You’re supposed to order a cocktail so I can practice. How about a Manhattan?
[ In hindsight, he’ll 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 – even in his limited experience, he knows people want to order from the hot one.
And maybe he wants to make Hawk crazy. Maybe his protests this morning when he’d whispered all that filth in Tim’s 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 doesn’t know how to say no to Hawk, but he never truly intended to.
Tim slides his drink over delicately, an eye very pointedly focused on Hawk’s pocket. It would be perfect, save for the pirate-sword skewer on the garnish – both cheesy and more decorative than functional, hard to poke through the cherry cleanly – and he offers it with only an innocent smile, before moving on to the next person. The toy isn’t big, but even while it’s off, he’s aware enough of it that he’s less graceful, his movements a little stilted and his face just slightly pink, now that Hawk’s here, building the anticipation. He trusts that he won’t do anything to get him kicked out of here, or while he’s shaking a drink he won’t 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 Hawk’s done a damn thing.
He ought to consider himself lucky that it’s 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 he’s listening for it. It’s fine, manageable, positioned like that. It’s 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 doesn’t 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. He’s worth the humiliation or the scolding that’ll come if he’s found out, and he’s worth the earful he’ll 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 he’s crouched on the floor, sweeping. Find a comfortable spot that won’t 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 Hawk’s eyes are on him for a single second. The thought does occur to him to flick another cherry at him, but he doesn’t. 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 Hawk’s 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. Don’t 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
no subject
Date: 2025-01-28 05:03 pm (UTC)[ In hindsight, he’ll 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 – even in his limited experience, he knows people want to order from the hot one.
And maybe he wants to make Hawk crazy. Maybe his protests this morning when he’d whispered all that filth in Tim’s 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 doesn’t know how to say no to Hawk, but he never truly intended to.
Tim slides his drink over delicately, an eye very pointedly focused on Hawk’s pocket. It would be perfect, save for the pirate-sword skewer on the garnish – both cheesy and more decorative than functional, hard to poke through the cherry cleanly – and he offers it with only an innocent smile, before moving on to the next person. The toy isn’t big, but even while it’s off, he’s aware enough of it that he’s less graceful, his movements a little stilted and his face just slightly pink, now that Hawk’s here, building the anticipation. He trusts that he won’t do anything to get him kicked out of here, or while he’s shaking a drink he won’t 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 Hawk’s done a damn thing.
He ought to consider himself lucky that it’s 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 he’s listening for it. It’s fine, manageable, positioned like that. It’s 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 he’s crouched on the floor, sweeping. Find a comfortable spot that won’t 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 Hawk’s eyes are on him for a single second. The thought does occur to him to flick another cherry at him, but he doesn’t. 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 Hawk’s 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. Don’t 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.]