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It was a balmy May day, with the sun high in the sky, when Tim Laughlin was officially released from the Schuylkill Federal Correctional Institution in Pennsylvania. It had been eighteen months since he’d entered it, which felt both like it was yesterday and like years and years had gone by without him out in the world. Tim rubbed his thumb over the tattoo on his inner arm, something he’d chosen to mark his time here.
He adjusted the strap of the backpack, which contained his meager belongings, on his shoulder. A bible, some warmer layers of clothing he’d had with him the November he’d turned himself in, his clerical collar, a small collection of letters sent from family, and a rounded paperweight depicting the Jefferson Memorial surrounded by cherry blossoms.
He had expected to see Maggie waiting for him in the lot, with a fierce hug and then a smack on the arm for her little brother getting himself into trouble. But instead, the sight before him was one so surprising that he nearly stopped in his tracks.
Hawkins Fuller, in his Aviator sunglasses, smoking a cigarette and leaning up against his orange Oldsmobile Toronado.
Hawk looked infuriatingly handsome and put-together, as he usually did, and once Tim found his footing again, he stepped quickly across the gravel lot to reach Hawk.
“Good to see you, Skippy,” Hawk said, that maddening smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. He took another drag from his cigarette.
“What are you doing here?” Tim asked. He didn’t try to mask the tension in the question.
“Marcus called me,” Hawk replied, “or rather, your sister called Marcus, and Marcus called me. Your niece seems to have come down with something, and she had to stay and look after her. So I’m your getaway driver for today.”
“I should,” Tim stumbled over his words briefly, “I should call her. Let her know I’m alright and check in on her and Maria Loretta.”
Tim caught the eyebrow raise from Hawk at his niece’s name, but he kept whatever comment he’d thought of to himself. Hawk tossed his cigarette butt onto the gravel below and crushed it under his shoe, stamping it out before sliding off his sunglasses and looking Tim in the eye. Those stupid blue eyes. Tim was a sucker for them, even after all this time.
“Why don’t we go find somewhere to eat that has a payphone? That way you can fuel up and call her too. I’ll buy you lunch, my treat.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Tim nodded.
He rounded the car to the passenger side and climbed in, settling his backpack by his feet. He was briefly reminded of sitting in the passenger seat of Hawk’s green Ford in 1953, driving to Rehoboth to spend the weekend with him.
That was so long ago now.
And they had both changed so much.
The engine roared to life and Hawk steered them out onto an open stretch of rural highway. Silence hung between them, neither willing to be the first to speak, the first to extend an olive branch of conversation. Tim warred with himself in his mind, the hurt and anger that he associated with Hawk fighting against the way his heart fluttered and his breath still caught in his throat whenever Hawk looked at him. His body so quick to remember everything they had been through together.
“You look good,” Hawk’s voice broke the quiet in the car, “I was worried they wouldn’t have enough milk in there to keep up with your physique.”
Tim snorted a small laugh despite himself. Hawk’s effortless charm and suave nature used to make him feel like he was sitting next to a film star. But it was all too easy to fall back under his sway, and Tim had grown in their time apart.
“I take it Lucy doesn’t know what you’re doing right now?”
Hawk’s face fell at the mention of his wife. Breaking the spell they’d been under for the last half-hour, just two wayward lovers who had found each other by happenstance again. But that’s not what they were, at least not anymore.
“I told her I have a late dinner meeting today and not to wait up for me. I’m sure she’ll be asleep by the time I get back.”
Tim hummed in acknowledgment, hating to think how Lucy probably assumed Hawk had gone out for one of his “hunts”, to pick up some man. Well, she wouldn’t be entirely wrong.
“Enough about me though,” Hawk was quick to change the subject, “what about you? What does the virtuous Father Skippy have ahead of him?”
“I’m not a priest, Hawk, and I’m not aiming to become one anymore, either. I quit seminary.”
“So no more vow of celibacy?”
“Hawk!”
“I’m teasing! I’m teasing, Skippy.”
Tim took a steadying breath. “But if you actually care to know, I’m going to San Francisco. Permanently.”
Silence again.
Tim watched as Hawk shifted gear and turned down an offshoot of the road they had been traveling on, before pulling the car over and stopping. Turning the engine off. Gripping the wheel.
“You’re going where?”
Hawk’s voice was small, not the intense and forceful way he spoke when he was angry. His hands came unclenched from the steering wheel, and he still hadn’t looked over at Tim.
“I’m going to San Francisco,” Tim repeated. “There are lots of people, people like us out there, and I want to be around them. I don’t want to hide anymore. Frankie said he would put me up until I found a place of my own, and Marcus is there too. I’m going to live my life on my own terms now.”
Hawk’s gaze finally turned to him. Something that Tim could almost call hurt was hiding in those blue eyes.
“But your family is in New York, your sister, Tim, you love your family,” Hawk started before Tim cut him off.
“I do love them. And maybe one day, I will be honest with them about this part of me. But for now, I need to do what is best for myself. I need to choose myself for once,” Tim found the last few words were harder to get out. Curse how easily his emotions rose to the surface.
“California’s clear on the other side of the country, I just thought,” Hawk struggled for words before continuing, “I suppose this will be the last time we see each other.”
“I suppose so,” Tim echoed. He had the urge to reach out and comfort Hawk. Even after all this time, it made his heart ache to see him in any pain. His mind conjured up the night that Hawk had taken him to the clocktower, and laid his head in Tim’s lap as he stroked his hair, letting silent tears fall.
“I have to go. I have to get over you.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Both men locked eyes for a moment, tension rippling through the air. Then Hawk reached a hand forward, sliding it along the length of Tim’s neck, thumb stroking along his jaw.
“Tell me to stop and I will. But I can’t let you leave without… without,” but Hawk didn’t finish the sentence. He pressed his lips to Tim’s, leaning forward across the center of the car, pulling Tim in against himself. Hawk smelled just like he remembered. Cigarette smoke, and aftershave, and the cologne he sometimes wore. He must have put it on today, before coming to get Tim. He had put it on for Tim. And that’s when the dam broke.
Tim let his hands fly forward, gripping onto the fabric of Hawk’s shirt. Kissing Hawk ignited all those feelings again, the ones Tim tried to tamp down and keep tucked away inside his heart. But it just felt so right. It had always felt so right.
Hawk caught his bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a soft bite before pulling away. Tim whined at the loss of Hawk’s lips, leaning forward slightly as if to chase after them.
“Back seat,” Hawk exhaled heavily, “get in the back seat.”
Tim scrambled into the back, Hawk right behind him. He ended up stretched across the back seat at an odd angle, but that didn’t matter at all. Hawk was clambering over him, nipping down his neck, pushing a hand up under his shirt to scratch across his chest.
“God, Skippy, you drive me crazy,” Hawk said under his breath.
Tim nodded in agreement, breaths coming in shallow pants, “I haven’t, not with anyone, not since, since the cabin.”
Those words seemed to light a fire in Hawk’s eyes, and he not-so-gracefully shimmied down until he was eye-level with Tim’s jeans. He unzipped them quickly and pulled them down, along with Tim’s briefs, only enough for his cock to be free. It had already been stirring to attention during their kiss, and now Hawk spit unceremoniously into his palm, wrapping his hand around it.
Tim felt a shudder run through his body, and his eyes found Hawk’s again as he slowly sank down onto Tim’s cock, one hand still wrapped around the base to hold it steady. Hawk’s mouth was hot and wet, and it sent Tim back to that winter night close to Christmas they had shared together so long ago.
“Hawk, shit,” he moaned lowly, his hips jumping of their accord. One hand was fisted into his pant leg, the other clamped onto Hawk’s shoulder.
Hawk’s pace was quick, nearly frantic, knowing they were on borrowed time. Tim moved the hand on Hawk’s shoulder and tentatively settled it on his head, fingers carding into Hawk’s dark curls. He waited for any sign to retreat before gripping hard into his hair, pulling a moan from Hawk that vibrated through to him. Tim used his leverage to slow Hawk down, forcing him to change his pace.
“You feel so good,” Tim said, keeping up a litany of small praises, “so good, Hawk, please, I want to come for you, I want you to make me come.”
Hawk drew back slowly before swallowing him down to the root, his tongue rolling and flexing against Tim’s cock. Tim felt himself jerk and quake, the heat of Hawk’s mouth wrenching his orgasm from him. When Hawk pulled away, his lips were spit-shined and drool had escaped from the corner of his mouth. He crawled up until he came face to face with Tim, leaning down and sealing their mouths together, Tim’s own spend given to him from Hawk’s tongue.
And it felt good, it felt right. Like Holy Communion received directly on the tongue, the way the truly devout received it. The body of Christ, holy sustenance.
Tim swallowed, feeling his throat bob and work. He pulled away from Hawk’s mouth, but only to catch his own breath. They both panted hot air against each other’s lips, brown eyes meeting blue. Then Hawk laid his head down on Tim’s chest, and neither spoke for several minutes. Tim ran his hands through Hawk’s hair, down his back, along his shoulders. Savoring what very well could be the last time they ever saw each other. He could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It was like the clocktower all over again. Except now they lay, somewhat uncomfortably, in the back seat of Hawk’s orange Oldsmobile Toronado. On the side of some old country road in Pennsylvania.
Just two wayward lovers who had found each other by happenstance again.
Hawk’s fingers were tracing lazy patterns along his arm, pushing up his shirtsleeve as they went. Tim felt the fingers still as they reached the place on his arm that had recently become home to a permanent embellishment. Hawk must not have noticed it until now.
“What the hell is this?” Tim heard, slightly muffled against his chest.
And he couldn’t help but burst out laughing, then pressed a kiss to the top of Hawk’s head.