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Hawk didn't know what woke him. His body still felt tired and heavy, eyes refusing to open. The noise drifting in from the open window, chirrups of insects and hoots of owls, along with a distinct dewy scent, told him it was still nighttime. There was nothing quite like it. If Hawk had to guess, he hadn't been asleep for very long. Certainly not long enough for his body to have chosen to wake him up on its own. So, that rather begged the question of why Hawk found himself unwillingly conscious instead of enjoying a well deserved slumber next to the man he loved.
Tim, his sweet angelic Skippy.
Normally, Hawk would find himself happily cuddled into his side, Tim’s heartbeat thumping steadily in his ear. But it was just too hot. They'd snuggled for as long as they could stand to, hot and sweaty for none of the fun reasons. But soon, they'd rolled apart, bound for the cooler linen at the edges of the bed.
He shifted on the mattress a little, assuming his reluctant awakening was a heat related issue - the nights here could and did get uncomfortably hot. And, tonight was no exception. But, then his ears registered a familiar sound. One that didn't quite belong with the slightly cooler, still hours of the night.
The scratching of a pencil over paper.
He knew that sound all too well. It was usually accompanied by soft humming and the tempting image of his lover's bottom lip drawn into his mouth. The sight never failed to make Hawk want to kiss Tim, to nibble softly against his mouth, and capture the moans as they fell off his lips.
But, Hawk was getting sidetracked. And, it was far too humid for him to want to follow those thoughts to their pleasurable conclusion.
There was a rustle of paper, and Hawk felt Tim's thumb brush over the creases on his forehead.
“Just go back to sleep, beloved,” Tim murmured, voice as soothing as the strokes of his thumb.
Hawk opened one eye, squinting against the soft lamplight backlighting Tim. “Skippy?” he grumbled, his mind still trying to wake up enough to comprehend exactly what was happening.
“It's me, love,” Tim agreed, softly. “Nothing's wrong. Now, go back to sleep.”
Hawk wished he could, but he was still puzzled. “Why are you awake?”
“No reason,” Tim whispered, too quickly for it to be the truth.
Hawk cursed the heat and his sluggish, tired mind for making him so slow. He didn't sit up, knowing Tim wouldn't appreciate that. It took him another minute to piece it together. “You're drawing me again, aren't you, Skip?”
The thumb lovingly stroking his forehead disappeared, a finger pad tapping against the tip of his nose. “Maybe.”
Hearing a smile in Tim’s voice, Hawk opened his other eye and glared mildly at his love. “Skippy."
“It's not my fault you look so handsome when you’re sleeping,” Tim protested, smiling sweetly in the way he knew Hawk couldn't resist.
Artist Tim was a side of his love he'd only discovered after they had moved here together - and he was damned if it wasn't one of his most attractive looks. The smears of graphite he inevitably ended up with across his cheek and nose; the intent way he looked at Hawk, capturing every little detail.
Tim was a terrible tease in artist mode, refusing to even so much as consider kissing Hawk until he'd captured what he wanted to.
And, with that sweet smile on his lips, Hawk wanted nothing more than to kiss him and taste all the sweetness that was his love.
Hawk groaned, burying his head into his pillow. “How much longer, angel?”
Tim pushed his glasses back up his nose, scanning his sketchpad critically. “It depends,” he smiled wider, never to be rushed. “Are you going to go back to sleep?”
Then, Hawk looked up and smiled, a temptation of his own. “Are you going to kiss me goodnight, again?”
Tim brushed the most fleeting kiss over his lips, barely even lingering for a second. “Goodnight, my love. Now, go to sleep.”
Hawk felt his eyebrows draw together, offended at the perfunctory kiss Tim thought was adequate. When waiting for a few seconds didn't work, Hawk cleared his throat. “You can do better than that, my Skippy.”
“No, I can't,” his love replied easily, gaze transfixed on his work. “Goodnight.”
As Tim's pencil flowed over the paper for a few long moments, Hawk watched the look of concentration in his beautiful eyes. If Hawk didn't know better (and he did), he would swear that Tim didn't even notice him.
“I see,” Hawk pouted, dramatically. “You're treating me like one of your Italian boys.”
That stopped Tim's pencil in its tracks. “My what?” Tim demanded, that delicious crease appearing on his forehead. “Hawk, amore mio-"
Hawk could not take it a second longer. Tim's once stumbling Italian was smooth and confident, and the love that filled his voice was almost too much to bear.
Tim would just have to be grumpy about him ruining his inspiration.
Hawk cupped Tim's cheeks, reeling him in for a long, passionate kiss. Whatever loving words or needless explanation Tim had been about to utter disappeared, lost to the teasing caress of their tongues, the perfect feeling of Tim licking into Hawk's mouth and laying claim to it.
The intensity of the kiss left them gasping for air, and Hawk nuzzled their noses together as they caught their breaths.
“You are my only Italian boy,” Tim murmured against his lips, fingers caressing Hawk's hair. “My eternal muse.” Tim smoothed Hawk's hair back down, smiling softly at him. “Bello.”
Hawk kissed his lips a handful more times, each one chaste and sweet. The passion was still there, but he didn't need to act on it. He was perfectly content just like this. He'd had his goodnight kiss - and then some more - and his Skippy's fingers were absently twitching the way they did when he still needed to finish channeling his inspiration.
Hawk snuggled back into his pillow, as close as he could get to how he woke up. Tim's eyes went soft and gentle, hands automatically reaching for his sketchpad.
“Don't stay up too late sketching me, angel,” Hawk smiled, closing his eyes as he lovingly gazed up at Tim. Imprinting his beautiful face in his mind in hopes that it would soon appear in his dreams. “Your sister will think the worst of me if you're too tired to spend time with her again,” he grumbled as he began to drift off.
“She loves you almost as much as I do,” Tim dismissed, a gentle laugh in his voice. “But, I'll just finish up and then go back to sleep.”
Hawk hummed lightly, choosing not to mention that past experience said otherwise. He was feeling too sleepy and blissfully in love right now to start bickering with his Skippy.
Tim's paper rustled, but it wasn’t followed by the sound of his pencil. The mattress shifted a little and Hawk felt Tim's lips, warm and loving, press a final kiss to his forehead.
“Goodnight, beloved,” Tim whispered, tender as always.
Hawk let his lips curl into a small smile, hearing Tim's pencil start sketching again. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”