a notepad between slackened hands over his stomach. his glasses are crooked, hair slightly mussed - and it gives him a pang of familiarity as he'd watched this same vulnerability in his own bed mere weeks ago.

(it had taken him longer than usual to wash those sheets.)

hawk clears his throat, lacing his hands behind his back and letting a grin seep into his words.]

Is this your way of telling me you're playing hooky this afternoon, Mr. Laughlin?

Edited 2024-01-15 03:53 (UTC)

[ two and a half weeks is what it takes for the a- to be scrawled across the top of his second paper. he'd gone from a solid c to an a- and while it had been simple, it hadn't exactly felt easy. he'd had to remain silent in class for the first few days, dutifully copying down everything from the power point and only answering when professor level told him to. he'd started making up reasons to attend the man's office hours - perching on a chair there and trying desperately to look interested and engaged.

office hours began to turn into walks to the classroom in the sun, an offered lunch here and there. it started to feel an awful lot like pretending, like lying, and while it was hard for tim to stomach, he had to.

for when he wasn't in classes, he spent almost all of his time alone. no one knew who he was - how could they? he wandered from the library to the quad to the cafeteria. occasionally he would get on the bus and go to the public library to get something a little different - to see something more than just white walls. he'd see hawk in passing, when he'd come up in the library or quad and speak to him, but it had all been carefully scripted.

public eye. everything prim and proper, and even tim kept his mouth shut more than usual. the line had been drawn and although he'd liked the game leading up to it, he's not sure any reward will be worth the strange, cold thing that has taken root in his chest. it feels like freshman year, when he'd waded among the throngs of faceless students and tried to find somewhere to land, somewhere for his feet to fall.

he never did find a real foundation, really. nothing more than the quality of his work and the adoration of his professors. the few students he knows talk to him, but tim isn't naive enough to think they like him. he knows better. particularly when they pry for his notes or beg for study sessions right before a big exam.

it's a good thing to get used to, he realizes at some point before he gets his paper back. when he's out of school, there will be no hawkins fuller who sees every facet of him. he will be back in a sea of faces, trying to jump and make his mark. no one will know him, and no one will care.

but it's worth it, isn't it? to try and make a difference in the world?

it's his last office session with craig - who the man insists on being called since now tim is of course one of his prized students - and by the time he gets up to leave he feels utterly exhausted. paper in hand, he wanders down the halls of the building, to the opposite corner.

hawkins fuller's door is open and tim stops for a long time to stare at it. it feels like an eternity, and a tiny part of him cannot help but wonder if when he walks in, if anything will be the same.

it won't be. he knows this. tim fully expects the easy chatter of a professor and student, no lines crossed, no boundaries. they're only a week out before summer exams and they're off into fall semester. he knows the signs when he sees them - the distance, the quiet, the rules set so that tim is carefully displaced so that the fire that had started to roar between them peters out.

but he has the paper in hand when he approaches the door. he's dressed up a little - only because craig insisted he take him to lunch to discuss his paper (which is much improved. fuller was doing you a disservice). it's not jean shorts this time but grey jeans, fitted, and a white button down, a few buttons on the collar left open, the hint of a gold chain and a cross peeking overtop. the free food had been the only redeeming part. ]

Professor Fuller? Sorry - I don't want to interrupt.

[ tim doesn't invite himself in. doesn't cross the distance and settle comfortably in his chair, make some quip about hawk working hard, so on and so on...

he just hopes the a- will truly be enough. ]

I, ah. Was hoping you'd review this paper?

[ it's incredibly foolish, really, that all he wants right now is to be seen. to be heard. to be looked at and understood. nothing he can get from any other professors, from anyone else.

it's sad, really, that there is only one person in this world right now who genuinely knows him - and it won't be long before he's out of reach altogether. ]

If you're busy, I understand. I can come back during the scheduled office hours. I don't want to be a bother.

Edited 2024-01-27 01:56 (UTC)

⨳ midnight texting meme - being out past midnight is bad for your health, Hawk...

Edited 2024-02-05 00:40 (UTC)

You'll never guess who paid a visit to my office this afternoon.
Even Mary seem surprised.

[ two weeks have passed since their summery, italian date, and with the summer semester coming to a close, tim has been equally hard at work in his schooling and his extra-curricular activities. he still spends an inordinate amount of time in hawk's office, arguing and conversing until even the building feels stuffy with that late summer humidity that eventually drives them out of the political wing altogether.

it's strange to miss someone - to miss the electric, visceral connection that had been encouraged in the dim light of a restaurant and street lamps. maybe it had been pure lust - that's what anyone else would tell him, given the circumstances - but their conversations have changed. charged still with something else, although to the outsider it would be innocent and hidden. it doesn't change the subtle touches that come to pass - fingers across a desk, pencil, arm of a chair. a secret whispered close to an ear or elbows propped on a desk for a long lean.

secrecy. careful cover. hard boundaries that could have been crossed had tim merely pressed over that center console and said fuck it all for once in his life. but tim laughlin is careful, considerate, empathetic. to a fault, of course.

it's not enough to stop the work he must do to fund the upcoming fall semester where one class has already fallen through. he'd sent an email to professor fuller earlier in the evening, detailing the issue - he needs credit hours, needs a course, could take some kind of interdisciplinary course, but why wouldn't he want to spin up a class with the man on deep political theory, political ethics, and the us government system?

it had been a full syllabus, written up and carefully planned by tim himself, but the end of the email had been quick -

I appreciate your consideration, Professor Fuller, and would enjoy the opportunity to challenge myself further in my final semester here at Georgetown, and I can't think of anyone better to do so.

However, I will be busy this evening and next and may not be able to answer any questions until Monday. Sorry - work calls.

it's a hint, of course. hawk has gotten rid of the app, or so he says - but a few new visitors to his chat have stayed oddly quiet. maybe it's just desperate wanting, maybe it's just foolish delusion, but.

his followers get a little notification when he goes live:

SCHOOL'S BACK IN SESSION - WANNA GRADE MY PAPER? 🍎

and should anyone at all come by the stream they will find the same outline of the faceless boy. a white button up shirt, tight fitting to reveal the strong line of his shoulders, a plaid tie, and a gray sweatervest. the navy shorts he wears with him look to be uniform shorts, but a few inches too short, revealing a bare knee, with high navy socks cresting just beneath his knee cap.

he has what appears to be basic math homework spread across his lap, toying idly with a pencil, letting the eraser trace invisible lines along the top of one thigh as some of the tip incentives roll through the chat. dollar amounts listed for every piece of clothing that could be pulled off, activities he could be made to do, and a private session. ]

Math is just so hard.

[ ... and his audio is live. ]

Edited 2024-04-06 23:45 (UTC)

[ it would be a blatant lie if tim denied the fact that hearing hawkins fuller's voice over the camera that night hadn't been electric, hadn't awoken something new that he knew was there between them. but hawk has rules, he's set boundaries, and though tim wants nothing more than to rail against them. prove to hawk that everything they both want is right and it will work.

he doesn't.

instead, he does his assignments, sits pretty in class, performs at night with the cameras on knowing that hawk will be watching sometimes. they've made it so close to the end of the semester, only one final paper between him and the winter holiday. he's stuck between topics, and when he shows up at hawk's door unannounced, he peers in, curious. he's bundled in a tired sweater that's a little too big for his form, little patches sewn into the elbows, a rosy bite to his cheeks from the wind, his lips red from biting on them against the cold air. ]

Professor Fuller?

[ tim knows what he looks like - blushed and red and windswept, tiny waist accented by the way the baggy sweater falls a little short - meant to be longer but washed over time and it sits right at his belt line, a sliver of flushed skin peeking where he's bent to peer in. ]

I have a few questions - if you're free? It's about the paper.

You really shouldn't have gone out.
The news is saying the temperatures are dropping and it's going to freeze over and your office is up a hill on campus, you know.
I could have walked my way there and avoided any of the cars you're going to be dodging.
Never mind the guilt I feel that I'm still in your bed and you're out in the cold getting your briefcase.

➤ 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑦

➤ 𝑖'𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡 𝑢𝑝 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟

➤ 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑏𝑜𝑦 𝑟𝑢𝑛

➤ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔'𝑠 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑦

➤ 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒿𝓊𝒹𝑔𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝓈