“Drink.” Tim took two swallows and then Hawkins tilted the bottle further back, until more milk was coming out than Tim could swallow. It ran down his cheek and chin, and Hawk began to lick it off, and twice, once gently and once not, to bite him. He took off Tim’s shirt and then he removed his own. In the rush to speed both of them toward nakedness, Tim spilled the rest of the small bottle onto the bare, warped floor near the blanket. “Don’t cry over—you know,” said Hawk. But he was crying anyway. “I love you, Hawk.” He pressed himself against Fuller’s body, which was still tanned from the
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