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[homosexuals]

[he'd said the same thing weeks ago, and it already feels like a lifetime: yeah alright, i'm yours. because it was true ever since they'd locked eyes across the bar at mccarthy's election night, every meeting after only solidifying the space in hawk's heart that could only be filled by the shape of tim laughlin. maybe it's too much for him to outright say it like that, to let his feelings simply exist in the space and expression the way they're meant to. but this is the part he can always and unquestionably fully give himself to: bringing tim to a higher place of bliss and ecstasy and take greedily of his body and his boy all for himself. at a base level it's sex, yeah, of course it is. but when he thinks of eddie koeffler and all the men he's fucked before in short bursts at clandestine locations with no intention of ever seeing them again - it doesn't even come fucking close to what they have here behind closed doors.

and maybe jesuit high school never did it for him and he doesn't believe in god, but he can believe an angel walks among them in the form of tim laughlin. knows it's real when he offers himself like a sacrificial lamb when he gets on his knees or stretches onto his back and gives up everything he has freely to hawk. it makes him want to possess it from the inside out, to claim him like he did with the cufflinks and the words spilling out of his lips back in rehoboth beach: i belong to hawkins fuller. no matter what happens to them here - there will be a part of it that's always true, and it scares the hell out of hawk to think that their souls are twined together forever now.

it makes him kiss that much fiercer, tongue slipping into tim's mouth and swirling against the slickness of his own as his fingers push past any lingering resistance and drive deep inside the velvety heat with a low groan. they pull back with ease, sliding back inside and crooking this time in search of the one spot that'll have tim's eyes go wide and his moans get that much louder and needier. his forehead stays pressed against tim's, feeling damp hair crushed between them as he looks him in the eye and nods, encouraging him to fall apart.]

Go on honey, tell me how that feels. It's not enough, is it?

[holyposition]

[ There's a strangled sound, muffled around Hawk's tongue, a low moan from the moment he breaches his hole. The sensation is familiar and cherished, the stretch of thick, strong fingers filling him up making him sigh with relief the first moment he can get a breath in, between the deep, brain-addling kisses. Tim's hands fist in his hair as he squirms, not from discomfort but from the craving for more, trying to rock back and fuck himself deeper on Hawk's fingers, but not quite getting there, pinned down by his weight as he is. ]

Good. [ Single words between pants, nodding back, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he sinks deeper into this space, the one only Hawk can put him in, where all things beyond the two of them slip from his mind. Whatever he ate at the party, whatever's made him cold, doesn't matter a bit once Hawk curls his fingers into that spot that makes him unravel, makes his mouth fall open with a cry that's almost a scream, in direct proportion to how badly Tim needs it. ] God. Hawk.

[ It's hard to tell the difference when he's like this, looming over him with his sweet words, his promises of heavenly bliss, rewarding Tim's devotion with what feels like all the love in the world. He doesn't have to say it for it to be known, it just is, inherent and obvious enough for him to believe in and hold as a steadying constant, through every unanswered prayer or broken promise. It doesn't scare him to hold Hawk up on such a holy pedestal, to relinquish himself to him, body and soul.

It used to, because it's never just sex, for Tim. When it's cheap and tawdry, it's a shameful reminder of his own shortcomings, his desperation and lack of self-control. With Hawk though, it means something, he's managed to unlearn the shame and turn it into something else, to make even the filthiest things he can think of seem sacred. ]

More. Daddy, please. Please fuck me.

[ Writhing beneath him, so desperate to push his fingers a little deeper that he's forgotten to take the cross from around his neck. ]

[homosexuals]

Yeah, look at you, christ.

[it'll never stop being the hottest goddamn thing to watch tim fall apart with barely even a touch - his dick isn't even anywhere near and he's begging for more. loud, unabashed, pure in his utter devotion and the way his body is offered up solely for hawk's taking and utter ruin. it's not a gift he takes lightly, letting his lips drag hot and open-mouthed against tim's jugular and the strong line of muscle down to the juncture between neck and shoulder, teeth nipping and worrying at the skin without a care in the world for what sort of mark he might leave. why shouldn't he? tim is his, this is their sanctuary, and not a single person here can judge them for it. at least, that's the mantra he's been trying to tell himself these past few blissful weeks.

hell of a lot easier to believe when he's got this angel utterly desperate under him, rocking himself onto thick fingers like he might work himself to the edge that only hawk can drag him over and catch him and do it all over again. he could keep him like this for hours if he were cruel or playful or anything but starved to consume the offering he's been given - laid up like the very eucharist itself, body stretched and willing for whatever will come to it. hawk's free hand lifts to tweak at one pretty pink nipple, thumb and forefinger tugging it mercilessly as his fingers pull free from the warmth and the grip that feels like it might keep him there awhile. much as he'd like to play the game, hawk is only a man too - hot-blooded, cock hanging heavy and flushed between his own legs and hard enough to cut glass.

there's a low hum against his neck, hawk still tonguing at the spot that's already blooming a pretty red from the way his teeth have nipped and prodded at it, even as he reaches down to push tim's thighs wider apart in anticipation.]

Shh, lemme see you - just one more minute.

[his hands grip around the firm muscle, flexing against every tremble and shudder as he drinks in the sight of tim flushed and debauched and empty - hole flaring around nothing that only he can fill up.]

You're so goddamn gorgeous, you know that angel?

[there's another quick kiss, stolen and hungry as he finally wraps a hand around the base of his own leaking cock and lines it up. no more taunting, no more games - not when he pushes forward slow and tosses his head back with every velvety inch dragging him further and further in to claim what's always been his.]

[holyposition]

[ He makes a soft, keening sound, fingers twisting in Hawk's hair to hold him there against his neck to beg him for more without the unintelligible babbling. Tim's not worried that he'll leave a mark either, he's more worried that he won't, that he'll be so eager to take him, to claim him right here in this room that he might leave his boy unmarked, accidentally leave it up to interpretation who he really belongs to. Hawk, always Hawk, and he repeats that name like prayers over a rosary, with every touch and every cruel lack of it.

Tim's limbs shake with his impatience - and sure, this time he's ingested things that are helping to rile him up, to need it even more - but he isn't even aware of that, just barely over the way he burns for Hawk on a base level, all the time. In the morning, he wakes up, looks over at Hawk, and he wants him. In the afternoon, he thinks about him, remembering the last time his lips were on his neck, and he wants him. At night, he crawls into his lap, wanting him, wanting him, wanting him. ]

Hawk.

[ A louder, higher whine as he takes his fingers back from Tim's hole, leaving him empty and unsatisfied, muscle clenching as if his body is searching for that missing piece. Frantic for it, he grips tight around Hawk's wrist, pulls it to his mouth to swallow those two fingers. A low moan, and his eyes flutter closed, with the bliss of finally being filled somewhere, by something. Tongue slicking over his fingers, he can taste himself on every knuckle, in every ridge, under Hawk's fingernails and in his fine hairs. How it should be, the two of them mixed together until they're nearly one.

It takes a second to register the question, but he opens his eyes and nods, too busy sucking his fingers like a man possessed for a real response. Saying yes isn't entirely true, but it's not a lie right now - he doesn't think of himself as gorgeous until he sees himself through Hawk's eyes, desirable and precious and endearing in his shamelessness.

Hawk's fingertips are in the back of his throat and his cock is finally pushing into him, stretching him open with just the right amount of burn, taking him easy, welcoming him home. He swallows around Hawk's fingers, hooking his ankles around his thighs to pull him closer, deeper, muffling a mmhmm around his mouthful. ]