Work Text:
✨Tim✨
Grinning from ear to ear, his… well, what is Hawk to him? Boyfriend? Neighbor? Friend? Annoying sunshine person who currently grins at him and looks more like the Cheshire Cat than cute?
“I’m taking you out on a date tonight,” Hawk announces.
Tim squints. His hair is still wet from his post-run shower, he is wearing sweatpants, and he has absolutely no desire to change into presentable clothes again.
“You are?” Tim asks, sounding exactly how he feels. Utterly unconvinced. Maybe even a little worried.
He really cannot do people tonight. Especially restaurant people. Loud chatter, the constant clink of glasses, the scrape of cutlery.
“Don’t look so excited,” Hawk snorts. “I told you I’d eventually take you on a real date after the blackout the other night.”
“Yeah, you did say that.” Tim nods.
He is behaving like a complete twat and he knows it. Which is another reason to spiral and overthink, because what if Hawk reads this wrong? What if he decides he does not want to see Tim anymore after this?
Hawk chuckles.
“Ah, I’ve got grumpy Skippy today,” he says, nodding as if he knows exactly what this is, like Tim is some kind of science project.
“Grumpy Skippy?” Tim asks.
“Yeah. When you look a little like a stubborn golden retriever.” Hawk points between Tim’s brows, then taps him lightly on the nose. “It’s adorable.”
“I had a long day,” Tim sighs. “A really long one.”
“Which is exactly why I want you to have a really good evening. Let me wine and dine you, Skippy. Come on.”
“That sounds like fancy clothes,” Tim whines.
God, he is pathetic. A handsome man wants to take him out to dinner, on a date even, and he is behaving like a stubborn toddler.
Hawk only grins wider. “Some nice slacks and a shirt will be fine.”
“Is it fancy food?”
“It’s good food.”
“What’s good for you?” Tim asks suspiciously. “Because I’m not really a three leaves of salad topped with rice and some mysterious foam kind of guy.”
Now Hawk laughs out loud, throwing his head back, looking unfairly beautiful. Like some otherworldly creature sent from heaven just to torment Tim.
“They make the best pasta in D.C. Handmade. Delicious. Proper comfort food. The only thing you have to do is wear something a little nicer than what you’ve got on now,” Hawk says, trying again.
“Pasta?” Tim asks.
He might be intrigued.
“Yes.” Hawk nods, his grin widening into that Alice in Wonderland look again. “Really good pasta. All kinds of sauces, some excellent wine, and it’s on me. You can eat and drink and tell me to go to hell afterward if that’s what you need tonight.”
Like it is nothing, Tim thinks. Does anything bother him?
“I’m not going to do that,” Tim says, staring down at the floor, suddenly feeling guilty. “I’m sorry for being like this.”
“Nah.” Hawk waves it off. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” Tim mumbles.
Hawk’s grin softens into something gentler as he steps closer. Then closer still, until his lips brush Tim’s in a sweet kiss. Hawk tastes like mint and that waxy kind of lip balm. Soft and fresh.
Tim melts into it. Into Hawk. Into the warmth of his mouth against his.
Being kissed is nice. Being wanted is nice too.
“So?” Hawk asks again, smiling as he brushes a stray strand of hair from Tim’s forehead. “Dinner?”
“Okay,” Tim sighs. “Give me a minute.”
The restaurant is quiet and cozy. Tim had thought Hawk would take him somewhere modern, all glass and sharp edges, but this place feels like a little secret tucked away for people who know where to look… or people who can afford it. One glance at the menu makes Tim’s breath catch.
The lighting is low enough that the room settles into shadows. Small lamps glow on each table, warm and soft, just bright enough to read by. The rest of the restaurant fades into a blur of dark wood and muted voices. A few other tables are occupied, but everyone keeps to themselves. The clink of silverware and the occasional low laugh carry across the room before fading again.
They’re seated at a small table in an intimate corner. From here Tim can see most of the room without really being seen himself. The chair across from him creaks softly when Hawk leans back in it, relaxed like he belongs here.
Tim runs his finger down the menu again, slower this time, hoping maybe he read the prices wrong the first time. He didn’t.
“Something wrong?” Hawk asks.
Tim lowers his voice automatically. “It’s expensive,” he whispers, trying not to draw attention.
Hawk glances at the menu for about half a second before shrugging. “It’s on me. Composing is paying off really well at the moment and I want to treat you.”
Tim feels heat crawl up his neck. He shifts in his chair, suddenly very aware of the prices again. “I feel even more like an idiot for being so difficult earlier.”
“Don’t,” Hawk says easily. He sets the menu down and leans his forearms on the table. “It’s okay. What happened today?”
Tim lets out a slow breath and drops his eyes back to the table.
“The same thing that always happens,” he sighs. “The day started okay and then it turned into a disaster. I got annoyed, had an argument with my boss. The CEO doesn’t care that we’re miserable.”
A server passes nearby with a tray of drinks, ice clinking softly in the glasses. Hawk waits until they’ve moved on before speaking.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he looks like he means it. “It sounds like you need a break.”
“Of course I do,” Tim mutters. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “But I only have like three vacation days left and I want to use them wisely.”
“How many did you get total?” Hawk asks.
Tim shrugs. “Ten.”
“Shit.” Hawk shakes his head.
“It’s standard.”
“It’s still not okay.” Hawk leans back slightly. “You made it to fall with only seven days of vacation. Anyone would snap occasionally.”
Tim lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “I just don’t like my job, but you know that already.”
“Another reason to treat you tonight,” Hawk smirks. “Now pick your dinner and I’ll pick us some wine.”
“Oh,” Tim chuckles. “Will they make you smell the cork and then take a little pretentious sip?”
“It’s how it’s done,” Hawk laughs.
“So I’m in for a show. Go ahead and order then.”
Hawk does, while Tim studies the menu and tries to decide what pasta to get. It all sounds incredible. Eventually he settles on something not too adventurous, both in price and ingredients, and they place the order.
The conversation flows easily from there. Once Hawk has approved the wine, while Tim tries and fails to hide his laughter, Tim finds himself slightly tipsy already. The red wine is strong and fruity, softening the rough edges of the day.
Hawk talks about his music, and Tim could listen to him for hours. There is something sweet about the way he explains it, the way he describes things as if he sees the world in melodies and rhythms.
A waiter passes their table with a tray balanced easily in one hand, setting down plates that look more like art than food. Something smells incredible. Garlic, butter, maybe rosemary. Tim cannot even guess which dish it belongs to, but it makes his stomach growl loudly.
Of course Hawk hears it and smirks, sliding the breadbasket toward him.
When their food finally arrives, Tim stares at his beautifully plated fettuccine Alfredo in awe. He digs in immediately, more than glad that Hawk dragged him out of his apartment.
And while he eats his pasta, nearly groaning at every bite, Tim realizes something. He has never felt this relaxed on a date before. Of course he and Hawk have already had countless movie nights together. But with Hawk everything feels easy. Simple. As if nothing about being here is complicated at all.
✨Hawk✨
A tipsy Tim is something Hawk could write endless music about.
He giggles at things that aren’t even that funny. He stumbles a little like his limbs suddenly got looser than the rest of him. And he grins, wide and open, like he forgot how to hold anything back.
It’s a sight to behold.
Maybe even something to compose about later.
But right now, all Hawk really wants to do is wrap this man up in his arms and take him upstairs.
God, he wishes he could seduce Tim tonight. The thought crosses his mind more than once as Tim leans against him, warm and unsteady. But not when he’s this tipsy. And honestly, Hawk has realized something over the past weeks: when it comes to Tim, sex can wait.
Not because he doesn’t want him. Hell, he wants this man more than anything. Sometimes it drives him a little crazy. But Tim still seems like he’s carrying too much with him.
And yes, Hawk has absolutely taken a few very cold showers because of it.
By the time they reach Hawk’s apartment, Tim is hanging onto him with both arms, laughing at every little thing. The uneven crack in the sidewalk. The way the lobby light flickers when they walk in. The quiet echo of their footsteps.
Hawk steadies him with a hand on his back. Tim is still smiling like the night hasn’t ended yet.
“Can I stay at your place?” Tim whispers, then giggles again for reasons Hawk can’t quite figure out.
“Of course you can.” Hawk smiles and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“I would really want to sleep with you tonight,” Tim says very seriously, “but I’m going to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.”
Hawk laughs softly. He has never heard Tim speak this boldly before. “That’s okay.”
“Do you want to?”
“Do I want what?” Hawk asks.
“Have sex with me.” Tim rolls his eyes like Hawk is being intentionally dense.
“Of course I do. You know that.”
“Good.” Tim nods with drunken satisfaction. “Tomorrow morning maybe.”
“Well, Casanova, let’s get you to bed first.”
Tim nods again.
It takes Hawk a moment to get the key into the lock and open the apartment door while supporting most of Tim’s weight. Once inside, he guides him toward the bathroom.
If Hawk thought tipsy Tim outside was adorable, he wasn’t prepared for this.
Tim brushes his teeth with a completely unfocused, dopy smile, staring vaguely at the mirror like the process itself fascinates him. A blob of toothpaste lands on his shirt and Tim just stares at it, confused, like he has no idea how it got there.
He looks so lost it almost makes Hawk coo.
“I’ll get you something to sleep in anyway,” Hawk says gently, pointing at the shirt. “You’re not sleeping in this.”
Is it weird that this was technically their first date but Tim already has a toothbrush at Hawk’s place?
Probably.
Hawk doesn’t care in the slightest.
It takes some time to finally get Tim into a pair of sleep shorts and one of Hawk’s loose T-shirts and tucked under the covers. Tim even whines softly when Hawk steps away to change and brush his own teeth, apparently starved for contact and affection tonight.
Hawk is more than ready to give this cute little disaster of a tipsy Skippy all the affection he needs.
Had he just thought the word love?
For a moment Hawk stops brushing his teeth and stares at the other toothbrush sitting in the glass beside his own.
Tim’s toothbrush.
It belongs there. The thought comes easily. Like Tim belongs in his life.
With anyone else Hawk would probably be panicking by now. Looking for an exit, convincing himself it’s moving too fast.
But not with Tim.
With Tim everything feels easy. Simple. There’s no urge to run, no instinct to pretend this isn’t exactly what it feels like.
It feels right.
When Hawk returns to the bedroom a few minutes later, Tim is lying on the bed, hugging a pillow to his chest. He looks up at him with wide brown eyes. The fabric of Hawk’s oversized T-shirt practically swallowing him.
He looks incredible.
Hawk slips under the covers with a quiet, tired groan and opens his arms.
Tim immediately curls into him, warm and soft, melting into Hawk’s touch like he was waiting for it.
“Thank you,” Tim murmurs. “It was the best date I ever had.”
“It was my pleasure,” Hawk whispers, kissing his forehead.
“Hawk?” Tim asks sleepily.
“Hm?”
“Are you my boyfriend?”
Hawk grins in the dim light and tightens his arms around him.
“Of course I am.”