it burns in his gut all night, sitting across from him at dinner, knowing he's gonna take his boy out dancing later. maybe the otherworld doesn't have the guaranteed safety of a place like the cozy corner, but it's not for everyone...and honestly? he doesn't have it in him to keep denying himself from the things he wants out of this opportunity anymore. months away from the man he loves has made him either lax or opened his goddamn eyes, but almost losing him to the possibility of someone else scooping him away maybe even moreso.
tim opening the door in only his dancing shoes wasn't quite on the agenda, but there's no way in hell hawk would ever let such a treat go wasted. so what if they're an hour later than he'd planned after dinner - the fun probably doesn't even get started until ten or after anyway, as if he'd really care about keeping track. but after he's coiffed back his hair into something respectable and tucked himself back into the confines of his tighter, more modern cut black jeans, he spares a glance in the mirror. there's just the barest glean of sweat at his temple, indicative of the exertion it had taken to pound himself into tim and leave him the parting gift of claiming his inside. a black...t-shirt, in lieu of a button down, and a slim-cut black blazer. the line it cuts on his figure is sleek, even if he isn't used to having it so close to his body. and tim liked tearing it off, if that's anything to go by.
his hand wanders occasionally to the small of tim's back as they walk through the hallways, greeting the doorman staffed there today, apparently giving giles the night off. and then it's inside the thrum of bass and bodies twined together - some pg, some decidedly x-rated. it's not his scene, but tim wants to be seen. there's a tightness in his gut, the lingering idea of constantly having to pretend otherwise, and he forces himself to try and dispel it.
his hand slides firmer over tim's waist, leaning in to try and shout against the music against the shell of his ear with a wash of warm breath.]
Well? You want a drink first? Can't promise you I won't have two left feet to this kind of music.
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it burns in his gut all night, sitting across from him at dinner, knowing he's gonna take his boy out dancing later. maybe the otherworld doesn't have the guaranteed safety of a place like the cozy corner, but it's not for everyone...and honestly? he doesn't have it in him to keep denying himself from the things he wants out of this opportunity anymore. months away from the man he loves has made him either lax or opened his goddamn eyes, but almost losing him to the possibility of someone else scooping him away maybe even moreso.
tim opening the door in only his dancing shoes wasn't quite on the agenda, but there's no way in hell hawk would ever let such a treat go wasted. so what if they're an hour later than he'd planned after dinner - the fun probably doesn't even get started until ten or after anyway, as if he'd really care about keeping track. but after he's coiffed back his hair into something respectable and tucked himself back into the confines of his tighter, more modern cut black jeans, he spares a glance in the mirror. there's just the barest glean of sweat at his temple, indicative of the exertion it had taken to pound himself into tim and leave him the parting gift of claiming his inside. a black...t-shirt, in lieu of a button down, and a slim-cut black blazer. the line it cuts on his figure is sleek, even if he isn't used to having it so close to his body. and tim liked tearing it off, if that's anything to go by.
his hand wanders occasionally to the small of tim's back as they walk through the hallways, greeting the doorman staffed there today, apparently giving giles the night off. and then it's inside the thrum of bass and bodies twined together - some pg, some decidedly x-rated. it's not his scene, but tim wants to be seen. there's a tightness in his gut, the lingering idea of constantly having to pretend otherwise, and he forces himself to try and dispel it.
his hand slides firmer over tim's waist, leaning in to try and shout against the music against the shell of his ear with a wash of warm breath.]
Well? You want a drink first? Can't promise you I won't have two left feet to this kind of music.