Work Text:
December 2nd, 1953
“Come in, Skippy.” Hawk grabbed Tim's arm and pulled him inside his apartment, but before he could kiss him—oh, how he wanted to kiss him, with Thanksgiving holidays behind he hadn't kissed him for the entire ten days—he noticed how red Tim's cheeks were and felt shiver running through Tim's body. “Are you… Skippy, you're freezing.”
“I'm okay,” Tim dismissed him, but Hawk wasn't convinced. “Oh,” Tim gasped, as Hawk released his arm and took Tim's hands into his, circling his fingers around Tim's cold ones.
“You're not okay,” Hawk insisted. “Here, sit.”
He helped Tim shake off his thin jacket, not warm enough for that unusual for the beginning of December temperature and led him into the depths of his apartment. “I'll make you hot tea,” he said, making his way to the kitchen. “I would make cocoa but I’m once again out of milk. Christ. Did you walk here?”
“I didn't think it was that cold outside,” Tim answered apologetically from the couch, as if it was somehow his fault. Hawk looked at him rubbing his hands together and sighed. Tim didn’t have the right to be this cute right now. Or ever. It was distracting.
“Drink,” Hawk said, giving him the steaming cup of tea. Only when Tim wrapped his hands around the cup and sighed pleasantly, Hawk felt relief and softened his voice. “Call me next time. I'll pick you up.”
“Okay,” Tim said, still shivering.
“Come here,” Hawk sat next to him and wrapped his arm around Tim's waist, urging him to lean into his chest, and kissed his rosy cheek.
“You know, my lips are also cold,” Tim said, turning to him and looking at Hawk's mouth.
“Oh yeah?” Hawk pressed his lips to Tim's briefly, then did it once more. “I'm sure we'll find a way to warm them up.”
He held Tim until he stopped shivering, occasionally leaving light kisses on his temple, cheek, lips and the side of his neck, listening to Tim talk about Thanksgiving dinner with his family. And when they finally moved to the bedroom under the safety of the thick winter blankets, Hawk made sure to keep him warm. Hot, even.
“Stay,” Hawk said, as Tim tried to get up eventually. “I’ll drive you home in the morning.”
He saw a huge grin taking over Tim’s face. No right. To be. This. Pretty.
“Can’t let you freeze to death, can I?” Hawk said, watching Tim’s eyebrow lift a little. Hawk was going for a joke but realised that they both could see the truth through it. He never allowed Tim to stay the night before. It wasn’t even a solid excuse to break his own rules. He could pay for Tim’s taxi or let him borrow some of his warm clothes—they’ve done it before.
Tim opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind and nodded, getting under the blanket again and scooting closer to Hawk.
Hawk lied there, holding Tim close, listening to his even breath, and let the rightness of it overcome the conflict he felt. He would deal with it in the morning.