Work Text:
Mr. Lan was an extraordinary teacher. Math had always been Jiang Cheng's worst subject; his B's in freshman geometry and sophomore-year algebra II had been eked out by the skin of his teeth. On the subject of skin, Father and Mother would have skinned him alive if he'd done any worse. Even the B's, so hard-earned, had warranted only "I'm very disappointed in you, son," from Father and "You're simply not trying, are you?" from Mother. Jiang Cheng could have cried. He did cry. He had tried so hard.
But in junior-year precalculus, in Mr. Lan's class, he actually started to glimpse glimmerings of sense in the symbols and systems. It was breathtakingly exciting and also horribly disheartening: exciting because the glimmerings of sense were also glimmerings of beauty; disheartening because they only showed him how much remedial work he'd have to do in order to be able to appreciate them fully.
This sad reality was driven home to him when he failed the first test of the year. Apparently Mr. Lan's extraordinary teaching went hand in hand with the devising of extraordinary exams, which unlike the ones Jiang Cheng were used to weren't amenable to the tactics of brute memorization he'd employed his entire math career till this year. No. The exam required actual grasp of the material and creative thinking to apply it which he simply didn't have and would never have.
He sat there then, in his seat in the classroom, the sad testimony to his sad stupidity lying on the desk before him, barely having heard the end-of-class bell ring, fighting off tears with every shred of his devastated being. They threatened to spill anyway, and stood in his eyes trembling and blinding him such that he didn't see Mr. Lan until the man had approached the desk in front of him, turned the seat around, and sat down facing him.
Jiang Cheng blinked at him. "Mr. Lan," he said. "I'll do better on the next test, I promise," except that he wouldn't, because he couldn't, and at that thought the tears did spill. Silently, Mr. Lan passed him a box of tissues, which he must have had at the ready. Jiang Cheng took it, embarrassed, and blotted at his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."
"There's nothing to apologize for," Mr. Lan said in his beautiful voice, deep and smooth. "Jiang Cheng: one failed test isn't the end of the world."
"It is if you have my parents," Jiang Cheng said bleakly. "And if you have exactly zero chance of doing better because you just don't understand math because you're constitutionally stupid."
Unexpectedly, Mr. Lan smiled at that, and it was such a handsome smile on his habitually professional face that Jiang Cheng, taken aback, forgot his teenage dramatics.
"Well, I can't do anything about your parents," Mr. Lan said, "but I can definitely do something about your attitude. Math is one of the human mind's great achievements and joys, and it's accessible to everyone. You're going to start staying after school and I'm going to teach you one on one. You're a bright student, Jiang Cheng. It's just that all your math teachers up to now have failed you. Now. Do we have an agreement?"
Jiang Cheng could hardly believe his ears. "Would you really take the time?" he asked, feeling suddenly shy.
Mr. Lan gave him that smile again, avuncular and stunning. "Of course," he said. "We'll start tomorrow. Now put that test away, burn it if you must, and go on to your next class."
"It's my free period," Jiang Cheng said. "I was going to spend it -" crying my life out now seemed inappropriate - "doing homework, but do you think we might start our lessons right now, if you're free?"
"How providential," Mr. Lan said. "This is my free period too. All right, then. Let's start from the very basics. Can you tell me what a number is?"
And so it began. And over the next days and weeks, after class and after school, it continued, and in no time Jiang Cheng had developed the world's biggest crush on his math teacher - on his voice, his smile, the cut of his suits - they had to be bespoke, they fit him so perfectly - on his patience and his praise.
Mr. Lan seemed to have an infinite supply of both. He was so patient the first week that Jiang Cheng forgot his diffidence and forgot to self-police. Instead he was able to focus on the material, and when he had a question he was able to simply ask it. He developed a confidence in his own intuition that was worth more - even at sixteen he understood this - than his understanding of functions and polynomials and graphs. It would stand him in good stead, this confidence, he knew, outside the classroom as well.
As for Mr. Lan's praise - it was unstinting. It was never unearned, nor ever unaccompanied by that stunning smile, avuncular. Jiang Cheng vowed, four weeks into the sessions and three weeks into his massive crush, to see it turned toward him not avuncular but loverly instead.
After all, wasn't he beautiful and beguiling? Didn't half the football team want to fuck him? Hadn't they come, one by one up to him, each unknowing that he wasn't the first, and propositioned him? Wasn't the only reason he'd preserved his virginity until now that he was saving it for his first love, who God willing would also be his true love?
Well, he was in love now. He was in love with Mr. Lan. Determined, Jiang Cheng set out to seduce the man he loved. He looked at him with parted lips and doe eyes. He touched his own collarbone, stroked the line of his throat. He touched Mr. Lan's wrist. He gave him smiles he practiced in the mirror, all but seducing himself.
The first time he heard Mr. Lan's breath hitch, he could hardly contain his joy.
But he should have known better. He should have known the man he loved.
"Jiang Cheng," Mr. Lan said, and drew himself back. "What are you doing?"
Jiang Cheng centered himself. There was nothing for it but to tell the truth, to risk it all. To trust his intuition.
"I'm trying to seduce you," he said, "because I'm in love with you. Is it working? Do you want me? Am I beautiful?"
And Jiang Cheng knew. He knew. He knew, because he'd never felt so beautiful in his life - in the eyes - he knew - of his lover-to-be. He knew he'd never looked more vulnerable or more tempting, with his heart in his eyes, with all his love and trust in his eyes.
Mr. Lan said nothing for a long moment. He simply looked at Jiang Cheng - looked him from his heartful eyes down, rakingly and deliberately, past the column of his throat and down from there - Jiang Cheng trembled violently - to the curve of his waist that he'd purposely accentuated with a too-small white T-shirt.
"You know very well you're beautiful," Mr. Lan said, and his voice was even deeper when it was thick with lust. "Yes. I want you. Will you give yourself to me?"
"Yes," Jiang Cheng breathed. "Will you risk it all for me?"
"Yes," Mr. Lan said, simply. "I will. You're worth it, you sweet boy. You pretty, pretty boy."
And he smiled that stunning smile - and - yes - it was a lover's smile.
“Kiss me,” Jiang Cheng said. “Please kiss me.”
Mr. Lan kissed him.
#
Jiang Cheng passed precalculus with an A+.
#
He graduated high school, then college, and married his lover.
“Xichen,” he said on their wedding night. “Did you want me when you first offered to teach me?”
“I’ll never tell,” Lan Xichen said, and rolled on top of his husband, and drove the question out of his mind.