[there are several things hawk takes in all at once: most importantly, timothy laughlin knows his name, which means he was interested enough to find out what it was in the first place. second: he's a terrible liar, not even because hawk knows what a white russian is meant to look like and by the way those pretty brown eyes widen like a deer in the headlights even as he protectively reaches around his glass like it's precious cargo. three: he's...defensive? or maybe just as fed up with lonigan as everyone else. frankly, it's the first two he's most interested in prodding at. hawk steps in even closer, as if the notion of personal space doesn't quite occur to him even if there's just enough of a sliver to deem it appropriate if anyone chose to look too closely. they're practically the same height more or less, but something about the way tim hunches in on himself and seems committed to the wallflower bit seems to shrink him.
hawk tilts his head, an amused noise that's a cross between an incredulous scoff and a short, brusque laugh. but his lips are open for a moment, pulled up at the corners as he squints slightly.]
Did you...google me, Mr. Laughlin?
[and then it smooths out into an easy, closed-lipped grin, eyes warm with a slight twinkle as he gives tim a very blatant once over and a subtle nod of appreciation.]
I'm flattered, really. But just so you know - White Russians aren't actually white.
[there's a beat, and he follows tim further back onto the balcony and glances over his shoulder to make sure the coast is clear from lonigan, senator smith, and any other prying eyes. his voice drops a little, and he shifts to move past him back outside he murmurs within earshot.]
Unless you count the ones your boss likes to feel up at these parties.
[there's a hint of sardonicism through the playfulness, though they both know it's the truth. brushing past tim and into the fresh air gives him a moment where the boy hasn't fully turned around to glance at his backside - which isn't getting any favors from the way the suit is slightly too baggy. then again, he remembers having to climb that ladder once upon a time. he was just fortunate to have pressed and tailored suits from his days still living at home, an immense gratitude for the care his mother had in preserving them even after he'd been unceremoniously thrown out by his father. but nevermind that, hawk pulls out another cigarette, leaning against the balcony and waving tim over with a beckoning arm before fishing around for his lighter again.]
A longer leash, maybe. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.
[that's common knowledge from lonigan, the gossip of the other aides he's overheard - certainly not the work of google. he puts the filter against his mouth, striking the lighter while cupping around the flame and keeping it between his lips as he offers an amused hum.]
You don't strike me as a particularly rude boy. I'm here with Senator Smith. Politically.
[one elbow rests against the thick stone enclosure of the balcony, and hawk leans casually on it while his body follows in an easy drape, like they're just two old friends chatting here.]
But I get the feeling you might have already known that. So I'll be rude enough for the both of us and ask if you're here with anyone else - not politically.
[his brows bounce suggestively, fingers pulling the cigarette out as he blows the smoke off to the side and away from tim's face.]
[ he tilts his head a little bit, but he knows he's been caught. no one would drink vodka with straight cream - what a nightmare. already this interaction has gone so downhill, and his face flushes at the mere accusation that he has looked the man up. he shouldn't sound so defensive when he speaks again on a little huff, but when he turns and catches the faintest hint of eyes on him? the flush creeps further up his neck. ]
The National Registry, actually. At least first, considering I was at the library. You - everyone does it sometimes. Googling, I mean.
[ he follows after him, intrigued and feeling strangely like he's fallen into the orbit of a sun, unable to pull away. hawkins fuller is enigmatic, handsome, alluring. even the little quips draw him in. and while fuller hasn't googled him, the promotion bit? well that makes the flush rise hot into his cheeks. he's heard - enough to remember him. enough to congratulate him. ]
Senator Lonigan's past-times aren't my concern. I just see to whatever he requests here and then make sure he gets in the right car when he leaves. Whatever his proclivities are I'd rather not speak to them.
[ again he turns the glass in between his palms, glancing out over the balcony, but then to hawk when he lights up - the broad cup of his hands, the purse of his lips around the cigarette, and the way the lighter's flame lights up in blue eyes. his nose scrunches up a little, mouth pulling and thinning. he leans against the railing himself, crossing his legs in front of him but his shoe ends up tapping against hawk's, absently. ]
I'm not a boy, thank you. And yes, I could assume you were here with Senator Smith, considering your political leanings. I hadn't seen you, though.
[ but good god, hawk chooses to be rude himself and tim blinks, ducking his head and looking up at him incredulously. ]
Me? No. I couldn't - Lonigan keeps me busy and it would be rude to invite someone to a party and abandon them. I'm too busy for that. But - what about you? If you think I'm incapable of being a rude boy, then I'll just ask outright - did you come with anyone tonight or have you stayed with Senator Smith and his donors?
This isn't your way of telling me you aren't old enough to drink, is it?
[which is a terribly polite, roundabout way of confirming that timothy laughlin is in fact of age and hawk's not robbing some kind of cradle, even if the milk and the baby face and the way he's partly swimming in his rental aren't doing him any favors. if anything it's wildly endearing, not the downhill thing tim seems embarrassed about - or whatever is driving that pretty flush on the high points of his cheeks and down his neck. hawk wonders what it looks like below the collar, how far it might extend - and whether or not this young man is quite so jittery when it comes to matters outside the high pressure of an asshole breathing down his neck for majority of the night looking to get as drunk as possible before getting his dick out.
maybe he didn't google tim, but he listens. remembered the name - narrowed it down to one of two candidates he'd be working for. news travels fast, especially when it's not a nepotism hire getting promoted these days. lots more to prove, higher stakes - and a much longer fall if it doesn't go well. something tells hawk there's more than meets they eye with this one, though, and he can't deny the way he's instantly drawn to the boy too.]
Do they? I guess I'm old school.
[he tips his head with a teasing incline, voice emphasizing the first bit in mild disbelief. if he's this easy to rile up, hawk might as well have some fun while he's got downtime and doesn't have to keep greasing palms and kissing asses while accumulating the dirt that'll undermine future troublemakers. hawk sucks in breath of smoke, watching it dissipate over the railing and out into the midnight sky and waft as if it might reach the washington monument before it turns into a whisper of nothing. his gaze drops to where tim has nudged his oxford, intentional or not, before flicking back up and tapping his ash off the railing with a smirk.]
Spoken like a real veteran of DC. Out of sight, out of mind.
[in case tim thinks he's mocking him, which - maybe he is, a little bit, he clarifies:]
Don't worry. We've all worked for our fair share of pricks around here.
[not senator smith, though. one of the few good men still left in washington, as if there were many to choose from before. but he's not about to let that cat out of the bag, instead letting his lips curl again with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.]
I think you're a very capable boy, as a matter of fact. Be as rude as you like.
[there's a note of something else in his voice - a challenge, maybe, and his gaze doesn't shift from where it's fixed on tim. hawk leans against his elbow a little more, body inclining towards the company in a casual sprawl.]
If they like you enough they'll wait. For future reference. But me, I'm flying solo tonight.
[he sucks in another breath, eyes squinting slightly at the mild chill in the air making it a little harsher before letting the smoke stream out both nostrils.]
Did my time putting in all the right words, shaking a few hands, and now it's happy hunting.
[ there's almost something indignant in the way he says it, huffy and taken aback. his nose scrunches slightly and he rolls his eyes. he knows he's young, sure, but that young? hardly! he shakes his head. ]
I just choose not to drink while I'm working. I'd rather keep my head clear, thank you, considering I'm looking out for the wellbeing of my boss.
[ but lonigan is clearly capable of looking after his own wellbeing, considering he's settled in with the busty, pretty blond from earlier. a booth seat, which is telling for tim - he'll be making his way out soon, if the hand on her ass says anything. instead, his eyes blink back up to hawk, his head tilting slightly.
oh.
there's a challenge behind hawkins fuller's eyes and the way he leans into the sapce between them, sprawling with ease in a way that claims the open air, his fingers flex around the glass of milk, his brow pinches just slightly. ]
You were here with Senator Smith who, by all measures, I imagine you respect very much. If I hadn't seen you this evening, then you were with him, seeing as I was with Lonigan on the other half of the party. Something tells me you don't waste time on people. So. Smith - he must be important.
[ he shrugs one shoulder a little sheepishly, but there's a defiant sort of confidence in tim's expression, what with the way his jaw sets, his eyes meet hawk's. he doesn't lean into the space or change where he's leaning. but it's shaken instead as hawk continues, and the cigarette smoke clouds the air between them. ]
Happy hunting? [ his brow furrows, his nose wrinkles. ] What do you mean?
[ what would it be like to be the smoke, wispy and warm, slipping from between hawk's lips?
[well, at least hawk doesn't have to add wanting to fuck jailbait to his rap sheet. because yeah - something about the put-upon huff and the way timothy laughlin tries to puff himself up slightly on his morals or his concern for an asshole like lonigan that doesn't deserve it kinda does something for him. and if it wasn't that, the conversation in the library is probably where his fate was sealed - those big bambi eyes behind thick rims, hiding someone thoughtful and well-spoken, who cared about causes and hadn't been beaten down by agendas and the rest of the scum hanging out in washington's swamp. he's not a kid, but there's an innocence about him that reminds hawk of one anyway - a purity that's hopelessly endearing, about as rare as good and honest men like senator smith.
hawk makes a face, shaking his head as if he's trying to both disarm the defensiveness and agree even while the cigarette and the glass in his hand are completely opposite to that declaration. he raises it as if in salute to tim's steadfast dedication.]
How do you like working with the big boys now?
[the promotion, again, if he wants any more free advice or to share what he's looking for in his presence here. tim strikes him as the kind of person with a noble goal to make some sort of a difference. but also - an outlet, if he wants to vent about the way lonigan is a pig.
his lips linger on an easy smirk again, listening to tim's assessment.]
You're right.
[easy enough - but his support of senator smith isn't exactly that hard to fathom given his pristine reputation among anyone with half a brain, a measure of heart, and not a steadfast moron on the far right. the cigarette lifts to his lifts again, eyes never leaving tim's as he exhales another smooth stream of it over one shoulder.]
That's why it's lucky I ran into you. Or - you ran into me, wasn't it?
[tim makes it too easy to tease, to feel some measure of boyishness himself with the twinkle in icy blue eyes and a warmth despite his mostly detached charms that can adapt to work on anyone. this time, it's authentic.
and tim is authentic too - not playing into the ingénue act if he's asking something quite so naïve. it makes hawk's face scrunch momentarily before an honest to god laugh bubbles up in his throat, lips pulling to reveal pearly whites and head tipping back slightly. he sets his glass down on the balcony railing, waving the hand with his cigarette as a wash of ash tips onto the ground and a trail of fleeting grey shifts between them.]
Sorry - I forgot how green you are behind the ears. It's...sweet.
[one brow lifts, something darker tinting his gaze as it drops to the way tim's lips wrap around the rim of his milk, leaving behind the faintest trace of wetness on his lips. he's not one to be shy, emboldened after a quick glance aside and confirmation no one else is out here, the party still raucous inside and balcony doors firmly shut. his clean hand reaches out, thumb brushing against the last trace of the milk against lips that are as smooth and plush as he'd imagined.]
I'm not hunting for leads.
[in case there's any question what he's hunting for instead, hawk lifts his thumb into his mouth and sucks it with a brief pop.]
Yes, I ran into you, but it wasn't on purpose. Like I said, I didn't even know you were here. Mind you, I was trying to do my job with the "big boys" as you say - I've worked among them long enough in varying capacities. This one just requires a closer eye and greater discretion.
[ but hawk laughs, tipping his head back and tim is startled by how rich and warm the sound is, how genuine the sound seems coming from a man who he is sure is all charming smoke and mirrors. there's a glimpse of something real behind the washington game he's playing and that in and of itself makes something churn in his stomach, bubbling with the faintest warmth. ]
I'm not so green, thank you.
[ but he's new here - that much he knows. he's still learning the who's-who's and the unspoken rules that come with navigating difficult political circles. he's naive to some things, sure. he'd expected that much. but he's not stupid, and timothy laughlin knows when he's being toyed with. teased.
he knows that being sweet isn't exactly washington material, but it seems to have pushed him this far.
he's just swallowing back the sip of milk when hawk reaches out and tim's sure everything moves in slow motion. he sees the hand, the way hawk's eyes follow the curve of his own mouth, and there's no stopping it. instead, his face burns furiously, his eyes widen a little, and he lets out a little surprised huff of air. ]
Oh.
[ and then, the realization truly hits home. he's not hunting for leads. he's hunting for a man. and not just any man. him? ]
O-oh.
[ his fingers flex around the glass of milk and he swallows hard again, lips feeling as though they may set themselves on fire from the touch. the warmth that had started low in his belly before begins to simmer.
hawkins fuller has no reason to hunt someone like timothy laughlin. he has no information he can give, no real prowess, no standing here. there's nothing that a man like hawkins fuller stands to gain, and yet the moment the brown of his own eyes raises and catches the movement of his thumb, all thoughts of politics go out the window. ]
I - it's really very flattering, but there's Lonig -
[ lonigan is getting up from his seat just as he turns to gesture, the busty blond tucked into his side and his security detail close behind. tim's skin prickles with fire, the hair standing up at the back of his neck. ]
I'm working, and that's - it's wholly inappropriate.
[ but when he looks back to hawk? his more base, natural instincts make his eyes flicker to the man's mouth, the way it curves around a cigarette, before his eyes dart up, startled and quick. ]
There's - did you know this estate has a library? Well, a state room, but it's floor to ceiling shelves. It's toward the back, so it gets the rising sun in the morning. I - well. It's private. Lonigan considered it earlier, but decided against it.
hawk half expects him to squeak with nerves, to drop his milk glass or jump like a skittish colt when his thumb makes contact. but it seems he's frozen instead, and hawk sees it in his eyes that the understanding sinks in right away. not just understanding - but real consideration. and really, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to clock someone like tim laughlin, researching harvey milk was such a reverent thoroughness to guess he might not have been interested in taking a lady friend to this gala if he had the time, but it's good confirmation all the same that he's not been barking up the wrong tree. so yeah, hawkins fuller is hunting for a man. and the man he's decided on tonight is tim - standing there in his rented suit with his thick frames and big bambi eyes and parted lips, rosy cheeks and a glass of milk all wrapped into one little morally correct little package. hawk lets his gaze drop in a blatant once over, flicking back up in case the message isn't clear enough.
but it is. and he half expects the lecture - eyes twinkling as he listens to tim stumble through the reasonable excuses even as they slip away one by one. lonigan and his blonde sweeping away to the exit. no longer on the job. inappropriate, sure, but who here is looking? hawk sucks in another breath of smoke, about to shrug it off play hard to get by starting to suggest leaving the party himself or convincing him through a well placed innuendo, maybe even a reminder that he'd done him a favor by giving him some inside information that day - but it occurs to him there hasn't been an outright no, and hawk suspects there really isn't actually one coming.
there he goes. definitely on the money about not being so green. it's one thing to find a spot for your son-of-a-bitch boss to get his rocks off without winding up on front page news the next morning, but to keep that in a back pocket and invite hawk?
in retrospect, he should know this isn't just going to be a one-off. timothy laughlin has captivated him - hook, line, and sinker.
there's one more puff of his cigarette before he extinguishes it against the banister, draining the rest of his scotch and leaving it there too where it'll get cleaned with the rest of the scattered half-empty glasses resting out here. his eyes are only on tim - wondering if he doesn't answer fast enough, or if he makes one wrong move if that burst of confidence might waver.]
I like a man with a plan. Lead the way.
[spoken as hawk strides right past him, ignoring his own request even as one hand brushes against tim's lower back and then along his hip in passing. it's important they aren't seen leaving or heading in that direction together, per se, even if everyone is drunk enough at this point that it probably doesn't matter. but he waits for the boy to catch up, wondering if the milk will stay in tow and thinking about how he wouldn't be opposed to sipping that off his chin, or his neck, or even his chest.
an estate room is unfortunately not the venue, but baby steps.
he keeps an eye out for tim's mop of chestnut, politely excusing his way through the crowd while hawk walks nearly parallel in a sea of peers with polite nods and makes excuses about heading out. eventually it starts to thin out, and he waits for tim's figure to vanish entirely down the hallway and up an ornate set of marble stairs before casually sauntering in the same direction.
there's a quiet thud of a door propping closed, and hawk can tell it must be the furthest one back because the view even from the hall looks like it'd be stunning to wake up to. but all that is lost on him, instead pushing inside and locking the door behind them before he walks up to tim - no more room for personal space, and lets his eyes flicker down at his lips yet again before tearing back up.]
So, Mr. Laughlin. Are you still on the clock?
[hawk leans in again, voice dropping to a low murmur - one hand dragging up tim's arm and brushing lightly against his neck.]
Or have you decided to forget about Lonigan and let me kiss you?
[ timothy laughlin tries to move through life with a plan, or at least acting like he has one. what he doesn't know is that the moment he leaves this balcony and follows the shadow of a man named hawkins fuller, all of his life plans will go out the window. the moment he crosses over the threshold into the little study, all bets are off on anything he thought he'd be, he'd do.
he hadn't even planned to hold onto the milk, but something about the appraisal in hawk's eyes and the skirting of a broad hand has all but short-circuited his thinking. he should say no - should politely decline and tuck his head and leave, prepare for the work day tomorrow where lonigan will be hungover (and need a triple espresso to keep himself focused during council) and accept that the path he will have to take is not linear nor is it easy.
but hawk strides away with all the confidence of a man who knows that he cannot say no. maybe it's just ego - men like hawkins fuller know how good they look, know the kind of attention they command, know the many, many ways they can add one more tally to their bedposts. tim doesn't usually subscribe to that lifestyle - after all, the church would utterly condemn him should they know he has found comfort in the beds of men before.
he weaves through the crowd practically unnoticed - he's quiet and mousy and unextraordinary in everyway. it might be why lonigan likes him so well: his attention to detail shines in a private, professional way - and tim otherwise is happy to neither be seen nor heard.
there's no denying he can feel hawk's eyes on him in the crowd, the steel blue of his gaze burning like a hot poker, a niggling reminder that he is being watched. were this some foreign, amazonian wild, he might even consider himself hunted. that's what hawk had said, after all - happy hunting? how long had hawkins fuller set his sights on him at this party?
he steps into the room he'd scoped out for his boss earlier and he reflexively takes a nervous sip of the milk. will hawk even come? something in the prickling of his skin tells him so, and the soft thud of a door, the click of a lock on its heels, tells him indeed, he has. tim turns and cannot mask the soft noise of surprise when hawk is on him almost immediately, and he takes half a step back, feeling the wood of the reading table behind him, caging him in.
tim stands his ground, jaw tipping up just so in quiet defiance, glass of milk jostled in one hand. he doesn't hold his breath, but he feels like he should, what with the hand that drags along his arm, fingers teasing at his neck.
he should run. turn heel and head straight for the door on some frantic little apology and call this done. hawkins fuller is dangerous - he knew that before, but he realizes it in this moment a fraction too late. ]
Technically, yes, Mr. Fuller.
[ his voice comes out resolute and firm, even as hawk leans in, as his eyes flicker to his lips. tim's do the same - quickly flitting to the curve of hawk's, the hard line of his jaw, then away to one side, but his body doesn't move. he lets hawk stay in his space, lets him hold everything he's bulldozed and taken. ]
I'm on call for Senator Lonigan at any hour should he need me.
[ but he won't. not now. his security detail will take care of any messes made by the ditzy blonde and tim will show up tomorrow at work like any other day. he turns his eyes back up to meet hawk's, the cool blue. his free hand raises, fingers brushing over the elbow of hawk's fine suit, pinching the fabric between thumb and forefinger delicately, lightly. like he's afraid the fabric might burn him. ]
I signed an agreement. [ but the argument is weak and he knows it, his head turning faintly, the tips of their noses bumping. he doesn't even have anywhere to back up, what with the broad reading table behind him. he'd meant to sit his milk down on it. ]
[there is something more intoxicating than any tumbler of scotch or top shelf liquor at the bar could ever provide in watching tim rove through the crowd and disappear up that elegant staircase - to play this entire audience save the few men and women he can count on one hand that are decent for fools by ditching this stuffy soirée to go hopefully get this handsome, intelligent boy off while state secrets and scandals are exchanged. how long has he been hunting tim? since the moment he saw him in that library - bent over in the book stacks, mouthing around his pen and huffing while taking his no doubt exceptionally thorough notes. since he watched him stutter around an apology for nearly spilling milk on his ferragamo oxfords - cheeks and ears nearly flushed to the tips.
so yeah, the idea of him not turning up? not walking into the lion's den as the embodiment of the lion about to eat a good goddamn meal after too long?
un-fucking-likely.
hawk angles his jaw in against tim, enough that he can drink in every little nuance, every expression and the nerves he clearly tries to steel up close. enough that he could swoop in and steal his lips - but he won't, not yet. not until he gets some sort of confirmation this is alright, even if tim's body has already told him the answer plainly. but now that tim is cornered with expensive wood older than the both of them up firm against his back - it's hard not to be intrigued to see how he'll handle himself, because if nothing else, tim has been quite resourceful in that way when it comes to standing his ground. to biting back with a surprising amount of edge that belies the otherwise naïve innocence that's inherent to his big bambi eyes and the flop of his hair - to his youth among the rest of these old windbags, christ.
knowing lonigan, the coast is clear. that man is probably face down in tits right now, barely in the limo on his way to a hotel that taxpayers shouldn't be footing but are stuck with anyway. so maybe tim is stalling for time, or maybe he's just trying to hold onto the last vestiges of control he has over the situation before hawk swoops in and plucks it out of his long, nimble fingers. he pulls back enough to look him in the eyes, brows lifting with a soft oh that's part mockingly pulling his leg, part agreement.]
I'm sure you did. He'll run you ragged if you let him, but I can tell you're a smart boy, Mr. Laughlin.
[his breath comes out in a soft exhale, close enough now that tim could inhale it like his own. the brush of his nose has hawk nuzzling it slightly, angling in impossibly closer but still not capturing his lips just yet.]
I can tell you've got the endurance to be put through your paces, too. Call it a hunch, but I've got a pretty good knack for this kind of thing.
[one hand shifts along tim's waist, palm flat to slide past it and down along his wrist, brushing past his fingers to grip the glass of milk and set it at the far end of the table, out of the way in anticipation for what's next. i think i've decided - and that's enough of a yes for him - not to kiss him at first, but to let his hands grip around tim's waist fully this tim, to heft him up with an easy display of strength and set his ass against the top of the heavy oak table. that gives him enough room to slide between tim's splayed legs, watching for any signs of surprise, listening for any protest as both palms settle on his thighs and squeeze with the heat of a brand before he surges up and steals tim's lips in a hungry press of his own.
fuck, it's been too long since he did this with anyone - longer still since it was with someone that actually intrigued him to such a degree. but timothy laughlin seems like the whole damn package, and that might be rarer than working for a man like senator smith.
dangerous, even.
hard to care when tim's lips are quite so plush, thighs more supple than he imagined beneath the scratch of cheap wool under his fingertips.]
[ they're balancing on a tightrope, a delicate sway back and forth as they all but circle one another. hawk nuzzles in just a fraction of an inch closer and tim laughlin finds himself utterly overwhelmed. it's not the first time he's slipped away from some obligation or event to indulge in baser, messier wants, but it's the first time he feels like an utterly caged animal, the way hawk's body angles in, the way he can smell his cologne and the scotch on his breath from moments before.
(what does it taste like on his tongue? it's an obscene though, but it makes tim's eyes flutter down to the curve of hawk's lips as he speaks). ]
I've got a good knack for enduring, you're right, Mr. Fuller.
[ the glass of milk hits the table with a satisfying little plunk and by the time tim's eyes raise to meet the heated, wanting blue of hawk's? he's being hauled up onto the table with broad palms he wishes had stayed against the bare skin of his wrist a moment longer, so that the heat and tingle of it could bite and sting and burn, like a brand.
but hawk's mouth is hotter than that, and a low hum of surprise leaves his own throat as his ass comes to settle on the table, as his thighs open willingly to accept the breadth of the man between them. tim arches his back, bringing him into the kiss and his hands instinctively shift, the one at hawk's elbow rising to grip his shoulder and slide into the crook at his neck, the other against hawk's chest, fingers pressing hard against the fabric of his expensive tie where it sits just off his collarbone.
he parts his lips, and with a hungry sort of eagerness licks hungry and needy into hawk's mouth, searching out the taste of scotch he'd wondered about before. it's foolish how he's already starting to feel his cock stir, how the strong hands at his thighs and the heft up onto the desk have sent his blood to the hot south. tim's thighs flex, muscles rippling under his palms as he bumps his knees in against hawk's hips. inviting, maybe, but more like dragging him in. ]
It's good you locked the door.
[ it's a weak, bad joke when he parts for air before diving in to kiss him again, the hand at his neck sliding to his nape and into his hair. ]
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no subject
hawk tilts his head, an amused noise that's a cross between an incredulous scoff and a short, brusque laugh. but his lips are open for a moment, pulled up at the corners as he squints slightly.]
Did you...google me, Mr. Laughlin?
[and then it smooths out into an easy, closed-lipped grin, eyes warm with a slight twinkle as he gives tim a very blatant once over and a subtle nod of appreciation.]
I'm flattered, really. But just so you know - White Russians aren't actually white.
[there's a beat, and he follows tim further back onto the balcony and glances over his shoulder to make sure the coast is clear from lonigan, senator smith, and any other prying eyes. his voice drops a little, and he shifts to move past him back outside he murmurs within earshot.]
Unless you count the ones your boss likes to feel up at these parties.
[there's a hint of sardonicism through the playfulness, though they both know it's the truth. brushing past tim and into the fresh air gives him a moment where the boy hasn't fully turned around to glance at his backside - which isn't getting any favors from the way the suit is slightly too baggy. then again, he remembers having to climb that ladder once upon a time. he was just fortunate to have pressed and tailored suits from his days still living at home, an immense gratitude for the care his mother had in preserving them even after he'd been unceremoniously thrown out by his father. but nevermind that, hawk pulls out another cigarette, leaning against the balcony and waving tim over with a beckoning arm before fishing around for his lighter again.]
A longer leash, maybe. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.
[that's common knowledge from lonigan, the gossip of the other aides he's overheard - certainly not the work of google. he puts the filter against his mouth, striking the lighter while cupping around the flame and keeping it between his lips as he offers an amused hum.]
You don't strike me as a particularly rude boy. I'm here with Senator Smith. Politically.
[one elbow rests against the thick stone enclosure of the balcony, and hawk leans casually on it while his body follows in an easy drape, like they're just two old friends chatting here.]
But I get the feeling you might have already known that. So I'll be rude enough for the both of us and ask if you're here with anyone else - not politically.
[his brows bounce suggestively, fingers pulling the cigarette out as he blows the smoke off to the side and away from tim's face.]
no subject
[ he tilts his head a little bit, but he knows he's been caught. no one would drink vodka with straight cream - what a nightmare. already this interaction has gone so downhill, and his face flushes at the mere accusation that he has looked the man up. he shouldn't sound so defensive when he speaks again on a little huff, but when he turns and catches the faintest hint of eyes on him? the flush creeps further up his neck. ]
The National Registry, actually. At least first, considering I was at the library. You - everyone does it sometimes. Googling, I mean.
[ he follows after him, intrigued and feeling strangely like he's fallen into the orbit of a sun, unable to pull away. hawkins fuller is enigmatic, handsome, alluring. even the little quips draw him in. and while fuller hasn't googled him, the promotion bit? well that makes the flush rise hot into his cheeks. he's heard - enough to remember him. enough to congratulate him. ]
Senator Lonigan's past-times aren't my concern. I just see to whatever he requests here and then make sure he gets in the right car when he leaves. Whatever his proclivities are I'd rather not speak to them.
[ again he turns the glass in between his palms, glancing out over the balcony, but then to hawk when he lights up - the broad cup of his hands, the purse of his lips around the cigarette, and the way the lighter's flame lights up in blue eyes. his nose scrunches up a little, mouth pulling and thinning. he leans against the railing himself, crossing his legs in front of him but his shoe ends up tapping against hawk's, absently. ]
I'm not a boy, thank you. And yes, I could assume you were here with Senator Smith, considering your political leanings. I hadn't seen you, though.
[ but good god, hawk chooses to be rude himself and tim blinks, ducking his head and looking up at him incredulously. ]
Me? No. I couldn't - Lonigan keeps me busy and it would be rude to invite someone to a party and abandon them. I'm too busy for that. But - what about you? If you think I'm incapable of being a rude boy, then I'll just ask outright - did you come with anyone tonight or have you stayed with Senator Smith and his donors?
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[which is a terribly polite, roundabout way of confirming that timothy laughlin is in fact of age and hawk's not robbing some kind of cradle, even if the milk and the baby face and the way he's partly swimming in his rental aren't doing him any favors. if anything it's wildly endearing, not the downhill thing tim seems embarrassed about - or whatever is driving that pretty flush on the high points of his cheeks and down his neck. hawk wonders what it looks like below the collar, how far it might extend - and whether or not this young man is quite so jittery when it comes to matters outside the high pressure of an asshole breathing down his neck for majority of the night looking to get as drunk as possible before getting his dick out.
maybe he didn't google tim, but he listens. remembered the name - narrowed it down to one of two candidates he'd be working for. news travels fast, especially when it's not a nepotism hire getting promoted these days. lots more to prove, higher stakes - and a much longer fall if it doesn't go well. something tells hawk there's more than meets they eye with this one, though, and he can't deny the way he's instantly drawn to the boy too.]
Do they? I guess I'm old school.
[he tips his head with a teasing incline, voice emphasizing the first bit in mild disbelief. if he's this easy to rile up, hawk might as well have some fun while he's got downtime and doesn't have to keep greasing palms and kissing asses while accumulating the dirt that'll undermine future troublemakers. hawk sucks in breath of smoke, watching it dissipate over the railing and out into the midnight sky and waft as if it might reach the washington monument before it turns into a whisper of nothing. his gaze drops to where tim has nudged his oxford, intentional or not, before flicking back up and tapping his ash off the railing with a smirk.]
Spoken like a real veteran of DC. Out of sight, out of mind.
[in case tim thinks he's mocking him, which - maybe he is, a little bit, he clarifies:]
Don't worry. We've all worked for our fair share of pricks around here.
[not senator smith, though. one of the few good men still left in washington, as if there were many to choose from before. but he's not about to let that cat out of the bag, instead letting his lips curl again with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.]
I think you're a very capable boy, as a matter of fact. Be as rude as you like.
[there's a note of something else in his voice - a challenge, maybe, and his gaze doesn't shift from where it's fixed on tim. hawk leans against his elbow a little more, body inclining towards the company in a casual sprawl.]
If they like you enough they'll wait. For future reference. But me, I'm flying solo tonight.
[he sucks in another breath, eyes squinting slightly at the mild chill in the air making it a little harsher before letting the smoke stream out both nostrils.]
Did my time putting in all the right words, shaking a few hands, and now it's happy hunting.
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[ there's almost something indignant in the way he says it, huffy and taken aback. his nose scrunches slightly and he rolls his eyes. he knows he's young, sure, but that young? hardly! he shakes his head. ]
I just choose not to drink while I'm working. I'd rather keep my head clear, thank you, considering I'm looking out for the wellbeing of my boss.
[ but lonigan is clearly capable of looking after his own wellbeing, considering he's settled in with the busty, pretty blond from earlier. a booth seat, which is telling for tim - he'll be making his way out soon, if the hand on her ass says anything. instead, his eyes blink back up to hawk, his head tilting slightly.
oh.
there's a challenge behind hawkins fuller's eyes and the way he leans into the sapce between them, sprawling with ease in a way that claims the open air, his fingers flex around the glass of milk, his brow pinches just slightly. ]
You were here with Senator Smith who, by all measures, I imagine you respect very much. If I hadn't seen you this evening, then you were with him, seeing as I was with Lonigan on the other half of the party. Something tells me you don't waste time on people. So. Smith - he must be important.
[ he shrugs one shoulder a little sheepishly, but there's a defiant sort of confidence in tim's expression, what with the way his jaw sets, his eyes meet hawk's. he doesn't lean into the space or change where he's leaning. but it's shaken instead as hawk continues, and the cigarette smoke clouds the air between them. ]
Happy hunting? [ his brow furrows, his nose wrinkles. ] What do you mean?
[ what would it be like to be the smoke, wispy and warm, slipping from between hawk's lips?
he reflexively takes a drink from his milk. ]
Leads? What are you hunting leads for?
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hawk makes a face, shaking his head as if he's trying to both disarm the defensiveness and agree even while the cigarette and the glass in his hand are completely opposite to that declaration. he raises it as if in salute to tim's steadfast dedication.]
How do you like working with the big boys now?
[the promotion, again, if he wants any more free advice or to share what he's looking for in his presence here. tim strikes him as the kind of person with a noble goal to make some sort of a difference. but also - an outlet, if he wants to vent about the way lonigan is a pig.
his lips linger on an easy smirk again, listening to tim's assessment.]
You're right.
[easy enough - but his support of senator smith isn't exactly that hard to fathom given his pristine reputation among anyone with half a brain, a measure of heart, and not a steadfast moron on the far right. the cigarette lifts to his lifts again, eyes never leaving tim's as he exhales another smooth stream of it over one shoulder.]
That's why it's lucky I ran into you. Or - you ran into me, wasn't it?
[tim makes it too easy to tease, to feel some measure of boyishness himself with the twinkle in icy blue eyes and a warmth despite his mostly detached charms that can adapt to work on anyone. this time, it's authentic.
and tim is authentic too - not playing into the ingénue act if he's asking something quite so naïve. it makes hawk's face scrunch momentarily before an honest to god laugh bubbles up in his throat, lips pulling to reveal pearly whites and head tipping back slightly. he sets his glass down on the balcony railing, waving the hand with his cigarette as a wash of ash tips onto the ground and a trail of fleeting grey shifts between them.]
Sorry - I forgot how green you are behind the ears. It's...sweet.
[one brow lifts, something darker tinting his gaze as it drops to the way tim's lips wrap around the rim of his milk, leaving behind the faintest trace of wetness on his lips. he's not one to be shy, emboldened after a quick glance aside and confirmation no one else is out here, the party still raucous inside and balcony doors firmly shut. his clean hand reaches out, thumb brushing against the last trace of the milk against lips that are as smooth and plush as he'd imagined.]
I'm not hunting for leads.
[in case there's any question what he's hunting for instead, hawk lifts his thumb into his mouth and sucks it with a brief pop.]
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[ but hawk laughs, tipping his head back and tim is startled by how rich and warm the sound is, how genuine the sound seems coming from a man who he is sure is all charming smoke and mirrors. there's a glimpse of something real behind the washington game he's playing and that in and of itself makes something churn in his stomach, bubbling with the faintest warmth. ]
I'm not so green, thank you.
[ but he's new here - that much he knows. he's still learning the who's-who's and the unspoken rules that come with navigating difficult political circles. he's naive to some things, sure. he'd expected that much. but he's not stupid, and timothy laughlin knows when he's being toyed with. teased.
he knows that being sweet isn't exactly washington material, but it seems to have pushed him this far.
he's just swallowing back the sip of milk when hawk reaches out and tim's sure everything moves in slow motion. he sees the hand, the way hawk's eyes follow the curve of his own mouth, and there's no stopping it. instead, his face burns furiously, his eyes widen a little, and he lets out a little surprised huff of air. ]
Oh.
[ and then, the realization truly hits home. he's not hunting for leads. he's hunting for a man. and not just any man. him? ]
O-oh.
[ his fingers flex around the glass of milk and he swallows hard again, lips feeling as though they may set themselves on fire from the touch. the warmth that had started low in his belly before begins to simmer.
hawkins fuller has no reason to hunt someone like timothy laughlin. he has no information he can give, no real prowess, no standing here. there's nothing that a man like hawkins fuller stands to gain, and yet the moment the brown of his own eyes raises and catches the movement of his thumb, all thoughts of politics go out the window. ]
I - it's really very flattering, but there's Lonig -
[ lonigan is getting up from his seat just as he turns to gesture, the busty blond tucked into his side and his security detail close behind. tim's skin prickles with fire, the hair standing up at the back of his neck. ]
I'm working, and that's - it's wholly inappropriate.
[ but when he looks back to hawk? his more base, natural instincts make his eyes flicker to the man's mouth, the way it curves around a cigarette, before his eyes dart up, startled and quick. ]
There's - did you know this estate has a library? Well, a state room, but it's floor to ceiling shelves. It's toward the back, so it gets the rising sun in the morning. I - well. It's private. Lonigan considered it earlier, but decided against it.
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hawk half expects him to squeak with nerves, to drop his milk glass or jump like a skittish colt when his thumb makes contact. but it seems he's frozen instead, and hawk sees it in his eyes that the understanding sinks in right away. not just understanding - but real consideration. and really, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to clock someone like tim laughlin, researching harvey milk was such a reverent thoroughness to guess he might not have been interested in taking a lady friend to this gala if he had the time, but it's good confirmation all the same that he's not been barking up the wrong tree. so yeah, hawkins fuller is hunting for a man. and the man he's decided on tonight is tim - standing there in his rented suit with his thick frames and big bambi eyes and parted lips, rosy cheeks and a glass of milk all wrapped into one little morally correct little package. hawk lets his gaze drop in a blatant once over, flicking back up in case the message isn't clear enough.
but it is. and he half expects the lecture - eyes twinkling as he listens to tim stumble through the reasonable excuses even as they slip away one by one. lonigan and his blonde sweeping away to the exit. no longer on the job. inappropriate, sure, but who here is looking? hawk sucks in another breath of smoke, about to shrug it off play hard to get by starting to suggest leaving the party himself or convincing him through a well placed innuendo, maybe even a reminder that he'd done him a favor by giving him some inside information that day - but it occurs to him there hasn't been an outright no, and hawk suspects there really isn't actually one coming.
there he goes. definitely on the money about not being so green. it's one thing to find a spot for your son-of-a-bitch boss to get his rocks off without winding up on front page news the next morning, but to keep that in a back pocket and invite hawk?
in retrospect, he should know this isn't just going to be a one-off. timothy laughlin has captivated him - hook, line, and sinker.
there's one more puff of his cigarette before he extinguishes it against the banister, draining the rest of his scotch and leaving it there too where it'll get cleaned with the rest of the scattered half-empty glasses resting out here. his eyes are only on tim - wondering if he doesn't answer fast enough, or if he makes one wrong move if that burst of confidence might waver.]
I like a man with a plan. Lead the way.
[spoken as hawk strides right past him, ignoring his own request even as one hand brushes against tim's lower back and then along his hip in passing. it's important they aren't seen leaving or heading in that direction together, per se, even if everyone is drunk enough at this point that it probably doesn't matter. but he waits for the boy to catch up, wondering if the milk will stay in tow and thinking about how he wouldn't be opposed to sipping that off his chin, or his neck, or even his chest.
an estate room is unfortunately not the venue, but baby steps.
he keeps an eye out for tim's mop of chestnut, politely excusing his way through the crowd while hawk walks nearly parallel in a sea of peers with polite nods and makes excuses about heading out. eventually it starts to thin out, and he waits for tim's figure to vanish entirely down the hallway and up an ornate set of marble stairs before casually sauntering in the same direction.
there's a quiet thud of a door propping closed, and hawk can tell it must be the furthest one back because the view even from the hall looks like it'd be stunning to wake up to. but all that is lost on him, instead pushing inside and locking the door behind them before he walks up to tim - no more room for personal space, and lets his eyes flicker down at his lips yet again before tearing back up.]
So, Mr. Laughlin. Are you still on the clock?
[hawk leans in again, voice dropping to a low murmur - one hand dragging up tim's arm and brushing lightly against his neck.]
Or have you decided to forget about Lonigan and let me kiss you?
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he hadn't even planned to hold onto the milk, but something about the appraisal in hawk's eyes and the skirting of a broad hand has all but short-circuited his thinking. he should say no - should politely decline and tuck his head and leave, prepare for the work day tomorrow where lonigan will be hungover (and need a triple espresso to keep himself focused during council) and accept that the path he will have to take is not linear nor is it easy.
but hawk strides away with all the confidence of a man who knows that he cannot say no. maybe it's just ego - men like hawkins fuller know how good they look, know the kind of attention they command, know the many, many ways they can add one more tally to their bedposts. tim doesn't usually subscribe to that lifestyle - after all, the church would utterly condemn him should they know he has found comfort in the beds of men before.
he weaves through the crowd practically unnoticed - he's quiet and mousy and unextraordinary in everyway. it might be why lonigan likes him so well: his attention to detail shines in a private, professional way - and tim otherwise is happy to neither be seen nor heard.
there's no denying he can feel hawk's eyes on him in the crowd, the steel blue of his gaze burning like a hot poker, a niggling reminder that he is being watched. were this some foreign, amazonian wild, he might even consider himself hunted. that's what hawk had said, after all - happy hunting? how long had hawkins fuller set his sights on him at this party?
he steps into the room he'd scoped out for his boss earlier and he reflexively takes a nervous sip of the milk. will hawk even come? something in the prickling of his skin tells him so, and the soft thud of a door, the click of a lock on its heels, tells him indeed, he has. tim turns and cannot mask the soft noise of surprise when hawk is on him almost immediately, and he takes half a step back, feeling the wood of the reading table behind him, caging him in.
tim stands his ground, jaw tipping up just so in quiet defiance, glass of milk jostled in one hand. he doesn't hold his breath, but he feels like he should, what with the hand that drags along his arm, fingers teasing at his neck.
he should run. turn heel and head straight for the door on some frantic little apology and call this done. hawkins fuller is dangerous - he knew that before, but he realizes it in this moment a fraction too late. ]
Technically, yes, Mr. Fuller.
[ his voice comes out resolute and firm, even as hawk leans in, as his eyes flicker to his lips. tim's do the same - quickly flitting to the curve of hawk's, the hard line of his jaw, then away to one side, but his body doesn't move. he lets hawk stay in his space, lets him hold everything he's bulldozed and taken. ]
I'm on call for Senator Lonigan at any hour should he need me.
[ but he won't. not now. his security detail will take care of any messes made by the ditzy blonde and tim will show up tomorrow at work like any other day. he turns his eyes back up to meet hawk's, the cool blue. his free hand raises, fingers brushing over the elbow of hawk's fine suit, pinching the fabric between thumb and forefinger delicately, lightly. like he's afraid the fabric might burn him. ]
I signed an agreement. [ but the argument is weak and he knows it, his head turning faintly, the tips of their noses bumping. he doesn't even have anywhere to back up, what with the broad reading table behind him. he'd meant to sit his milk down on it. ]
But I think I've decided.
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so yeah, the idea of him not turning up? not walking into the lion's den as the embodiment of the lion about to eat a good goddamn meal after too long?
un-fucking-likely.
hawk angles his jaw in against tim, enough that he can drink in every little nuance, every expression and the nerves he clearly tries to steel up close. enough that he could swoop in and steal his lips - but he won't, not yet. not until he gets some sort of confirmation this is alright, even if tim's body has already told him the answer plainly. but now that tim is cornered with expensive wood older than the both of them up firm against his back - it's hard not to be intrigued to see how he'll handle himself, because if nothing else, tim has been quite resourceful in that way when it comes to standing his ground. to biting back with a surprising amount of edge that belies the otherwise naïve innocence that's inherent to his big bambi eyes and the flop of his hair - to his youth among the rest of these old windbags, christ.
knowing lonigan, the coast is clear. that man is probably face down in tits right now, barely in the limo on his way to a hotel that taxpayers shouldn't be footing but are stuck with anyway. so maybe tim is stalling for time, or maybe he's just trying to hold onto the last vestiges of control he has over the situation before hawk swoops in and plucks it out of his long, nimble fingers. he pulls back enough to look him in the eyes, brows lifting with a soft oh that's part mockingly pulling his leg, part agreement.]
I'm sure you did. He'll run you ragged if you let him, but I can tell you're a smart boy, Mr. Laughlin.
[his breath comes out in a soft exhale, close enough now that tim could inhale it like his own. the brush of his nose has hawk nuzzling it slightly, angling in impossibly closer but still not capturing his lips just yet.]
I can tell you've got the endurance to be put through your paces, too. Call it a hunch, but I've got a pretty good knack for this kind of thing.
[one hand shifts along tim's waist, palm flat to slide past it and down along his wrist, brushing past his fingers to grip the glass of milk and set it at the far end of the table, out of the way in anticipation for what's next. i think i've decided - and that's enough of a yes for him - not to kiss him at first, but to let his hands grip around tim's waist fully this tim, to heft him up with an easy display of strength and set his ass against the top of the heavy oak table. that gives him enough room to slide between tim's splayed legs, watching for any signs of surprise, listening for any protest as both palms settle on his thighs and squeeze with the heat of a brand before he surges up and steals tim's lips in a hungry press of his own.
fuck, it's been too long since he did this with anyone - longer still since it was with someone that actually intrigued him to such a degree. but timothy laughlin seems like the whole damn package, and that might be rarer than working for a man like senator smith.
dangerous, even.
hard to care when tim's lips are quite so plush, thighs more supple than he imagined beneath the scratch of cheap wool under his fingertips.]
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(what does it taste like on his tongue? it's an obscene though, but it makes tim's eyes flutter down to the curve of hawk's lips as he speaks). ]
I've got a good knack for enduring, you're right, Mr. Fuller.
[ the glass of milk hits the table with a satisfying little plunk and by the time tim's eyes raise to meet the heated, wanting blue of hawk's? he's being hauled up onto the table with broad palms he wishes had stayed against the bare skin of his wrist a moment longer, so that the heat and tingle of it could bite and sting and burn, like a brand.
but hawk's mouth is hotter than that, and a low hum of surprise leaves his own throat as his ass comes to settle on the table, as his thighs open willingly to accept the breadth of the man between them. tim arches his back, bringing him into the kiss and his hands instinctively shift, the one at hawk's elbow rising to grip his shoulder and slide into the crook at his neck, the other against hawk's chest, fingers pressing hard against the fabric of his expensive tie where it sits just off his collarbone.
he parts his lips, and with a hungry sort of eagerness licks hungry and needy into hawk's mouth, searching out the taste of scotch he'd wondered about before. it's foolish how he's already starting to feel his cock stir, how the strong hands at his thighs and the heft up onto the desk have sent his blood to the hot south. tim's thighs flex, muscles rippling under his palms as he bumps his knees in against hawk's hips. inviting, maybe, but more like dragging him in. ]
It's good you locked the door.
[ it's a weak, bad joke when he parts for air before diving in to kiss him again, the hand at his neck sliding to his nape and into his hair. ]