I love him too!!! He's the sweetest boy!! 

(I’m going to refer to him as Skip here for the most part cause I do think there’s quite a difference between Tim and Skip, even though I referred to him as Tim in the fic for easier reading.)

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sfw

When Skip’s in that headspace, he’s super lovey and affectionate —even more so than normal. He likes to lay on the floor at Hawk’s feet while his handler works at home, either playing with his lamb with his head resting on Hawk’s knee, or nuzzling Hawk’s legs while he dozes in and out of a nap. Sometimes he’ll sneak a little lick to Hawk’s calf or thigh, ever fascinated by the feeling of coarse hair against his tongue. Hawk will usually take that as a sign that Skip is getting a little bored and restless. He really just wants to be close to his handler at all times.

He follows Hawk around like a rescue dog; a bit nervous to have Hawk out of his sight. His favorite room is the kitchen because Hawk will always give into the puppy-dog eyes and give Skip something from the fridge or pantry. His —very close— second favorite place is Hawk’s bedroom, where Hawk lets him sprawl on the bed! Hawk doesn’t let Skip on the couch, but the bed is fine since he can wash the sheets. And you better believe Hawk makes a little show of having to wash the “dirty dog sheets” when Tim is Tim again just to make his boy blush and laugh. (no, Hawk doesn’t feel like he actually has to wash the sheets and often times he just strips the bed for show. He wants to make things even more enjoyable and comfortable for Tim, and if it means being a little silly, he’s willing to be a little theatrical for his boy.)

He’s curious about everything Hawk does, like a regular puppy. If Hawk is putting on his shoes, Skip will put his nose to the laces and nudge Hawk’s hands out of the way so he can get a better look, maybe try to tug on a lace with his teeth. Or when Hawk is organizing his desk, Skip will jump up and put his hands on the edge and try to steal a sheet of paper or an eraser, so that Hawk has to bribe him with a treat to get it back. “Skip- Hey! Drop it! Don’t you dare rip that up, I need that- Look, I have treats, don’t those sound better than my drafts?” 

And oh how he loves baths. They don’t indulge in it often because it would mean Tim either has to put his worn underwear back on or wear Hawk’s borrowed ones back to his boarding room which is a bit risky; same as leaving a pair or two at Hawk’s place, it’s just not smart. He could bring a spare pair with him each time but that puts an expectation of what he wants from Hawk, and he doesn’t like having much influence on how things go before they’re in the moment. When Hawk does decide his pup could use a bath, it’s usually because he notices Skip wiggling his back on his blanket, huffing and whining, something clearly feeling wrong. It’s both relaxing and exciting for the both of them, giving each a role and job to fulfill, plus it always ends in some sleepy cuddles.

Hawk was incredibly surprised with how much he enjoyed it for himself. He didn’t expect to fall into the caring, patient, watchful role so easily. It was a little odd at first, talking about it is one thing… seeing Tim almost physically change right in front of him was something else entirely. It excited him to have the opportunity to truly lead and protect Tim with no pushback from the younger man, to not only be responsible for Skip, but to take full responsibility for his own actions and words for once. He had to, he couldn’t fuck up and be selfish while Tim was like this; to hurt Skip was to push Tim away forever. 

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Nsfw

!!! love you anon, so much !!! here's Tim's lamb + some other items and photos

Is it a way for Hawk to take more control? yeah, a bit. But is it more so about Tim letting go and being more comfortable with himself? Abso-fuckin-lutely.

I project a little onto Tim, and I HC him being very unsure and over-conscious of his movements, like his physical bodily movements, he's over-aware of anyone's eyes on him to the point he thinks "Am I walking normal? what do I do with my hands? is this a weird way to stand?" It's super fun- I've settled on "Skip" being Tim's pup name :3

Also I'd like to say a super special THANK YOU to @lispenard-street for beta-reading this fic for me!!! Literally every piece of input you had was gold and the absolute correct thing to do, not to mention all the super kind words you had for me even though the draft was in shambles when you first saw it lmfao- So thank you, Gem💚

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Fetch

Hawk was consumed in drafting a small speech for a function Senator Smith had organized —something about acknowledging McCarthy's threat to the State Department but encouraging diplomacy— when Tim showed up on his doorstep looking like a kicked puppy. His boy promised that he would be quiet and that all he needed was to be somewhere safe while he felt this way. With a beat of hesitance, Hawk let him in, slightly worried no work would get done. Hawk really has no clue how telling a bunch of grown men and women to essentially stand down will do any good for the department, but he'd rather chop off his own hand than go against Senator Smith. 

Tim’s head feels light and full of syrup-damp cotton. He’s quite familiar with this feeling, having been experiencing it for some years; the swirling, strangling, suffocating need to serve and submit. But it’s all different now, knowing that he has someone he can relinquish himself to. Knowing he can let his mind float away and still be safe regardless of whatever may happen around him.

His tongue is wet and heavy behind his teeth, forcing him to swallow the excess spit before it drips past his stress-chewed lips. A warm buzz tingles across every inch of his skin and radiates through his insides; the feeling settles somewhere in his hips and weakens his knees, joints threatening to buckle beneath his weight. The urge to sink to the floor right on Hawk’s doorstep nearly wins but he has just enough sense left in him to know that it would get the door shut in his face.

Instead, he takes a couple wobbly steps across the threshold and into the foyer before giving in to the downward pull and sinking to his knees on the hearth rug that poses as a welcome mat. Tim struggles with bumbling, pawing hands to strip himself of his clothes, only managing to shake out of his coat and claw at the already loose knot of his tie before he lets his hands drop to his lap in defeat. Head swimming, lungs unable to draw in enough air, he looks up to the man standing in front of him, asking —begging— for help with watery eyes, throat resistant to form any sound other than a pitiful whine. 

Hawk smiles and gently peels away the layers of Tim’s human facade: tweed, cotton, tortoiseshell, and gold all in turn. Replacing it with leather and brass, unbinding his pup from responsibility and expectation, letting him be raw and sensitive here where Hawk can protect him—can be the soothing balm to all his scrapes and burns caused by the world.

With a finger hooked in the D-ring of Tim’s collar, Hawk leads his pup into the living room. A little bit of fussing over Tim’s blanket, a brief pitstop at his desk to fetch Tim’s little white lamb, and a soft yet firm command of “Down. Settle, Skip,” later; Hawk redirects his attention back to his speech —leaving his little pup to play at his feet—  intent on making good progress tonight. So he's got a pencil in his hand and three sheets of paper —two already full of his scrawling, thankfully— on an old book in his lap. He's not sitting at his desk for this —his back hurts too damn much— but instead is reclining on the low couch on the opposite wall. 

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Tim nudges his little white lamb into Hawk's lap, propping his chin on the older man's robe-covered knee, huffing and whining when his handler doesn't immediately look at him. The sweet noise catches Hawk's attention immediately, quickly switching his focus to Tim's pouting lips and glimmering eyes instead of the stark white pages.

Those big doe eyes shine with a playfulness that has Hawk's heart seized with warmth and affection for the young man. 

He’s just a boy, Hawk marvels.

Tim had been quietly playing by himself on his rust orange tartan blanket at his handler's socked feet, manipulating the soft toy with his hands and rubbing his cheek against the fluff of its fur, nipping at the tiny ears and tail. But that gets boring after a while, and Hawk hasn’t so much as reached down to pet him in the last twenty minutes. 

A break might do Hawk some good— his eyes are starting to sting anyway.

"Wanna play, huh?" Hawk sets the pencil and makeshift writing pad aside, picking up the small plush and shaking it in front of Tim's face. A laugh bubbles up from his chest as Tim presses his chest forward against Hawk's shin and snaps at the toy, teeth clacking together when a soft, felt hoof gets close to his nose. Maybe he'll catch it one day but today isn't that day.

"Get it, boy." With one last flick of the toy in Tim's face, Hawk tosses the cotton-stuffed lamb across the living room and into the kitchen hall; he had moved the chair that usually sits in the center of the room over, giving his pup room to play while he worked. Hawk is thinking of making this furniture configuration permanent, always allowing Tim to slip down to the floor and be 'Skip' with nothing in his way when his boy’s mind starts to shift and slide to one more canid.

This is a fairly new addition to their play, fetch. It still feels odd to crawl on the floor in nothing but his briefs and collar; bright sconces of the kitchen hall leaving him nowhere to hide. Tim feels a bit exposed, as though his most vulnerable parts are bared for Hawk to scrutinize from his comfortable perch. The skin of his face, chest, and back flush a rosy shade of pink knowing Hawk is watching him.

Hawk rakes his eyes down Tim's body, a ball of heat beginning to wind and coil low in his belly. With a slight readjustment of his robe and briefs, Hawk makes sure to conceal his growing erection, knowing that's not what his puppy needs right now.

Tim clambers his way across the living room, palms and knees softly thumping on the hardwood floor as he chases his lamb. The nickel tag clipped to his collar jingles with each plodding step. He's not going to humiliate himself by trying to trot after it —he knows he'll fall flat on his face— but he's learned that Hawk wants him to crawl instead of get up and walk. Dogs don't walk upright, Skip. Down, boy. 

Once Tim reaches his beloved lamb, he dips down to grab it between blunt teeth. Jaws clamped down on the soft fabric, Tim shakes it side to side like a terrier with a rat or a Beagle with a rabbit: mauling it before bringing it back to his owner for a reward. His hair falls into his eyes as he does so, obscuring his glasses-less vision even more when he turns his attention to Hawk, panting softly, searching for that warm smile he's always trying to draw out of his handler. The one that lets Tim know he's doing good.

He gets it, a sharp show of teeth, the highest value reward Hawk could ever give.

"Bring it here, Skip. Come on." Hawk encourages, patting the top of his thigh to beckon his pup back to him. He loves when his boy turns into his pup, the thorns of defiance and questioning stripped away to sweet, silent submission. Hawk wouldn't change Tim's inquisitive mind and crashing emotions for anything, but it's nice not having to be on his toes, waiting to be thrown off-kilter by a question he hasn't allowed himself to think about. 

Tim ducks his head as he crawls back to Hawk, still a bit too aware of the position his body is in. Hawk had said he likes the way Tim's shoulders flex and strain as he lumbers across the floor on all fours. The memory of Hawk growling those words in his ear while the older man's hands squeezed and kneaded the muscle in Tim's arms prompts Tim to pause once his hands hit the scratchy circular rug. He slides them forward to stretch out in front of himself, chest nearly brushing the floor, fingers clawing at the rug, intentionally tensing his shoulders to make the muscles ripple and cord beneath his skin. Arching his back like a dog who just woke up. His collar tightens around his throat as he does so, biting into his skin, leaving the faintest mark for later.

Satisfied with the shaky sigh and chuckle Hawk lets out, Tim straightens back up to finally bring the toy back to his handler, a little more confidence in his stride. His tag jingles a little louder now. Depositing the lamb in Hawk's open palm, Tim sits back on his haunches, ready to chase and retrieve the toy again, willing to bare himself for as long as Hawk will grant.

"Good boy, Skip." Hawk praises, free hand ruffling through Tim's hair, pausing to gently scratch behind his pup's ear the way Tim loves. "Always such a good puppy for me." 

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Pup!Tim will live in my head forever as well, anon, we're in the same boat- here's a 50's moodboard, not a very good one because it's so hard to find stuff that doesn't look ultra-modern??? anyway

The lamb plush is a gift from Hawk, it is very much a play on the whole sacrificial lamb deal in the Bible, Tim hasn't quite caught onto it yet, but Hawk couldn't help himself. They play fetch with it in Hawk's apartment, Tim was a little uncomfortable crawling after it at first but now it's a regular thing, familiar and comforting to know Hawk isn't laughing at him but more so at how cute he is with the little lamb between his teeth and his face a little red and his hair more than mused, Tim likes seeing his handler happy. It lives at Hawk's apartment in the bottom drawer of his desk when Tim isn't there, otherwise it's usually sat on Tim's blanket, or being carried in his mouth from room to room as Tim follows Hawk around.

The blanket is another gift from Hawk. His puppy needs something nice to lay on, can't just force him to lay on the hardwoods with no cushion, that would be mean, and his pup is prone to getting a little cold in his stripped state. Underwear and t-shirt at the most, Hawk never understood putting clothes on their large dogs, so he's not going to. The blanket also stays in Hawk's apartment and is the only warm-toned blanket he owns. It also gives some relief to Hawk's own knees when he decides it's time to give his puppy a nice reward.

The collar -you guessed it- is yet another gift from Hawk. Look, Hawk likes spoiling his puppy, if he could get every little item he saw that made him think of his puppy, he'd be broke, and he's got Moneyyyy. He knew Tim wouldn't like anything flashy or harsh, his boy is the soft type in this mental state and would hate a prong collar, so Hawk opted for something classic yet still more than strong enough to pull on. It was the one thing Hawk had to get custom-made. He can't lie, he was the slightest bit flustered during the commission process but calm, cool, and collected when he picked it up, much too excited to see the look on Tim's face when he presented the gift to his pup. "Now everybody will know who owns you, Skip."

Not sure if I want Tim's pup name to be Skip/Skippy or something else, also I think the collar would be a little wider but that was the closest I could find that's simple.

Oh and look! A gift not from Hawk! The bowl is from Frankie. I like to think Tim and Frankie had a closer relationship than what was represented in the show, and one night while Tim and Frankie were drinking a little too much in Frankie's room, Tim spilled the beans on what he and Hawk had been up to, and how it felt so good to just follow what Hawk said without being expected to give a verbal response. Frankie first laughed cause of-fucking-course Tim likes something like this, but then he got to thinking... how can he be a little shit but also provide something of use? A bowl, a fucking dog bowl. He thought about putting Tim's name, or "Skippy" on it but settled on "Dog" just to really fuck with Tim. uhhh Tim nearly fucking cried from embarrassment that Frankie not only remembered the conversation but Bought him something because of it- He's just happy Frankie didn't give it to him in front of Hawk or Marcus, then he definitely would have cried.

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