[it's not tim's first shift at the bar, and it's not even the first one hawk's dropped in on. jacaerys has been a terrifically delectable distraction, obliging him for a few extra drop ins when the piano bar or a smoke with friends like louis doesn't quite cut it. part of him still thinks it's silly for tim to be working a job, let alone one he isn't even getting paid for - but he seems content enough that hawk can only deign to just: suck it up for a few hours. it's funny how a few months ago he would have balked at such saccharine behavior and called bullshit. but a few months ago hawk wasn't in love with timothy laughlin.
except that's not true either. alright, amendment: a few months ago hawk wasn't letting himself be in love with timothy laughlin. death has a funny way of changing all that, though. tim's more than his own, and he hasn't wasted a goddamn minute ever since.
that's why he's here now, looking smitten as tim does something as mundane as buff out the surface of the bar after he's slid over his preferred drink. but he can't fool hawk from catching the nervous way his eyes keep glancing over to the hand that's not resting around his glass - the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. he's not fidgeting per se, but hawk can tell from enough mornings in close quarters with tim in the bathroom and tidying up their shared suite to know that his motions aren't quite as coordinated in the way he flits around with a determination - if anything, they're a bit more cautious and restrained. it's cute, really - enough to have hawk lifting his brows and raising his glass - still one-handed - in a salute to his partner.
all of this because he knows tim is waiting for the other shoe to drop. he's waiting to see when hawk's hand will shift into his pocket and press a thumb over the small, remote control device that will send waves of vibration through the toy pressed up into his tight little hole where no one is the wiser. no one except hawk, taking his sweet time with the whiskey and licking his lips. there's a pleasant, teasing smile offered back to tim to put him at ease and simultaneously keep him on his toes. in fact, it's not until he's bent over a few minutes later and checking something under the fridges in the bar that his hand sneaks inside, thumbing the now-familiar button that will nudge it up two levels to a pleasant, manageable pulse.]
Youβre supposed to order a cocktail so I can practice. How about a Manhattan?
[ In hindsight, heβll admit that he was asking for it, changing his drink order on him and going out in that mesh top that makes Hawk crazy, and every other patron looking for a buzz aware of the muscle in his arms and the fur on his chest. A practical choice, in service of his goal of being the best at this that he can be β even in his limited experience, he knows people want to order from the hot one.Β
And maybe he wants to make Hawk crazy. Maybe his protests this morning when heβd whispered all that filth in Timβs ear about toys and deviant tricks (he's trying to be a professional, Koby will see through him in an instant, haki or not) were all a performance, a token scandalized gasp meant to make another push impossible for Hawk to resist. He doesnβt know how to say no to Hawk, but he never truly intended to.Β
Tim slides his drink over delicately, an eye very pointedly focused on Hawkβs pocket. It would be perfect, save for the pirate-sword skewer on the garnish β both cheesy and more decorative than functional, hard to poke through the cherry cleanly β and he offers it with only an innocent smile, before moving on to the next person. The toy isnβt big, but even while itβs off, heβs aware enough of it that heβs less graceful, his movements a little stilted and his face just slightly pink, now that Hawkβs here, building the anticipation. He trusts that he wonβt do anything to get him kicked out of here, or while heβs shaking a drink he wonβt want spilled all over himself, but still, the longer he sits there, the more it builds. The power he holds over him, made so literal, makes heat pool in his belly before Hawkβs done a damn thing.
He ought to consider himself lucky that itβs not until he ducks below the bar for more limes that he starts to feel the pulse. The gasp is soft, but Hawk can hear it if heβs listening for it. Itβs fine, manageable, positioned like that. Itβs not until he stands again, legs closed and hole clenched tight around the little vibrating plug, that Tim shudders and wonders if this might have been a mistake.
Sure that someone will put two and two together if he gives any ammunition at all, he doesn't even look at Hawk. He serves the next customer with a smile, flexing his arms as he shakes their margarita. ]
Sure. A Manhattan. You know what, give me a goddamn Cosmo for all I care. I'm just enjoying the view.
[and that much is true, said with a wickedly charming grin, voice dropping low with the implication of it that only tim will understand and flush even prettier at. this is maybe the riskiest thing they've tried yet since the answer to a blowjob at breakfast has been vehemently vetoed no matter how many times he asks, but something about doing it on the clock with or without money on the line makes it all the more exciting. it's not that he wants anyone to know what's in his pocket or watch tim fall apart - it's moreso that tim is willing to do it at all, to let hawk lay his claim of ownership over his body and control it quite literally even at the risk of exposure and mortification and every fucked up thing that could happen if this went sideways. but somehow even then he's not sure tim would mind - not when they've spent so long hiding every meaningful look, every word with too much emotion or even every knock at each other's door in fear that someone might infer the truth: that they love each other. that they're desperate and crazy to have each other physically like this just about every fucking night and then some.
hawk takes his drink between his fingers, wrist swirling it for a quick whiff and a hum of approval before he takes a sip and nods.]
Good boy.
[but that's not what the praise is really for, not as he sees the way his lover's body reacts to the sudden intrusion of vibration and gentle insinuation of pulsing pleasure, the little gasp he absolutely is straining to hear and rewarded with alongside a delicious little shudder that makes him want to vault over this countertop and feel tim shiver against his front.
instead he prides himself on his restraint, the hand still staying in his pocket as his other keeps a firm grip around his drink, which he probably should have told him could use a dash less of bitters. he wouldn't do anything as irresponsible as jeopardize tim's perfect margarita shake - not when he can watch his arm muscles and the tendons in his wrists tensing and releasing in a nice rhythm, ogling him blatantly over the rim of his glass. but as soon as he turns away, that's when hawk can nudge it up again, this time with a burst of throbbing precision that fades out almost as quickly as it came before doing it again at several second intervals.
his brows bounce again, smile nothing but perfectly pleasant.]
Say, can I get a cherry, honey?
[not deposited into his hand, not as he leans up over the bar expectantly like tim ought to feed it to him straight from his mouth. or lob it at him - whatever comes first.]
[ Despite his little arrangement with Koby and Quentin, Tim doesnβt consider himself an exhibitionist, nor does the risk of getting caught carry any thrill for him. It hits too close to home to be fun, when before, it would have ruined his life, it stopped anything that could have (what has), in a better world, been a real relationship dead in its tracks. The thrill comes from telling Hawk that he would be worth it. Heβs worth the humiliation or the scolding thatβll come if heβs found out, and heβs worth the earful heβll get for the glass he drops when he dials it up, the sudden vibration sending a hot jolt through him. The sort that would make his back arch and lips part, begging for more, if they were alone. But they're not, so the glass shatters as blood rushes south, he apologizes profusely as he seeks out a broom to sweep it up. A solid, if unintentional, cover for the flush on his face.
He takes the time to adjust himself while heβs crouched on the floor, sweeping. Find a comfortable spot that wonβt make an obvious tent in his pants next to his coworkers. When he stands again, he attempts to give Hawk a little glare, but it comes across more baby deer in the headlights. ]
Did I miss it?
[ He asks, knowing good and well that he did not, because he got some of the juice on his finger and was not subtle in the least about licking it off, since he is simply incapable of forgetting that Hawkβs eyes are on him for a single second. The thought does occur to him to flick another cherry at him, but he doesnβt. Unprofessional. Tim leans in as if he really is about to pop a cherry right into his mouth...and then pulls back, plopping it into Hawkβs drink instead. The only payback he can deliver on the clock ]
I still have another hour, you know. And I need to go replace this glass. Donβt follow me.
[well, there is a flicker of guilt as hawk turns it back down after the smash of glass and crackle of it underfoot behind the bar. he hadn't meant for it to be distracting enough to get hurt or mess anything up, even if regular accidents can happen all the time and no one else apparently seems the wiser. he's expecting tim to whirl around with a furious glare and a flush that'll soften it, a taut line to his body that hawk knows just how to pluck and soothe - enough so that he can mouth a quick sorry that's actually sincere. but instead tim dutifully crouches down, tending to the fragments of it and emerging shortly after with a look that's more dazed than angry. well in that case - ]
No. I'm just greedy.
[a winsome grin, the one flashing his pearly whites as he leans in, and in, and in - thinking he's gotten him hook, line, and sinker - only for the glass to splash a little droplet against his wrist as tim forcefully dips it into his drink instead. maybe that's another win all on its own somehow, and he can't help the reluctant smirk creeping up at the protest. hawk holds up his hands as if to prove his innocence - both of them, at least until he sees tim's back as it retreats down the hall. hawk busies himself with his drink, pretending to keep sipping at it even as his hand slips casually back into his pocket after enough time has passed to turn it back up at a consistent, more urgent pulse now. he's in the back - if he has the sense, he'll have locked the door.
because hawk doesn't miss the details. he doesn't miss that everyone else's glass is full, and that there are plenty of other replacements behind the bar that didn't need to come from a closet or a back room. a lot can make an hour pass faster, but it isn't going to be the lull in need for service out here. hawk resists the urge to pluck out a cigarette, instead draining his drink dry and waiting a little bit longer before he rises and adjusts his suit as if he's simply on a stroll to the men's room, or back into the depths of the manor. but of course he's not, reading between the lines and knowing that even if tim demanded one thing, he'll acquiesce to another. thankfully he doesn't have to guess where to go - door tipped open and the line of his lover's shoulder visible as he slides inside before closing and locking the door behind them.]
Need some help? Let me give you a hand.
[a hand to fix around his waist, sliding up behind him and caging him against rows of boxes and glasses and whatever else is in this storage closet without a care for anything but the dull ache he knows tim must be feeling by now.]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2025-01-28 03:35 am (UTC)[it's not tim's first shift at the bar, and it's not even the first one hawk's dropped in on. jacaerys has been a terrifically delectable distraction, obliging him for a few extra drop ins when the piano bar or a smoke with friends like louis doesn't quite cut it. part of him still thinks it's silly for tim to be working a job, let alone one he isn't even getting paid for - but he seems content enough that hawk can only deign to just: suck it up for a few hours. it's funny how a few months ago he would have balked at such saccharine behavior and called bullshit. but a few months ago hawk wasn't in love with timothy laughlin.
except that's not true either. alright, amendment: a few months ago hawk wasn't letting himself be in love with timothy laughlin. death has a funny way of changing all that, though. tim's more than his own, and he hasn't wasted a goddamn minute ever since.
that's why he's here now, looking smitten as tim does something as mundane as buff out the surface of the bar after he's slid over his preferred drink. but he can't fool hawk from catching the nervous way his eyes keep glancing over to the hand that's not resting around his glass - the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. he's not fidgeting per se, but hawk can tell from enough mornings in close quarters with tim in the bathroom and tidying up their shared suite to know that his motions aren't quite as coordinated in the way he flits around with a determination - if anything, they're a bit more cautious and restrained. it's cute, really - enough to have hawk lifting his brows and raising his glass - still one-handed - in a salute to his partner.
all of this because he knows tim is waiting for the other shoe to drop. he's waiting to see when hawk's hand will shift into his pocket and press a thumb over the small, remote control device that will send waves of vibration through the toy pressed up into his tight little hole where no one is the wiser. no one except hawk, taking his sweet time with the whiskey and licking his lips. there's a pleasant, teasing smile offered back to tim to put him at ease and simultaneously keep him on his toes. in fact, it's not until he's bent over a few minutes later and checking something under the fridges in the bar that his hand sneaks inside, thumbing the now-familiar button that will nudge it up two levels to a pleasant, manageable pulse.]
no subject
Date: 2025-01-28 05:03 pm (UTC)[ In hindsight, heβll admit that he was asking for it, changing his drink order on him and going out in that mesh top that makes Hawk crazy, and every other patron looking for a buzz aware of the muscle in his arms and the fur on his chest. A practical choice, in service of his goal of being the best at this that he can be β even in his limited experience, he knows people want to order from the hot one.Β
And maybe he wants to make Hawk crazy. Maybe his protests this morning when heβd whispered all that filth in Timβs ear about toys and deviant tricks (he's trying to be a professional, Koby will see through him in an instant, haki or not) were all a performance, a token scandalized gasp meant to make another push impossible for Hawk to resist. He doesnβt know how to say no to Hawk, but he never truly intended to.Β
Tim slides his drink over delicately, an eye very pointedly focused on Hawkβs pocket. It would be perfect, save for the pirate-sword skewer on the garnish β both cheesy and more decorative than functional, hard to poke through the cherry cleanly β and he offers it with only an innocent smile, before moving on to the next person. The toy isnβt big, but even while itβs off, heβs aware enough of it that heβs less graceful, his movements a little stilted and his face just slightly pink, now that Hawkβs here, building the anticipation. He trusts that he wonβt do anything to get him kicked out of here, or while heβs shaking a drink he wonβt want spilled all over himself, but still, the longer he sits there, the more it builds. The power he holds over him, made so literal, makes heat pool in his belly before Hawkβs done a damn thing.
He ought to consider himself lucky that itβs not until he ducks below the bar for more limes that he starts to feel the pulse. The gasp is soft, but Hawk can hear it if heβs listening for it. Itβs fine, manageable, positioned like that. Itβs not until he stands again, legs closed and hole clenched tight around the little vibrating plug, that Tim shudders and wonders if this might have been a mistake.
Sure that someone will put two and two together if he gives any ammunition at all, he doesn't even look at Hawk. He serves the next customer with a smile, flexing his arms as he shakes their margarita. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-09 04:12 am (UTC)[and that much is true, said with a wickedly charming grin, voice dropping low with the implication of it that only tim will understand and flush even prettier at. this is maybe the riskiest thing they've tried yet since the answer to a blowjob at breakfast has been vehemently vetoed no matter how many times he asks, but something about doing it on the clock with or without money on the line makes it all the more exciting. it's not that he wants anyone to know what's in his pocket or watch tim fall apart - it's moreso that tim is willing to do it at all, to let hawk lay his claim of ownership over his body and control it quite literally even at the risk of exposure and mortification and every fucked up thing that could happen if this went sideways. but somehow even then he's not sure tim would mind - not when they've spent so long hiding every meaningful look, every word with too much emotion or even every knock at each other's door in fear that someone might infer the truth: that they love each other. that they're desperate and crazy to have each other physically like this just about every fucking night and then some.
hawk takes his drink between his fingers, wrist swirling it for a quick whiff and a hum of approval before he takes a sip and nods.]
Good boy.
[but that's not what the praise is really for, not as he sees the way his lover's body reacts to the sudden intrusion of vibration and gentle insinuation of pulsing pleasure, the little gasp he absolutely is straining to hear and rewarded with alongside a delicious little shudder that makes him want to vault over this countertop and feel tim shiver against his front.
instead he prides himself on his restraint, the hand still staying in his pocket as his other keeps a firm grip around his drink, which he probably should have told him could use a dash less of bitters. he wouldn't do anything as irresponsible as jeopardize tim's perfect margarita shake - not when he can watch his arm muscles and the tendons in his wrists tensing and releasing in a nice rhythm, ogling him blatantly over the rim of his glass. but as soon as he turns away, that's when hawk can nudge it up again, this time with a burst of throbbing precision that fades out almost as quickly as it came before doing it again at several second intervals.
his brows bounce again, smile nothing but perfectly pleasant.]
Say, can I get a cherry, honey?
[not deposited into his hand, not as he leans up over the bar expectantly like tim ought to feed it to him straight from his mouth. or lob it at him - whatever comes first.]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-24 09:33 pm (UTC)He takes the time to adjust himself while heβs crouched on the floor, sweeping. Find a comfortable spot that wonβt make an obvious tent in his pants next to his coworkers. When he stands again, he attempts to give Hawk a little glare, but it comes across more baby deer in the headlights. ]
Did I miss it?
[ He asks, knowing good and well that he did not, because he got some of the juice on his finger and was not subtle in the least about licking it off, since he is simply incapable of forgetting that Hawkβs eyes are on him for a single second. The thought does occur to him to flick another cherry at him, but he doesnβt. Unprofessional. Tim leans in as if he really is about to pop a cherry right into his mouth...and then pulls back, plopping it into Hawkβs drink instead. The only payback he can deliver on the clock ]
I still have another hour, you know. And I need to go replace this glass. Donβt follow me.
no subject
Date: 2025-03-10 05:30 am (UTC)No. I'm just greedy.
[a winsome grin, the one flashing his pearly whites as he leans in, and in, and in - thinking he's gotten him hook, line, and sinker - only for the glass to splash a little droplet against his wrist as tim forcefully dips it into his drink instead. maybe that's another win all on its own somehow, and he can't help the reluctant smirk creeping up at the protest. hawk holds up his hands as if to prove his innocence - both of them, at least until he sees tim's back as it retreats down the hall. hawk busies himself with his drink, pretending to keep sipping at it even as his hand slips casually back into his pocket after enough time has passed to turn it back up at a consistent, more urgent pulse now. he's in the back - if he has the sense, he'll have locked the door.
because hawk doesn't miss the details. he doesn't miss that everyone else's glass is full, and that there are plenty of other replacements behind the bar that didn't need to come from a closet or a back room. a lot can make an hour pass faster, but it isn't going to be the lull in need for service out here. hawk resists the urge to pluck out a cigarette, instead draining his drink dry and waiting a little bit longer before he rises and adjusts his suit as if he's simply on a stroll to the men's room, or back into the depths of the manor. but of course he's not, reading between the lines and knowing that even if tim demanded one thing, he'll acquiesce to another. thankfully he doesn't have to guess where to go - door tipped open and the line of his lover's shoulder visible as he slides inside before closing and locking the door behind them.]
Need some help? Let me give you a hand.
[a hand to fix around his waist, sliding up behind him and caging him against rows of boxes and glasses and whatever else is in this storage closet without a care for anything but the dull ache he knows tim must be feeling by now.]