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redmyeyes · 6 months

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Mad about the boy

I know it’s stupid to be mad about the boy. I’m so ashamed of it, but must admit the sleepless nights I've had about the boy…

— Noël Coward

It shouldn’t have made Hawk so giddy. Missing Tim’s birthday should have made him ashamed of himself, letting the triviality of complete career ruin get in the way of the fun they’d been having. Instead, he felt stupidly giddy, fifteen and sick at heart with his first crush, because, according to Marcus, Tim had noticed. Which meant that Tim had expected Hawk to win him back, despite his principles and high-minded speeches and his “last dirty thing I’ll ever do for you” and his slamming the door on the way out. Silly, stubborn boy. He could have come to Hawk himself instead of running to Marcus, and Hawk would have let him apologize. Probably. He was generous that way. Especially when the apologies involved Tim on his knees.

Hawk had been planning on getting Tim out of his head this weekend once and for all, replacing him with multiple quick fucks. Multiples of multiples. This was a numbers game. Quantity over quality. That was what he’d told himself anyway, despite how the idea rang hollow, and despite the way he’d been unable to get Tim out of his head for one minute over the past four weeks.

But the way he’d latched onto the idea of taking Tim to Rehoboth Beach instead, once Marcus had inadvertently let him know it was a possibility, had Hawk realizing he was well and truly in over his head. Of course it would have been much easier to let this break be a clean one. To separate entirely, go back to conquests that were much easier let go of. Easier, and safer, and a hell of a lot less confusingly painful. So why the hell was he so giddy?

The look of unadorned shock on Tim’s face when he opened the door out of the judicial session and found Hawk standing there made all the uncertainty worth it. He was adorably flustered in that squirmy, self-conscious way of his, trying badly to hide it and to hold onto his anger. Readable as a picture book. Hawk’s heart swelled with delighted affection. Why did he ever think this was a good thing to be giving up? He wasn’t Catholic, and this wasn’t Lent. Besides, he always had enjoyed a bit of measured risk.

“Where are we going?” Tim asked as he slid into Hawk’s Ford precisely fifteen minutes later.

“You’re late, Skippy,” Hawk admonished, teasing, and was rewarded with the look of hot affront on Tim’s face.

“I don’t have— a change of clothes, you know. I don’t have anything to sleep in.”

“That’s a problem?” Hawk asked mildly as he glided the car into D.C. traffic. Not quite early enough to beat the rush. He’d wasted time coming to get Tim.

“You make presumptions,” Tim said, but he was grinning.

“You’re already in my car,” Hawk pointed out, grinning back.

“Why now, why— it’s been four weeks.”

“It’s come to my attention only yesterday that I missed your birthday. Can you legally drink now, Skippy?”

“I’m twenty-three,” Tim said, with a look of rebuke only someone in their early twenties would have for being mistaken as younger. Hawk rolled his eyes.

“What did you end up doing? On the day,” he clarified at Tim’s confused look.

“I… nothing special,” Tim said after a moment. “Mary…” he started again, and trailed off, and Hawk felt something tighten in the pit of his chest. He darted a glance over, but Tim was staring out the window. “We thought it best we not be seen together right now. For verisimilitude.”

“Right,” Hawk said, clearing his throat. It was for the best, he reminded himself. Losing Mary would have been crushing for Tim, of course. The two had gotten close quickly, and from what Hawk had gathered, she seemed to be the only close friend Tim had in the city. Every time Tim spoke of her, his eyes had glowed with genuine warmth and affection. Every time Hawk saw Mary in the office, he was treated to a look of badly concealed rebuke. Even seeing her every day, Hawk had not once thought about what the loss of her friendship would mean for Tim. He felt uncomfortably ashamed of that now.

“I talked to my mother,” Tim continued with a shrug. “The family is doing well. Except for Uncle Ronald, who apparently needs to be locked up for his own good. She says.”

Hawk gave a grunt of acknowledgement and concentrated on the road. They sat in strained silence in the slow-moving traffic for the next ten minutes, while something incongruously upbeat and poppy played at low volume on the radio. At last they made it out of D.C. proper, hit the parkway and sped up to a decent cruising pace, at which point Tim turned to him with that too familiar look of determination in his eye and asked again, “Why did you come get me?”

Hawk sighed. Tim never was one to let things go when he got an idea stuck in his head, and here they were stuck in a car together for the next two hours. Hawk reconsidered whether this had been the best idea, after all. He said, “Maybe I wanted to give you a present.”

“You didn’t even know it was my birthday.”

Hawk looked over at Tim, and back, and back again. The looks lasted longer than they should have, given that he was driving, but all he wanted was to drink Tim in. He’d brought his camera. He wished he could immortalize this moment, too: the adorable pout on Tim’s face, mixed with that fierce determination and equal parts hope and hurt in his eyes. It was a potent cocktail, and it tugged at Hawk’s heart. “You want me to say I missed you? I missed you. I missed you, Skippy.” Then, more truth slipping out as he saw the skepticism still on Tim’s face, “Thought maybe you were too high-principled to ever speak to me again.”

That seemed to settle something, Tim’s face twisting into that smile he sometimes got where he seemed on the verge of tears. “Hey, c’mere,” Hawk said, and stretched his arm along the back of the bench seat to pull Tim towards him. It hit him only then, as Tim slid closer and collapsed into him with a little moan, that they hadn’t touched in four weeks. He buried his nose in Tim’s hair, sinking into the comfort of the familiar smell even as he tried valiantly to keep one eye on the road. “God, I have missed you, Skippy.”

Tim settled closer with a contented little shimmy, head pillowed in the crook of Hawk’s shoulder as Hawk’s hand combed through his thick hair. Tim’s hand skimmed over the fabric of Hawk’s shirt, slipping inside Hawk’s jacket as though he couldn’t help himself. “Tell me,” Hawk said, tilting Tim’s head back to give his forehead a quick kiss, “what does my boy want for his birthday?”

“Am I still? Your boy?”

The question sent heat lancing straight through Hawk, especially with the slow-blinking wide eyes that accompanied it, and he shifted to accommodate the sudden rush of blood south. His hand tightened on the wheel. Thank god for automatic transmission and a surprising lack of traffic on this rural two-lane highway. His voice dropped an octave as he answered roughly, “If you want to be.”

Tim’s hand continued to rove over Hawk’s chest with the barest pressure. His eyes didn’t leave Hawk’s face. “I ask Marcus about you sometimes. When I can’t help myself.”

It was said so easily. Tim had this way of stating the most vulnerable, damning things as simple truths. Like it didn’t even hurt him to be that open. Maybe it was the habit of confession. Hawk wondered what else he could be made to confess. Then his expression darkened. What else he could be made to confess could get them both into a world of trouble. That’s what had gotten them into this whole mess in the first place: Tim’s inability to lie. He shook it off. Tim would learn eventually. He’d have to, if he wanted to survive. Until then, Hawk would keep them both safe. And in the meantime there was no sense in not taking advantage. “What else can’t you help yourself from?”

Tim pulled back a little. “You’re making fun of me,” he said, but he sounded unsure.

Hawk nodded significantly at his lap, where his erection strained at his trousers. “Does it look like I’m making fun of you? It’s a long drive, Skippy. Maybe I just want to hear about how you touch yourself at night, imagining me there with you. What kind of things do you imagine? Confess.”

That last got a reaction, a shuddered breath that Hawk felt on his neck, followed by a catlike flick of Tim’s tongue. “You and your presumptions.”

“Mhmm, so you’ve been celibate this whole time, then.”

“What about you?” Tim said, poking Hawk in the side and eliciting an undignified yelp. “I know you haven’t. And I know you’ve used more than your right hand.”

“Didn’t expect me to wait for you to come knocking down my door, did you, Skippy?” Hawk shrugged, easy. “I have been known to indulge, on occasion. Did you want to hear about my hollow bathhouse conquests?”

“If they’re hollow, then why—”

“Same reason you’re not celibate, I imagine. Because… it’s better than nothing.”

They were silent for a moment, Hawk moody with things he didn’t want to be thinking about, and Tim’s expression gone contemplative. Then Tim relaxed into him again and said, hesitant but deliberate, “I do think about you.”

Hawk hummed in approval, the moodiness swept away like clouds before sun. “Oh? Do tell.”

“I think about… the night of Alsop’s party. Before the party. When you… when you made me—”

“You like to be made to do things,” Hawk said, which felt true even if it had been Tim calling the shots that entire night.

“How did you know? I didn’t know.”

Hawk considered that. “Didn’t know. Had a sense, maybe. That you’d be… receptive. Little things. Straight away, election night, you let me order for you. A lot of men wouldn’t. They’d get offended or put up some macho bluster… You gave me your number when I asked. And then that first night, our first real night…” he shrugged. “I like being in control. And you seemed so eager to please.”

Tim flushed, a heat that Hawk could feel as his fingers skimmed over Tim’s cheek. “You make me sound like such a, a—”

“Didn’t mean it as an insult, Skippy. Nothing gets me hotter than an eager boy.”

Tim turned his face into Hawk and shuddered out a heavy breath. His hand was rubbing firmer circles now over Hawk’s chest. “It’s not about being forced, or made to do things, it’s… you told me what you wanted and that made it easy. I could do it and I liked… seeing how far I could push before you cracked. I like making you lose control.”

“Better watch it, Skippy. Making me lose control already and we’ve got a fair bit of driving to do.”

Tim’s hand had slid down to Hawk’s thighs, and was now inching upwards, skirting the area where Hawk wanted him most, of course. “Does that— is that a turn on for you? Trying to hold on to your composure while you’re losing it?”

Hawk blew out a measured breath, eyes firmly on the road, as Tim’s hand slid up his inner thigh, into the junction between thigh and hip, and started kneading. Still not where he wanted him. His foot had gone heavy on the accelerator, and he eased the car back to fifty. “You’re playing a dangerous game, boy.”

“Answer the question.”

Hawk darted a quick glance over, and Tim’s eyes glittered, locked on his face. Hawk grinned, predatory. “Alright then. Just remember who started this.” Another slow exhale to get his pulse under control and he eased off the gas again. His hand threaded gently into Tim’s hair from the nape of his neck. “Take me out.” When Tim hesitated, he added, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Skippy. Do it. Or get back on your side of the car.”

A moment’s pause, then Tim obeyed, undoing Hawk’s belt, and then trousers, one-handed. Hawk tilted his hips to make it easier. He wished he had a cigarette. And another hand. Hawk was barely uncovered, only a few inches of him peeking out from the waistband of his boxers, but it was enough that it would be a challenge to cover up quickly if anything happened. “Go on, then,” he said.

Tim met his eyes, as if gauging what Hawk wanted, then licked his lips seemingly unconsciously and lowered his head.

That first touch of wet heat and suction had Hawk bucking up into Tim’s mouth. “Ahh— slow down, Skippy. Slower. That’s it,” he sighed as Tim eased back, mouthing wetly at the head of his cock. “Settle in, that’s it.”

Tim settled into his lap, as Hawk grazed the backs of his fingers over Tim’s cheek. “Now take yourself out.” There was a muffled moan as Tim nosed deeper, but he complied all the same, clumsy fingers fumbling at his own trousers. His other hand slid behind Hawk to grip Hawk’s left hip. “I don't want to see your hand stop moving,” Hawk said once Tim had gotten himself out. The head of Tim’s cock was shiny wet and dripping, challenging Hawk to keep his eyes on the road.

“Wanna make me lose control? See how long you can keep us here. On the brink.” Tim moaned around Hawk’s cock, his hand speeding up. “Love this, don’t you? You’re so hard just from sucking me off. Bet I could make you come untouched. Something to play with later. Ah— easy, easy.” That last was in response to Tim taking him deep, his throat convulsing around him with blissful pressure as he swallowed.

“God, Skippy,” Hawk breathed, forcing himself to relax. “You drive me crazy.” His hand moved from Tim’s cheek to his throat, squeezing gently. He could feel himself, inside. Tim moaned again in answer, his hand still moving. What a picture he was, his head buried in Hawk’s lap, hair a mess, glasses askew, body sprawled and twisted on the white leather, cockhead angry red as it peeped between his moving fingers. “I could keep you here for hours if I wanted. So hard, for so long, until you’re sobbing for me to let you come.”

Tim made an urgent noise, his hand stilling on his cock as he squeezed tight. “I said keep moving, Skippy.” Hawk’s cock slipped out of Tim’s mouth as he gulped for air, but his hand did start moving again, slowly.

“Hawk,” Tim panted, turning his name into a strung-out needy groan.

“Need some help there?” Tim shook his head, his mouth finding Hawk’s cock again, and Hawk blew out a heavy breath. “That’s right, want to do it all yourself, don’t you, boy? Get me hard, make me come, make me lose control.”

Hawk had slowed down enough that a car was about to overtake them on the left. He gave the family of four a sedate nod as they passed. “Imagine what they’d think if they could see you,” he murmured, hand stroking Tim’s throat. “My shameless, needy boy.”

Tim’s high-pitched keen was a thing of beauty. Up ahead, the family station wagon was taking an exit, leaving a long, open straightaway. Enough. “C’mon,” he said, his hand sliding into Tim’s thick hair, urging him faster. Tim’s hand on himself sped up, his other hand digging into Hawk’s hip hard enough to bruise.

Hawk’s head dug into the seat back as he panted open-mouthed, every muscle in his body tensed. The speedometer was creeping past eighty, so he took his foot off the gas and planted it, forcing his eyes open as Tim bobbed in earnest now. “That’s it, come on, c’mon. Make yourself come, I want you coming with my cock in your mouth, knowing you love it.”

Tim spluttered, convulsing in on himself as Hawk flooded his mouth. Didn’t let any spill though, good boy, swallowing around Hawk and then lapping, suckling, as they collapsed together, boneless.

Hawk sank back in the seat, laughter in his heart and bubbling up through his chest. “God, Skippy. God. The way you make me—”

Head pillowed on Hawk’s lap, hand curled protectively against his own stomach, Tim turned his face to the sky and laughed in wild, pure joy.

#just a little ep3 interlude <3 #fellow travelers #fellowtravelersedit #redrites #tim x hawk #hawk x tim #*#ftfic #fellow travelers fics

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