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“Tim! Telephone!”
Tim clambers off his bed at his housemate’s call; quickly rushing down the stairs, finding the phone receiver resting on the shelf next to it. He brushes a hand over his hair, like that might help things and takes a deep breath. It might not be Hawk. Hawk’s not the only person who calls. He is the only person Tim wants to call him though.
Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he bites his lip in anticipation and says, “hello?”
“Hello, Skippy.”
He barely bites back the whine in time; Hawk’s deep voice rippling down his spine and making itself at home in his gut. “H-Hawk. What—What are you—why are you calling?”
He glances around, but he’s still alone in the stairwell. He can hear the radio through the wall, so as long as he keeps his voice down, he shouldn’t be overheard.
“Is it so hard to believe I missed you, Skippy? That I wanted to hear your voice?” Tim can hear the amusement in Hawk’s voice; the rich timbre to it that’s lubricated along the way by a mouthful of smoky whiskey. Hawk wasn’t as bad as Tim when it came to liquor and spilling truths best kept hidden, but he also sounds tired—the kind of tired that sticks its claws into your bones and the only way it leaves you is if you rip it out from the root; tearing yourself to shreds on the way.
The kind of tired a man might feel if he’s had to spend years of his life pretending to be someone else.
Most people envy Hawk’s wisdom and experience in so relatively youthful a body; Tim doesn’t. He knows that being older in this instance isn’t necessary a good thing. It just means he’s had more years of pain to suffer through. More years to get proficient at lying—to anyone and everyone. To yourself, although that never gets easier.
Tim fluctuates between wishing he was as good at Hawk at pretending, and dreading the day he finally matches him at that level. Knows once he does, it’s the beginning of the end; that the version of himself he’s trying to protect will have already been killed at that point. He prays every day that Hawk still has time.
He presses closer to the wall; cradling the receiver to his ear, twirling the curled wire around his finger. Aches for it to be Hawk he’s touching instead. “I—Yes, a little. A little, uh, hard to believe, yes.”
Hawk huffs out a purring laugh. “Well, that works, because I’m a lot hard. I’m hard right now, just from thinking about you, Skippy.”
“Hawk!” he hisses down the phone scandalised; frantically checking that he’s still alone. He feels heat creep up his neck and tries to ignore the pulse of arousal low in his belly. “You can’t just say that! Someone could hear.”
“Then stay quiet,” Hawk says, like it’s that simple. And maybe it is for Hawk. He’s always been the better actor. Tim wears his heart on his sleeve, no matter that it’s easy for people to get to it that way. It makes him want to crawl his way deep into Hawk; use him as his ribcage, his protector. Have him stand between the world and his heart and keep it safe. It’s unfair of him to want that though; Hawk has enough on his plate without worrying about him too. “Be a good boy for me and just listen. Can you do that, Skippy?”
Tim stays silent; the only noise the soft puffs of his breaths faintly crackling down the line.
He can hear Hawk’s sharp grin from here.
“Oh you can be good. I knew you could be. All those times you couldn’t control yourself—couldn’t stop those whines and needy little whimpers spilling form those pretty lips of yours…it’s because you wanted to be heard, isn’t it? You wanted everyone to know you were taking my cock in your ass like a good little slut and you’ve never felt anything better.”
“Hawk!”
Tim wets his lips; nervously scrubbing at his face and righting his glasses again. He turns his body towards the wall; trying to hide how his cock is plumping up in trousers. This can’t be happening. Hawk’s not even here. Just tormenting him on the other side of the phone. Tim could hang up on him.
He doesn’t.
(Of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know when, if, he’ll ring again).
“I thought I told you to be quiet? Or do I need to spank that needy cock of yours as punishment next time I see you, boy?”
Tim gulps; surreptitiously rubbing the heel of his palm against his erection. He clears his throat and tries to act like he’s not turned on. “I have to say something. I can’t just…stand here. People might think I’m doing something suspicious.”
Like talking to his gay lover.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he says that Hawk no doubts just refers to him as someone he fucks? Maybe he won’t lose everything if he says feelings have nothing to do with it? If only he was that good a liar. Perhaps he has time to learn to be?
“We can’t have that can we?” Hawk hums; throat clicking as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey. “Fine. I’m going to say some things I want to do to you and you can just say yes or no. Okay?”
“Y-Yes.”
“See—you’re getting it already. Tell me, are you wearing your glasses, Tim?”
“Of course. I’d have fallen down the fucking stairs otherwise,” he huffs.
“I do like that fuzzy eyed look you get when you take them off though. Reminds me of the look you have when I push my cock into you that first time after a while apart.”
“F-Fuck,” he gasps; pressing his fist to his mouth to try and muffle how painfully desperate he is for Hawkins Fuller.
“That’s not a yes or no,” Hawk tuts.
“You didn’t ask me a question.”
“Fair enough.” A chuckle, another swig of whiskey; Tim yearns to lick the drops of alcohol from his lips. “I do like when you bite back, Skippy. Ever think about actually biting me? Getting those pearly white teeth of yours deep into my skin?”
Tim scrunches up his face; can imagine it all too easily. He’s not allowed to mark Hawk though. Not when people are always looking for a hint he’s no longer a bachelor. Could lose him to someone else forever even quicker if others were to assume he was in a physical relationship with a woman; one possessive enough to leave physical marks.
He thinks he might have started grinding his teeth at night just from the stress of resisting the urge to sink his teeth in and claim.
“Yes,” he whispers.
“Oh? Where?” He can hear the rustle of fabric; the squeak of a chair. Hawk sitting up in interest. “My neck? My chest? My thighs? Press your teeth into that ticklish part of me after I’ve fucked your throat?”
Tim softly thunks his forehead against the wall. His dick feels like it’s being strangled in his pants. He only discovered Hawk had ticklish thighs recently, and he knows the older man finds it amusing how delighted Tim is by the fact. Hawk thinks Tim likes it because it means no one else is touching him there which makes it so sensitive. Tim doesn’t have the heart or the words to tell him it’s because if he has ticklish thighs, it means he can still feel things.
That there’s hope he might feel something for Tim.
“Yes please.”
Hawk hums, pleased. “I’d mark every part of you if I could. Never let you leave the house without a loving bruise marking your skin. Everyone would know you belong to me then. Would you like that?”
“Hawk—” He pushes his glasses up his face; pressing the heel of his palm against his eye, trying to stop the tears. Hawk isn’t being cruel; it’s just a cruel situation they’re in. And Tim wishes that for once he was allowed to want things without it hurting so much.
“Would you like that, Skippy?”
Hawk’s not to be dissuaded from the conversation; voice firm and driving Tim out of his mind.
He sighs in defeat; slumping into the wall. “You know I would.”
“What if I sent you to work with my cum dripping from that needy little hole of yours? Could you look your precious Senator McCarthy in the eye with me dripping from your ass?”
Tim huffs, “it wouldn’t be the first time.”
Hawk gasps, delighted. “Oh you naughty boy.” He clicks his tongue in a mocking tut and Tim rolls his eyes; letting a smile curl his lips. Hawk’s not here to see how far gone he is anyway. “How did it make you feel? Knowing you were working with my seed staining your underwear?”
It’s only happened once. When he’d woken up late, not enough time to shower, and Hawk’s cum was still inside him. Still clinging to his rim to remind him exactly how he’d spent the previous evening. (As if he could forget).
He’d just been thankful his underwear hadn’t been frayed and thin from multiple washes.
“Morally wrong.”
“But…?”
Tim sighs. “Good. It had also felt…good.”
“What about when I tied you to the bedposts and ate you out until you cried? How did that feel?”
He’s given up trying to stop himself blushing; shifts and squeezes his legs together to try and ease the ache. He wraps his free arm tight around his ribs to stop himself slipping his hand under his waistband and seeking relief right here in the stairwell.
“Y-You know how it made me feel.”
“Hmm, I do remember you making an absolute mess of yourself like a naughty boy,” Hawk smirks down the phone. “I had to lick every drop of cum off your heaving belly and hairy chest if I recall.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“No, Skippy. I really did.”
Tim grins to himself like a loon. His eyes widen when in the silence of the conversation he hears the soft slick slap of skin on skin. He covers the bottom of the phone receiver with the curve of his hand and frantically hisses, “Are you—Are you touching yourself right now?”
“What do you think?”
He growls in frustration; kicking the skirting board and wincing at the dull throb in his toe. “I think it’s not fair that I’m stood in a fucking stairwell and cant touch my dick, but you’re there—wherever you are—and happily touching yourself and tormenting me.”
“I think it’s perfect,” Hawk taunts, a little mean. “My boy doesn’t need to touch himself to come, do you?” Oh fuck, he has a bad feeling about this. “I’m sure you’re already dripping with arousal, and if I ordered you to spill in your pants, you would.”
“What? No—Hawk—don’t—” He clutches at the phone; dick throbbing painfully. Knows he’s helpless but to do anything Hawk wants him to do.
“What do I get if I show you mercy, hmm? Will you let me fuck you all night long? Until your hole is gaping and can’t close; cum dripping down your thighs?”
“Yes,” he quietly sobs, “yes, Hawk, yes.”
“Will you let me tie you up; cover your eyes with a blindfold and play with you until every touch makes tears of overstimulation well up?”
“Yes.”
“And would you let me suck deep bruises into those soft thighs of yours? Maybe one in that secret space behind your balls where only I would know it’s there?”
“Yes.”
He hangs his head; it’s no use trying to pretend he wouldn’t do any of those things if it meant he got to spend more time with Hawk. He grinds his palm against his trapped cock and prays that Hawk will show him mercy.
“Hmmm….okay.”
He blinks in shock. “Really? Thank you, Hawk.”
He exhales in relief and lets himself loosen and relax. He opens his mouth to change the conversation, when Hawk speaks again.
“Oh, Skippy?”
“Yes?”
A pause.
And then—
“Come for me.”
His release punches into him; comes out of nowhere and entirely on Hawk’s command. His hips buck; humping the air as he scrabbles to cling to the wall and hold onto the phone. He bites his lip nearly hard enough to break skin as he stops himself from moaning deeply; semen spurting from his cock to soil his underwear.
“Ah fuck,” he pants; pushing his hair away from his face. “You absolute fucker.”
Hawk chuckles lowly, “I’d apologise, Skippy, but I’m only really sorry I can’t see the mess you’ve made of yourself. I bet you look goddamn beautiful right now.” He no longer hears the faint sounds of movement so he doesn’t know if Hawk found his own release, or he’s stopped touching himself still hard. Doesn’t know which he prefers—finding pleasure in Tim’s own release, or refusing to indulge without Tim with him. “Night, Tim.”
He hums, exhausted. “Night, Hawk.”
“Dream of me.”
The call ends; Tim’s response only heard by himself.
“Always.”
He stands there with the phone in his hand for a moment, and then putting it back on the hook, he quickly escapes back into his room, not wanting to be caught.
Hawk’s voice echoes in his mind long after he finally falls asleep.