Chapter Text
“Hawk. Hawk?” A snap of fingers returns Hawk back to Earth and he takes his gaze away from a young man in glasses at the table on the other side of the teachers’ room, making some notes on the papers spread before him. Hawk blinks a couple of times and realizes that Marcus Gains, the English teacher and his close friend, is still saying something. “Where have you gone?”
“Do you know who this is?” Hawk answers with the question of his own quietly, nodding at the guy.
“The new History teacher. It’s his first day,” Marcus answers, then looks at Hawk suspiciously. “You would know if you showed up on time today.”
“Isn’t he too young?” Ms Addison, the principal’s secretary, appears next to them. “Just out of college.”
Hawk looks at the guy once again. He is young, in his early twenties, not much older than the kids he is going to teach. When the guy fishes out a sandwich and a carton of milk out of his bag and starts to eat, not looking away from his papers, Hawk finds himself even more mesmerized by him than before.
“Stop staring at the boy, Hawk,” Marcus leans in and whispers in his ear. “He is not even your type.”
“You’re right, he isn’t,” Hawk mutters, not willing to stop watching as the drop of milk slides down the guy’s cheek and he scrunches his nose adorably before wiping it with the back of his hand.
Then, probably sensing Hawk’s gaze on him, the new teacher lifts his head and meets Hawk’s eyes. He raises his milk, smiling shyly and Hawk can’t help but smile back, raising his water bottle in response.
“Shut up,” he mutters when Marcus snorts next to him.
Hawk sighs disappointedly. It’s the worst when you meet someone so pretty at the workplace. He allows himself one last lingering look at the adorable History teacher and when he finds him already looking back, Hawk points to his watch, then to the speaker on the wall, indicating that the school bell is going to ring soon, before turning back and leaving.
Next day Hawk walks into the teachers’ room during the lunch break and finds the new teacher already having his lunch, a sandwich and milk, again, at the corner table.
“May I?” Hawk asks and when the guy opens his eyes widely in surprise and nods in agreement, he sits in front of him.
“Mr Fuller, Geometry.” The guy says, like he knows him, then holds out his hand. “I’m Timothy Laughlin, I’ll be teaching History here.”
“You know my name?” Hawk asks, taking his hand and shaking it gently. It feels good in his palm, almost perfect, and Hawk holds it a second too long before releasing it.
“I looked you up on the school’s website.” A cute blush rises on the guy's face the second he says the words. “I mean, not you specifically. I looked up all the teachers.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Hawk smiles and takes the carton of milk in his hands. “Is this milk drinking a habit of yours?”
“It is,” Mr Laughlin says simply, taking the milk from Hawk’s hand and making their fingers brush. Hawk suddenly wants to pull him by his sweater and taste the milk from his mouth. “What do you prefer to drink?”
“We go to the local bar on Fridays with other teachers. It’s called Cozy Corner.” Hawk winks. “I’ll buy you my drink of choice if you join us sometimes.”
Hawk leaves to prepare for his next class, and spends the entire day thinking of the blush on Mr Laughlin’s face and his delicious smile.
The rest of the week passes too slowly. By Thursday Hawk buzzes with anticipation of Friday evening. He knows he shouldn’t. Nothing good ever came out of lusting after handsome colleagues, and Hawk isn’t going to even try to initiate something with Mr Laughlin, but he can’t help but want to spend some time with him outside the lunches in a crowded room in the school building.
Most of the school inhabitants left by the time the door of Hawk’s classroom opens and Mr Laughlin comes in.
“Oh, Mr Fuller! Sorry. I thought the classroom was unoccupied.” He says, when he sees Hawk.
“I just got caught up in work, I should leave soon,” Hawk answers, checking him out. During this week he learned that Mr Laughlin looks great both in brown and beige colors. Today he is in white shirt and black jeans, and Hawk tries to ignore the desire to open a couple of top buttons and see if the blush from his cheeks reaches his chest.
“Do you work late often?” Mr Laughlin asks.
“Sometimes I stay here until dark. I like working in silence, and nothing is more silent than a school after five p.m.” Hawk answers. “How is your first week going, Mr Laughlin?”
“You can call me Tim,” Mr Laughlin says. “I almost figured out how to navigate this building. Today I found my classroom at the first try.”
“Can I call you Skippy?” Hawk says as a joke, but Tim tilts his head and squints at him, smiling. The guy surely smiles a lot, and Hawk is not immune to the beautiful, genuine smile, targeted at him not out of politeness but because the person really enjoys his company.
“Why?” Tim asks.
“Peanut butter sandwiches. You bring them for lunch.” Hawk answers and Tim flushes.
Hawk wants to lick the red from his cheeks. It’s not an uncommon thought recently, but now they are alone in a nearly empty school and desire to break his own rules is stronger than usual.
“Do you usually notice everything, Mr Fuller?” Tim makes a couple of steps towards Hawk’s desk.
Hawk stands up and walks around, stopping right in front of Tim, leaning back on the desk.
“You can call me Hawk,” Hawk answers. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, with the way Tim’s eyes drop to his lips and go back to his eyes.
“Hawk,” Tim says, tasting the name in his mouth.
Hawk shivers. They look at each other for a few long seconds, before Hawk thinks Fuck it, and leans in to meet Tim’s lips. He stops, an inch from Tim’s face to check if he read things right, and when Tim doesn’t move he slowly closes the distance.
The kiss is soft at first, but the moment Tim opens his lips for him it suddenly turns desperate. Hawk’s hands reach for Tim’s waist to pull him closer, his tongue occupies Tim’s mouth and, as Tim’s hands come up to hold his face, the molten heat shoots down Hawk’s spine. Tim moans deliciously into the kiss and Hawk finally, finally goes for the first two buttons of his shirt, undoing them, feeling coarse hair under his fingers, when he slips them under the fabric.
Hawk’s lips move lower, kissing Tim’s jaw and finding his neck. His hands go down to Tim’s belt, and when he begins to unbuckle it, Tim suddenly pulls away. He is breathing hard, and looks beautifully disheveled, his glasses are slightly fogged up and the very sight of him makes Hawk want to take him home and spend a couple of days in bed, work be damned.
As Hawk leans for another kiss, Tim takes a step back and shakes his head. Hawk barely catches a disappointed whine that almost leaves his mouth.
“No, Mr Fuller, it’s…” Tim shakes his head again. “I’m sorry, we can’t.”
With that, he turns and storms out of the classroom, leaving Hawk alone, hard and confused.