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“Need a ride, Tim?” Wilhelm asks, and Tim stops dead in his tracks.
To be honest, he’s feeling pretty dead on his feet ; it had been a long, exhausting shoot and he’s looking forward to getting home and collapsing face-first into bed. He had not been looking forward to the cab ride to get there - thanks Jack, for leaving without warning - nor had he expected to find Wilhelm here in front of the building, straddling a very impressive looking motorcycle, looking like he’s about to take off.
“A what, sorry?” Tim’s distracted, but he challenges anyone to not be distracted when presented with Wilhelm in a motorcycle jacket that appears to have more buckles and straps than seem strictly necessary.
“I asked if you needed a ride, ” and the way he emphasizes that last word drives Tim’s mind straight to the gutter.
“Fzt,” he says.
Wilhelm raises his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. “I saw Jack taking off that way.” He nods west, the opposite direction Tim needs to go. “I can drop you off at home, it’s on my way.” He leans forward and folds his arms on the handlebars. “Let me give you a lift.”
Oh. Oh of course that’s what he meant. “Sure,” Tim says, striving for casual. “Thanks.” Wilhelm grins at him and digs a second helmet out from one of the side bags. Tim slides on the bike behind him as Wilhelm fits his own helmet on, and wow Tim did not think this through. He rests his hands gingerly on Wilhelm’s hips - is he supposed to hang on? Where ?
Wilhelm answers that question for him by tugging Tim’s arms up around Wilhelm’s chest. The action pulls Tim flush against Wilhelm’s back, and he’s glad to be wearing the helmet because he’s sure he’s blushing horribly.
“Hang on,” Wilhelm says, and his voice reverberates through Tim’s chest. They haven’t even pulled away from the curb and Tim’s not sure he’s going to survive this ride.
The Wilhelm kicks the engine into gear and pulls into traffic and Tim’s sure of it.
He quickly loses any shyness about clinging to Wilhelm’s chest; they’re not moving that fast compared to the rest of traffic, but Tim can feel every shift of the bike as they weave in and out of the lines of cars. It’s hard to stay tense for long, though - the sure and confident way Wilhelm handles the motorcycle has Tim relaxing into his back, and when Wilhelm leans into the turn onto the highway, tilting the bike at what seems like an impossible angle, Tim just laughs over his shoulder.
It feel like flying, hurtling down the highway with the wind whipping past and stealing the air from Timothy’s lungs. He tucks his head behind Wilhelm’s large shoulder and lets the engine’s vibration thrum through him, trusting Wilhelm to get them where they’re going, Wilhelm’s body warm where Tim’s pressed up against him.
It’s over too soon; Wilhelm cuts across traffic, and as Tim looks up he sees the exit sign flashing by. Then it’s only a few side streets before Wilhelm’s coming to a stop in front of Tim’s building, legs out to balance the bike while it purrs underneath him. Tim is suddenly very aware of just how close he’s pressed himself to Wilhelm’s back; Wilhelm doesn’t seem to mind, though, waiting patiently as Tim slowly unsticks his hands from around Wilhelm’s chest. They don’t seem to want to let go. He slides off the bike onto legs that are only a little wobbly and pulls the helmet off. He’s sure his hair’s a mess, but he’s still flushed with adrenaline and that giddy feeling that Wilhelm puts in his chest.
“Thanks, I -” Tim swallows against a suddenly dry throat. He feels like he left his common sense behind on the highway; he’s suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to grab Wilhelm by the collar of his jacket and kiss him stupid right there on the street.
Wilhelm’s still wearing his helmet, though, which is a significant flaw in this plan. Tim should probably - Tim should wait. Yeah.
“No problem,” Wilhelm says as he accepts Tim’s helmet back. “Anytime.” He sounds like he’s smiling, and when did Tim learn to recognize the sound of Wilhelm’s smile?
“Yeah.” Tim’s smiling too - he can feel his cheeks pulling up. “Yeah, I”ll keep that in mind.”
Wilhelm gives him an informal salute, then he’s pulling away and back into traffic. Tim watches him go. He’s still smiling.
He smiles to himself on the elevator ride up to the penthouse apartment, through cooking himself dinner, and through cleaning up after. He’s apparently still smiling when Jack finally gets home very late that night, but even Jack’s suspicious look can’t pierce his good mood.
“You’re not pissed that I took off without you?” He sounds slightly petulant, like he was expecting an argument and has been denied.
“Nah,” Tim says, looking down at the tablet in his lap. Fiona had contacted him about a specialty shoot that Tim had initially been going to turn down - but with the phantom sensation of Wilhelm’s motorcycle still between his legs and Wilhelm’s back still pressed to Tim’s front, the project suddenly seems like a much better idea. A way to up the ante, as it were.
“Nah,” Tim repeats, smiling at Jack. “I figured it out.”