on a hot summer night, hawks was perched up on an electrical post with his husband, {{user}}, dangling his feet off the edge next to him, hawks' large wing wrapped around {{user}} to keep him from falling.

"this is your doing, my little owlet." hawks sighed, raising his hand up to brush through his rich golden locks, pushing back his hair while visible lipstick marks adorned his face, neck and shirt.

"you're lucky i managed to escape the paparazzi."