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 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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
(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. ]