Work Text:
SEPTEMBER
He initially started doing it for money, to be honest. He’d been browsing the on-campus employment, saw that he could be a tutor, and figured—well, why not? He needed the cash and he met the requirements.
So that’s how he started his sophomore year. And now it was the September of his senior year, and it was so ingrained in his schedule that Tim hardly considered it a job anymore. It didn’t feel like work; he got to talk about his favorite subjects for hours on end to help people understand it just a bit more. And he got paid to do it.
He could endlessly talk about public health and social work for free, honestly. He did also do it for free, as both Frankie and Mary would attest (and Frankie talked back, for the most part).
—————
Tim looked at the reservation. Thursday at 4:30 pm. Anatomy. Hawkins Fuller.
And that made Tim pause, because he knew that name. And not only did he know that name, he knew that face. He’d spent a decent part of his previous semester looking at that face instead of listening to their professor, actually. Embarrassingly, the corner of many a notebook page held doodles of that face instead of the notes from the lectures.
But Tim had never worked up the courage to talk to him, and he certainly wasn’t about to now.
He wanted to cancel. He was allowed to do that. And that was the right thing to do. Right? He shouldn’t be tutoring someone that he had an unrequited crush on. It was unethical, or something. Plus, there were other people tutoring anatomy. He could find someone else.
His mouse hovered over the cancel button. He clicked it. A box auto-populated beneath the button, labeled “Reason.”
But Tim couldn’t give the reason, not the honest one, because Hawk was going to receive a copy of this too. So instead of being honest, he simply said “Schedule conflict.”
He knew it was a shitty reason; he set his own availability, after all. But he had never been a good liar, so he pushed submit before he could think about it for too much longer.
Exactly nine minutes later—just enough time for the flutters in his stomach to finally start to die down—Tim received another email for a new reservation.
Thursday at 6:00 pm. Anatomy.
Hawkins Fuller.
At that point, Tim accepted defeat.
—————
Fallen leaves crunched under Tim’s feet as he approached the library, heading towards the tutor zone like he was on autopilot. He’d walked this exact path so many times over his years in college that he could probably do it with his eyes closed.
As he approached, he adjusted the sleeve of his shirt and realized that he should’ve changed. He was wearing a sweater vest over a button down, which wasn’t out of his norm, but it hit him that this was not the first impression that he wanted to leave on Hawkins Fuller.
Frankie loved his sweater vests (because yes, he had multiple) and called them adorably dorky, but Tim didn’t want Hawkins Fuller to think he was dorky (because surely he wouldn’t think they were adorable).
Of course, it shouldn’t matter. Tim shouldn’t care what Hawkins Fuller thought of him, because this was not a date. It wasn’t even a hang out. It was a tutoring session. And Tim was there to tutor. And it was probably a good thing, actually, if you’re waiting at your first tutoring session and your tutor shows up looking like an absolute fucking nerd. Because then that meant you were in good hands and they knew what they were doing.
So maybe the sweater vest was an okay choice and it would make him likable. Not that Tim cared about being likable. Because again, he wasn’t here for a date, or even to make a friend.
Tim took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses, and approached the table. “Hi! I’m Tim Laughlin.”
It probably sounded too eager. Whatever. He adjusted his tone for his next sentence. “And you’re… Hawkins?” He tried to act like he hadn’t already both Facebook- and Instagram-stalked him an entire summer ago, like he didn’t already know way too much about the man who, for the first time, looked up from his phone.
God, his eyes were so blue. Tim wasn’t sure he was going to survive the session.
“Just Hawk is fine.”
Tim knew that. He knew he preferred Hawk, because that’s what his friends called him in all of his Instagram comments. He pretended like he was learning it for the first time, nodding as he sat down, shouldering his backpack to the ground beside him.
“Okay. Just Hawk. Well, you’ve got me for an hour, so is there anything specific that you wanted to work on today?”
At this, Hawk nudged over an iPad for Tim to look at, the screen showing a few scribbled notes. “We’ve just finished the basics, we’re diving into the spine now. Just need some general help. We can start with the vertebrae.”
Tim nodded. He could work with that. “Perfect. I guess we can start with how many there are in each section.”
They went over the vertebral column, and then moved on to the differences in each vertebra—“If you feel here,” Tim said, reaching behind himself to feel the bumps right where his neck met his shoulder, “That’s the spiny process of the thoracic vertebra. That’s an easy way to remember that they have the long spiny processes, because you can feel them really well.”—and moved into the scapula and shoulder. Tim was just quizzing him on the rotator cuff muscles for the second time—“Your SITS muscles,” he stressed, to which Hawk replied, “That’s a stupid mnemonic for something not in your ass.”—when the hour was up, and the session was over.
He wouldn’t have even noticed that it was already 7:00 if not for that fact that he hadn’t eaten dinner before he came and his stomach was now reminding him.
Hawk put his own things in his backpack before standing, turning to face Tim. “Same time next week?”
Tim cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Maybe earlier next week? I normally eat dinner around this time. I know I wasn’t available earlier today, but I will be next Thursday. So. If that works for you. And if not—”
“Earlier works for me. 5:00 alright?”
“Five sounds great.” Tim wasn’t meaning to smile, but it’s almost like he couldn’t help himself. “Make sure to write down anything you’re having trouble with this week and we can focus on that next time.”
Hawk nodded, and moved to step away from the tutor zone. Tim found himself falling into step with him. “Will do. And since I haven’t eaten yet either, you wanna grab dinner?”
“Oh.” The word escaped before Tim could process it. It’s not that he had thought that the tutoring session with Hawk had gone disastrously wrong or anything, but he wasn’t expecting Hawk to want to spend any more time in his presence. “Yes! That’d be nice.”
“Did you drive here?”
“No,” Tim said, shaking his head. “I walked. I don’t live very far, so—”
“Great. I’ll drive us then.”
Tim spent the car ride reminding himself that this was not a date. That Hawk was just being nice. That Hawk probably heard his stomach growl right after Tim mentioned dinner, and that he probably felt sorry for him, and that he was only doing this out of pity. He reminded himself of this all throughout dinner, as Hawk paid for them both, and even as Hawk drove him home.
When he walked inside his apartment, Frankie looked up from where he was lounged on their sofa. “That was a long tutoring session,” he said, eyebrows raised, and Tim shrugged.
“I got dinner after.”
Frankie narrowed his eyes, sitting up straight. “Why are you blushing?”
“I’m not.”
“You are. Timothy Laughlin, did you go on a secret date?”
“No.” Tim kicked off his shoes, turning away from Frankie long enough so that he could school his face. “I wouldn’t have worn a sweater vest if I was planning to go on a date.”
Frankie shrugged. “Wouldn’t put it past you, baby. It’s cute on you, anyway.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Frankie eyed him as he headed towards his room. “So did you get dinner alone?”
Tim paused. He felt his face begin to heat up and he willed it away. He hoped that he was facing enough away from Frankie that he wouldn’t notice. “No.”
Frankie sprung up. “Oh my God! You got dinner with the guy you tutored! You little weasel. And you didn’t want me to know, so he must be hot. Or really ugly. Which one?”
Tim continued into his room, dumping his bag on the floor near his desk. He left the door open, because he knew that Frankie would join him, and sure enough, he did. “Well, he’s not ugly.”
“Do I know him?”
Tim shrugged off his vest, then started working his way down the buttons on his shirt. Frankie made himself comfortable on his bed. They’d undressed around each other more times than Tim could count, in the years that they’d lived together. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
The real answer was yes, Frankie absolutely knew him. Or, well, he knew of him. Tim had to lament about his negative chances with the cute guy in his Health Policy course to someone last semester, so Frankie had heard it all.
“I know a lot of people.” This was true. “Tell me his name, maybe I do.”
Tim sighed. He tossed his shirt and vest somewhere near his laundry hamper. He’d tidy it later. “You can’t laugh.”
“Tim. I would never.” This was not true.
“It was Hawkins Fuller.”
Frankie paused for a moment, face scrunching. “Why does that sound familiar…?” After a second, his face lit up with recognition, and he turned to Tim, let out a single, loud laugh, and then clamped his hand over his mouth.
Tim frowned. He knew he would laugh.
“I’m sorry, Tim, but—” Frankie cut himself off, laughing again. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. You’re lying, right?”
“No, I’m not lying.”
“Why the hell is he taking Anatomy? That’s what you said today’s tutoring was for, right?”
“What do you mean? And how should I know?”
“Well, he’s a government major—which I thought you knew, considering you probably know more about him than you do about me—”
“That’s not true.”
Frankie grinned. “Does he know that you’ve been obsessed with him for the better part of a year?”
“I’m not obsessed.” Tim focused his energy on undoing his belt before working off his pants. “And obviously, no. He doesn’t know. And he’s not going to. Now I’m going to shower.”
Frankie snorted, sprawling out on Tim’s bed further, seemingly having no plans to leave. “Don’t jerk off in there. You know our walls are thin.”
Tim threw his belt at him as he stomped out the door.
__________
“If you’re a government major, why are you taking Anatomy?”
Hawk looked surprised. Tim figured that was fair, considering that it was 5:01 pm on Thursday evening, and that was how Tim had greeted him instead of with ‘hello’.
“Well,” he started, easing into his chair, “I needed an elective to take.”
“But. Anatomy?”
“I’m an athlete, Tim. I’d like to be informed about the human body.”
Tim knew this, the athlete part. Not only was it in Hawk’s Instagram bio, but he also had plenty of pictures of him on a tennis court. Still, he couldn’t quite make sense of it. If he was going to mindlessly pick an elective, he would choose something easy. He wouldn’t choose something that he’d have to get tutored in.
He thought that he should probably drop it. He and Hawk were not exactly friends, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate Tim’s prying. Still, he had to ask.
“Why wouldn’t you pick something you’re good at?”
Hawk exhaled a laugh at that. He unlocked his iPad, opening it up to his anatomy notes. “I thought we were here so I could ask you the questions.”
Tim furrowed his brows, but didn’t press any further. He could take a hint. “Okay, fine. What should we get started with first?”
__________
It became a thing. Tim didn’t know how, but it became a thing. Tutoring on Thursdays at five, dinner at six. Hawk almost always insisted to pay, and he almost always insisted that they stop the anatomy talk the moment they got into his car.
“But I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to study more if you have me right now for free,” Tim said after Hawk shushed him, telling him that he didn’t want to hear more about the brachial plexus, actually, despite the fact that Tim had only gotten halfway through it before their tutoring hour was up.
“That’s exactly why,” Hawk countered, which made no sense at all, frankly. “If you’re not getting paid then I’m just taking advantage.”
“I think of it more as like… a friend helping a friend.” This was the first time that he had referred to Hawk as a friend and he held his breath, peeking to see if Hawk had any reaction to it.
Unsurprisingly, he didn’t. He rarely did. He seemed to be able to control his face in ways that Tim himself could not, he had noticed. And instead of answering Tim, he turned up his music.
And. Well. That wasn’t exactly a rejection. Tim would count it as a win.
__________
OCTOBER
“Do we always have to do this here?”
Midterms were approaching, which meant that the library was busier. Hawk had spent the first five minutes of their session complaining about how hard it was to find parking, which he must have really felt passionate about, because it was the most that Tim had ever heard him talk at once.
Still, at his question, Tim was confused. “At the library?”
Hawk nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well—yes? I’m supposed to tutor in the tutor zone, it’s my job. I don’t get paid if I’m not in here.”
Hawk rolled his eyes at that. “Okay. I’ll pay you then, off the books.”
“What?”
Hawk laughed a little bit. “Normally it’s not this hard to convince a guy to come to my place.”
“What?”
“Joke, Tim.” He raised his hands. “But seriously, can we not do this at my place? Or yours, I don’t care. I’ll pay you. I don’t want to keep coming to the library.”
Tim’s very articulate response to that was, “I have a roommate.” And Frankie would so not be cool about it. He’d somehow manage to embarrass Tim even more than what Tim was doing right now, which was already an impressive feat. He closed his eyes for a second to steady himself. “Your place is fine. Even if you have a roommate that’s okay. My roommate is just—well, he’s my best friend, so he’s great. But he’s also really nosy. He probably wouldn’t leave us alone, which isn’t great for studying.”
“Nosy best friends, I know all about those.” Hawk nodded very seriously. “We should set them up, your friend and mine. He into the dark, brooding journalism major type?”
Tim snorted, because he had a feeling that Hawk was referring to his friend Marcus, who was the only piece of Hawk’s Instagram that had caught Frankie’s eye, when Tim was showing him off last semester.
“Wait, go back to that last post,” Frankie had said when Tim scrolled past. It was a picture of Hawk and Marcus on a beach, lounging against towels and, importantly, shirtless. “Now that—I want a piece of that.” That, of course, being Marcus.
Now, Tim nodded towards Hawk. “I think he’d be into it.”
Hawk smiled at that, turning towards his notes before speaking again. “And what about you? What’s your type?”
For about three full, long seconds, Tim wondered how he could describe Hawk without Hawk realizing that he was describing him. Eventually, he went with. “I like… you know. Sweet guys. Nice ones. And also dark hair.” That was vague enough, he figured, that it didn’t point directly to the man beside him.
“Nice guys with dark hair,” Hawk mused. “You’re so selective, Skippy.”
(That had become a thing too—the nickname. It had just appeared one day, and when Tim asked Hawk about it, he’d waved him away.)
“Well I like more than just that. I have—my eyes are boring and brown, right, so I also like anything that’s not that.”
Hawk looked offended on his behalf. “Your eyes are not boring.”
Tim shrugged, trying not to give into the heat in his cheeks. Hawk hadn’t said that brown eyes in general weren’t boring, but his specifically. “You say potato, I say potahto.”
Hawk shook his head at him lightly. “Whatever you say.” He nudged his notes over, screen showing that they were going to be diving into the forearm and hand. “We should probably start.”
“But wait, what’s your type? You didn’t have to answer. That’s not fair.”
Hawk raised his brows. “I like sweet, nice guys with brown hair and brown eyes.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“I would never.” Hawk smiled, which told Tim that he was, indeed, making fun of him. “Oh, and glasses. And dimples. And when they help me study anatomy.”
“Now you are making fun of me.”
Hawk pointed to a picture of the hand bones, ignoring him. “What’s your mnemonic for this one? I know you have one.”
At this, Tim pushed his glasses up his nose, face going red. “I do, but you have to remember that I didn’t make it up.” When Hawk gave him a skeptical look, he continued. “It’s: Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle.”
Hawk smirked. “Never had that problem. Have you, Skippy?”
Tim didn’t know what to answer. This was a set-up. There was nothing that he could say that wasn’t extremely embarrassing, and he was pretty sure that was why Hawk asked. He knew how easy it was to embarrass him and he was taking advantage of that. “Do you want to know what it stands for or not?”
__________
Hawk’s apartment was nice, Tim found out that next Thursday. Not that he was expecting anything different. But it was fairly new, and it was nice, and he lived alone.
This week they were going over the hip, thigh, and gluteal region. Hawk was especially excited about the glutes, and he took great pleasure in making fun of the fact that Tim was trying to stay very academic about it.
“I think we need to go over action and innervation again,” he said. “Gluteus maximus does which kind of hip rotation?”
“External. And the medius and minimus do the opposite. I do pay attention.” He then rattled off the innervation too, before Tim could ask.
“So you just like riling me up then.”
“It’s not like it’s hard.” Hawk checked his phone for the time, and saw that it was 6:00. “I was going to cook for dinner tonight. Want to stay?”
Yes. Tim very much did want to stay, and he hoped he didn’t sound too eager when he said as much.
“Cool. You can grab a beer or something from the fridge if you want.”
__________
NOVEMBER
That became a thing too—sometimes they’d go out for dinner, or order takeout. But sometimes Hawk would cook, and sometimes Tim would help. They started planning what dinner would be. Sometimes Tim brought over ingredients.
All of this is to say, that’s how Tim ended up drunk on Hawkins Fuller’s couch on a Thursday night near the end of November. It was Hawk’s fault, actually. They were just about to leave for Thanksgiving break, and apparently he wanted Tim to taste-test which bottle of wine he should bring home with him. So they’d had a glass during their study session, which should’ve been enough for Tim, frankly, given that he couldn’t stop giggling when Hawk mixed up the peritoneum with the perineum.
But then Hawk had given him a second, different glass during dinner. And he told Hawk that he was pretty sure that a taste-test was you know, like a sip, and not a full glass. But he took it anyway because it was good and free.
And then somehow they ended up watching a movie after dinner, which had never happened before, and Tim ended up nursing wine glass number three throughout that.
So now it was just about nine o’clock, and he’d spent the better part of his evening with Hawkins Fuller, alone, in his apartment. And he was drunk on his couch and still just a teensy bit in love with him. Well, it was probably more than a teeny bit, but Tim was trying to be kind to himself.
His phone rang, and when he picked it up, Frankie’s smiling face was on the screen.
“Hi Frankie.”
“Oh good, you’re still alive.”
“What?”
“I’ve been texting you, since you’re normally home by now. And you haven’t answered. So I was thinking that you were either dead, or getting laid. And since you’re not dead—”
“We didn’t—that’s not what—” Tim cut himself off, because he was aware of the fact that Hawk was listening in, even though he was pretending not to. “We watched a movie. Sorry I forgot to text.”
“The night’s still young,” Frankie mused, and then, “Are you drunk?”
“A little.”
Frankie hummed at that, and Tim could practically hear the smile in his voice when he talked next. “You should sleep that off at Hawk’s place, then. Go get laid. Don’t come home. See you in the morning! I love you!”
He hung up before Tim could string a coherent response together, and he looked at his phone screen, a little dazed for a second.
“Your volume is kind of loud,” Hawk said a little conversationally, standing up to grab the wine glasses and tidy the coffee table. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight if you’d like.”
Tim scrunched his face. “You heard all that? Sorry. I told you that he’s a bit much.”
“Sounds like he’s full of good ideas.”
Tim watched Hawk’s back as he waded into the kitchen area, washing the wine glasses. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what Hawk was implying. He just couldn’t believe it. “Are you just saying that so I’m not super embarrassed?”
“No, I’m saying that because I think it’s a good idea.” Hawk finished washing the glasses, putting them in the drying rack next to their dinner plates. He dried his hands, taking his time before coming back into the living room, sitting back on the couch and facing Tim. He reached for Tim’s face, cupping one of his cheeks in his palm, and leaned in slightly.
Tim forgot how to breathe.
“Is this alright?” he asked, and Tim’s voice was almost soundless when he breathed out a, “Yes.”
__________
DECEMBER
It was almost finals week, and like always, Tim was helping Hawk study. Well. That’s what they were calling it.
After Thanksgiving, Hawk had decided that he learned much better from hands-on studying, and claimed that Tim was the perfect model.
“The final is comprehensive, you know,” Hawk had said when Tim had turned up today. “So I have to go over everything.”
Now he had just finished kissing his way down Tim’s chest, and was working his way down his torso.
“Rectus abdominis,” he murmured, Tim’s muscles flexed under his touch. “Strong, too.”
Tim huffed out a laugh at that, cut off when Hawk pulled back and started tugging down the waistband of his boxers.
“In the way,” he explained once he helped Tim kick them off. He went back to his mission, mouthing at the very top of Tim’s thigh. “Psoas major,” he said, teasing, smirking when Tim’s cock responded to him being so close, but not close enough.
He ran his hands down Tim’s thighs, and around to his ass, narrating all the while. And then he made his way back up, kissing him a little dirtily, catching Tim off guard when he got a hand around his cock, stroking him.
Tim moaned into Hawk’s mouth, grinding up. Hawk knew exactly what to do to him, how to touch him. He adjusted them a little, positioned himself a little better. And then he let go of Tim, only to wrap a hand around himself instead, lining himself up before sinking in deep in one long stroke. It was a slow drag, and Tim bit his lip as Hawk started to move, thrusting slower at first before picking it up, getting his hand around Tim again once he found his rhythm. He buried his face in Tim’s neck, panting hard, and Tim raked his fingers through his hair.
It was hard to stay quiet, with the way Hawk pounded into him, and after a bit Tim decided it wasn’t worth it to try. He moaned loudly, which only encouraged Hawk further, and it was long before they were both tipping over the edge, Tim coming first and Hawk not long after. His hips pushed in deep and Tim could feel the muscles in his back contract before he went still. Then he kissed up Tim’s neck, around his jawline, and finally, his lips.
“How’d I do?” he asked, and Tim laughed.
“A plus.”
—————
Tim looked away from Hawk’s screen, which was proudly showing his final Anatomy grade. “I’m starting to think that you didn’t need me at all this semester. You did so well on all of your tests.”
“I did well because of you,” Hawk corrected, leaning in to kiss his forehead.
Marcus, whom Tim had finally gotten to meet, scoffed.
“I think it’s probably time you’re honest with him.”
At this, Hawk flipped Marcus off.
“Be honest with me how?”
Marcus gave Hawk a knowing look, Hawk narrowed his eyes, Marcus cocked his head to the side, and Hawk sighed.
“You remember when you asked me, months ago, why I was taking Anatomy as a government major?”
Tim nodded. Of course he did. Because he’d still been wondering all semester.
“I took it because I knew you’d be tutoring for it. I asked Mary Johnson, I know you’re friends with her.”
“Are you being serious?”
“Well, I did need an elective.” Hawk shrugged. “Saw you last semester, wanted to ask you out but I didn’t want to scare you off, so I played the long game.“
Tim laughed. He honestly couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t wait to tell Frankie, who he knew wouldn’t believe it either. “You could’ve just asked me out. You should’ve just asked me out. I wanted you to! I would’ve said yes!”
“You could’ve asked me out,” Hawk countered, and Tim didn’t have an answer for that, so instead he just made a face at him. “Very mature. It all worked out.”
“Yeah,” Tim agreed. He cradled Hawk’s face, kissing him, and grinned against his mouth at Marcus’ disgusted noises of protest. “I’d say it did.”