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“And so,” Wriothesley says, “despite their association with the patriarchal church, convents could, in some cases, offer women more freedom than they had in secular society. They were allowed to read and write, allowed to serve their god instead of a husband they didn’t choose, and sometimes even allowed to covertly explore queer sexuality… Yes, Lyney?”
Lyney puts down the hand he raised. “Was that also true for gay men? Could they explore queer sexuality in monasteries? I’m asking for a friend, of course.”
Wriothesley snorts. “Yes, sometimes. Men had access to other avenues for queerness that women didn’t, namely the military, but they were also more at risk. The punishments for sodomy were much more severe than those for female homosexual behaviour.”
“What a shame,” Lyney says dramatically. “Sodomy is so fun!”
He gets a laugh from both Wriothesley and the rest of the class. Freminet turns beet red beside him, but Lyney sits back in his chair feeling satisfied. The semester’s nearly over, but getting Wriothesley’s attention is as thrilling as it was on day one.
Class ends, and Wriothesley recruits a couple students to pass back their tests from last week. Lyney got fifty out of sixty-three, which his phone tells him is seventy-nine percent—of course that bastard couldn’t have given him an A. He glances at Freminet and finds him staring at his paper, trying not to cry. He got twenty-five out of sixty-three. Lyney can’t do math very quickly in his head, but he knows that’s well below fifty percent.
“Hey, it’s not that bad,” he says.
“It is,” Freminet says. “I’m gonna fail.”
“No, you won’t,” Lyney says, but it rings hollow. Freminet starts to cry, and Lyney panics. “It’ll be okay! I’ll talk to Wriothesley for you.” He looks for him, but he’s talking to another student. “Go meet Lynette and tell her I’ll be late for lunch. Get yourself something to eat.”
“But what are you going to say to him?”
“No idea yet,” Lyney says, “but I’ll figure something out. Trust me, okay?”
Freminet nods. “Okay.”
“Good.” Lyney wipes his tears away and packs up his bag, sending him on his way. The other student is still talking, so Lyney sits and waits for the classroom to empty out, tapping his foot and trying to think.
He was lying when he said he had no idea what he’d say to Wriothesley, but he’s not sure how to say it. He prefers to rehearse thoroughly, obsessively, before he steps into the spotlight, but there just isn’t time. The student wraps up her question, and then Wriothesley’s looking at him, an amused smile on his face.
Lyney returns it, getting up and walking around his desk. “Fun lecture today. None of my other professors ever talk about sodomy.”
“Aren’t you a drama major?” Wriothesley asks. “Surely some of them do.”
“Okay, maybe it’s come up a few times,” Lyney says. “I had a bit part in Rent in first year.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.”
“You didn’t miss much. The girl playing Mimi was so bad we were rooting for her death—on stage, of course!” Wriothesley laughs again. Good. “So, I actually need a favour.”
“What kind?”
“A big one?” Lyney says. “Don’t fail Freminet.”
Wriothesley sighs. “You know it’s him taking the tests, right?”
“I do, but history isn’t his strong suit. He’s really trying, but he’s dyslexic, and he panics at the sight of an exam.”
“His take-home assignments aren’t much better. Though at least he doesn’t cheat on them like you do.”
“What?”
“I taught your sister last year. She’s less talkative than you, but she has a distinctive writing voice. How come she only does your assignments?”
“I—she can’t copy Fremi’s handwriting,” Lyney admits. “And you’re a freak who won’t let us use computers!”
“Writing things out is a good mental exercise. Plus, it makes it easier to catch plagiarizers.”
“And yet you don’t do anything about them.”
“You participate in class,” Wriothesley says. “I can tell you understand the material, even if you’re lazy about your homework. Which is more than I can say for Freminet, unfortunately.”
“There’s no way he can speak up more. I’m only even taking this class because seminars freak him out too much for him to take it alone. He can’t participate more than he already is by showing up.”
“Then I don’t know what you want me to do,” Wriothesley says.
“Change his grade,” Lyney says. “He doesn’t need an A or anything. Just let him pass.”
“I can’t change his grade—”
“You could, actually.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to everyone else,” Wriothesley says.
“Everyone else isn’t offering you something in return.”
Wriothesley raises an eyebrow. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Lyney says.
“What?”
He takes a deep breath.
“Myself,” he says. “On a platter.” He steps forward, just far enough into Wriothesley’s space to make himself clear. “I’ll do anything you want, and I do mean anything.”
Wriothesley crosses his arms, but he doesn’t back away. “A professor-student relationship—”
“—would be no one’s business but our own. You’re already bending one rule for me; it wouldn’t kill you to bend another, or to bend me over instead.” Lyney takes another step closer. “I know you want to. I can tell.”
At least he thinks he can. He’s good at reading people, but right now, Wriothesley’s giving nothing away.
“Propositioning your teacher is a dangerous game,” he says.
“That’s not a ‘no,’” Lyney says, but he knows when to back off. He returns to his desk, picking up his books. “I’ll let you think about it. You can let me know what you decide.” He leaves before Wriothesley can say anything else.
He finds Lynette and Freminet in the cafeteria. He’s glad to see that Freminet isn’t crying anymore. He’s making his way to their table, thinking about what lie he’s going to tell them about what he said to Wriothesley, when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
It’s an email to his student account, from Wriothesley.
Tomorrow. My office. 4pm.
He grins.
He plucks, shaves, and moisturizes. He’s not sure if Wriothesley likes that or prefers a more natural look, but hairless and virginal is a safer bet. Easy for Lyney to lean into, too. He wears a nice shirt and a pair of skinny jeans that make his ass look cute. He throws lube and a few extra-large condoms in his bag—he knows Wriothesley’s endowment is bigger than their shitty university’s.
When he gets to the history department’s building, he takes the stairs two at a time. He’s honestly feeling great; he’s gonna get laid and help his brother at the same time. If things go well, maybe he can even get Wriothesley to fuck him again later!
He rounds the corner to Wriothesley’s office and stops short. Freminet’s camped on the floor with his laptop. “What are you doing here?”
“Professor Wriothesley emailed me and said he wanted to meet with me. I texted you.”
“I didn’t see it.” Lyney was too busy fantasizing about sitting on Wriothesley’s dick.
“Then why are you here?”
Fuck. “Wriothesley emailed me too,” he says quickly. “What else did he say to you?”
“That he wanted to talk about my grades. Do you think we’re in trouble?”
“I don’t know.” Probably. Freminet’s eyes widen, and Lyney backtracks. “Don’t worry. I’m here, and nothing bad will happen.” He doesn’t really believe himself. He also can’t believe Freminet was brave enough to come here on his own. It’s going to suck if Lyney rewards him for that by getting him into shit with the professor.
“Oh, you’re both here,” Lynette says.
Lyney jumps. She snuck up on them. “What are you doing here!?”
“Professor Wriothesley emailed me. He said he wanted to talk about my brother’s issues with his class.” She looks back and forth between them. “So which one of you is it?”
“Me,” Lyney and Freminet say at the same time.
“Well, that’s promising,” Lynette says.
By the time Wriothesley shows up five minutes later, Lyney’s well on his way to a mental breakdown. At least he can blame all of this on himself. Freminet had nothing to do with him propositing Wriothesley, and Lyney can deny the plagiarism, or say he copied from Lynette without her knowledge. He won’t take either of them down with him.
“Have a seat,” Wriothesley says, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. “Thanks for coming.” His office is plain, housing only books and a laptop that he apparently does know how to use. There’s nothing personal, no family photos. Lyney and Lynette push Freminet into the middle and sit on either side of him, like his bodyguards.
Wriothesley shuffles some papers around and checks his phone, letting them stew. Lyney wants to punch him.
“So, Freminet,” Wriothesley finally says. “Yesterday, your brother came to see me and let me know you’re having a hard time with the class. He said that you get nervous speaking in front of others and taking tests, and that you might have some trouble with dyslexia. Is that right?”
Freminet nods. When Wriothesley doesn’t say anything, he squeaks out a “Yes.”
“Have you tried getting accommodations from the university?”
“No…”
“He’s an industrial design major,” Lynette says. “His classes are mostly hands-on, project work that he’s great at. It’s just more traditional classes that give him trouble.”
“I see,” Wriothesley says. His tone is gentle—Lyney doesn’t know what the hell he’s playing at. “In that case, Freminet, I’d like to make a deal with you: as long as you come to the last two classes this semester and sit the final exam, I will give you a passing grade in the course no matter how you do.”
Freminet’s mouth falls open. “Really?”
“Really,” Wriothesley says. “My hope is that, if you’re less nervous, you’ll be able to pay attention to my lectures more and focus on understanding the material. Given that you’re not a history major, I’d rather you take something useful away from this class instead of just anxiety.”
The three of them sit there in silence. “Seriously?” Lyney says.
“Yes. Why do you all look so shocked? I’m not that unreasonable of a professor, right, Lynette?”
“You are reasonable,” she says, “but this is an unusually kind thing to do for a student.”
“Well, that student happens to have a support network that’s willing to advocate for him. You’re very lucky, Freminet.”
“I am,” Freminet says. “Th—thank you.”
“While you’re here, do you have any questions you want to ask about the class? It may be easier with just me and your siblings here.”
“I don’t know—”
“You mentioned Galileo the other day,” Lynette cuts in. “He made a pendulum clock, or something? You should ask about that.”
Freminet does, and with Lynette’s prodding, he and Wriothesley have a whole conversation about Galileo and his inventions. Wriothesley takes time to think about his questions, looking things up and giving Freminet book recommendations. Little by little, Freminet opens up, getting excited to talk about something he actually understands. It’s impressive, how Wriothesley pulls him from his shell—Lyney can’t remember the last time he heard Freminet speak so much around someone he barely knows.
Unfortunately, he’s way too pissed to enjoy it. He sits and seethes, feeling humiliated. Wriothesley tries to draw him into the conversation, but Lyney has nothing to say. Rejection stings like a bitch, and all he wants is to get the hell out of there.
No such luck. “Lyney,” Wriothesley says, when they’re finally getting ready to leave, “can you stay for a minute? There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you.”
“I’m busy—”
“It’s important,” Wriothesley insists.
Lyney scowls and sits back down. Lynette gives him a searching look, but he turns away from her. She and Freminet leave—Freminet thanking Wriothesley profusely—and Wriothesley gets up and shuts the door. When he returns, he looks tired, sagging into his chair with a sigh.
“Why does your brother always look like expects someone to hit him?” he asks.
“Because plenty of people did. His parents, then his foster families—”
“And your own parents?”
“They made things simple and just dropped dead,” Lyney says. “What do you want?”
“I helped your brother like you asked for, but you seem upset. I’m curious why.”
“Take a fucking guess.”
“Because I didn’t take you up on your offer? I don’t sleep with my students, Lyney. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Even the ones you spend all class eye-fucking?” Lyney snaps. “Don’t act like you didn’t.”
“...Even those ones. I’m sorry—”
“No, you’re not, and unfortunately, I can’t even be mad about it because you did a nice thing for Fremi.” He’s losing it. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep control. “Can I go now?”
Wriothesley nods. Lyney gets up and leaves, slamming the door behind him.
He doesn’t go after his siblings—he doesn’t want to rain on their parade with his misery. He finds the nearest bathroom instead, locking himself in the stall. He hides in there until he stops crying bitter tears and kicking himself for being a goddamn idiot.
“Are you nervous?” he asks Freminet.
“A little bit.” They’re outside the gym, waiting to take their exam. Freminet has a fidget toy he made in class, a little car he’s rolling across the floor. “I know it’s stupid, but I want to do well. It was really nice of Professor Wriothesley to help me, so I don’t want to take it for granted.”
Lyney forces a smile. He had a performance worth fifty percent of his grade for another class earlier that morning. He nailed it, but he’s exhausted, and he wants nothing more than to get this stupid test over with. The bell rings, and in a rush, the previous group of exam-takers flood out of the gym, babbling about how well they did or didn’t do. Lyney pulls Freminet up from the ground. “Let’s go.”
They’re herded into their seats by invigilators. Freminet has a different last name, so he and Lyney aren’t sitting together. Lyney squeezes his hand and goes to his seat at the back of the row.
He turns over his exam and reads the first question: Though women faced serious oppression during the Middle Ages, there were (sometimes covert) ways for them to exercise agency and power in society. Please discuss. Despite himself, Lyney smiles. He remembers that lecture very clearly.
The exam goes well until Wriothesley shows up in the second hour, wearing jeans and a black shirt that’s at least two sizes too small. Seeing him annoys Lyney all over again. He loses focus and starts grinding the tip of his pen into a hole in the desk instead of writing.
Wriothesley answers some raised hands before making his way to Lyney. “Did the desk do something to you?”
“It’s not the desk I’m mad at,” Lyney says.
“How’s the exam?”
“It was better before you started distracting me.”
“So I distract you,” Wriothesley teases. Lyney shoots him a look that withers him. “Sorry, I—sorry.”
Lyney shrugs. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
“Right… You have any questions? You’ve been quiet in class lately.”
That’s an understatement—he hasn’t said a word since their meeting. “Nope,” he says, even though there’s one question he doesn’t understand at all. He’d rather get it wrong than talk to Wriothesley any longer.
“Alright. If you think of anything, I’ll be here for a while.”
Lyney nods. Wriothesley wanders off, and Lyney turns back to his paper, but it’s a long time before he starts writing again.
A week later, he gets a notification that his grade has been submitted. He got an A minus—so the bastard finally did give him an A. He also has an email from Wriothesley: You did well on the exam. However, I still have some concerns I’d like to discuss with you. Please let me know when would be a convenient time. Lyney’s reply is short and to the point: No.
He hears his name from the other room. Freminet must have gotten his grade too. He comes rushing in a few seconds later, saying, “I got a C!”
“Really? That’s great!”
“It’s not great, but it’s more than I hoped for! I was definitely failing before the exam. Maybe I actually did okay on it!” His face falls. “Or maybe Professor Wriothesley just felt sorry for me…”
“It’s definitely the first one,” Lyney says. “You should be happy. You worked really hard.”
“Thanks.” Freminet smiles, and this time, Lyney manages to be happy for him. “I’m gonna go tell Lynette!”
He runs off again, and Lyney puts his phone down. The semester’s officially over, and he can finally relax. He’s not a big fan of Christmas—he much prefers the warmth of summer, when he can show some skin—but his siblings love it, and he does his best every year to make the holidays special for them.
He’s thinking of ways to do so when his phone beeps again.
It’s another grade notification, which is weird, because his history grade was the last one he was waiting for. Weirder still, it’s also for that course.
His grade has been changed to a B plus. He has another email from Wriothesley, too, though it’s from a personal email, not his school account: I’ll drop your grade once per day every day you don’t meet with me.
Lyney hesitates, then opens his own personal email. He doesn’t want Wriothesley to have it, but he doesn’t want this on record, either. Go fuck yourself, he sends back.
Wriothesley replies immediately: If you don’t come, I’ll change Freminet’s grade next.
“Motherfucker,” Lyney says out loud. He wouldn’t, would he? His phone goes off again before he can think about it.
Or I could just turn you in for plagiarism.
Lyney sees red. Are you seriously fucking blackmailing me? he says.
Apparently, since you won’t let me just talk to you.
Fuck you, he almost sends back, but he erases it and starts over. If it was just about him, maybe he’d fight back, but he’s not dragging Freminet into this mess.
Fine, he sends. Put my grade back and name the time.
He feels the shittiest déjà vu ever when he arrives at Wriothesley’s office the next day. His feet feel like lead, and he’s dressed in sweats and an old t-shirt, barely presentable.
“I’m here,” he says, walking in without knocking. “Say what you have to say.”
Wriothesley looks up from his computer. “Sit,” he says, “and shut the door.”
Lyney shuts the door and leans against it. “What do you want?”
“I want to apologize,” Wriothesley says. “Properly.”
“I told you, I don’t care—”
“Yes, you do,” Wriothesley tells him. “Look, I thought I was doing what was best for both of us. You wanted help for your brother, and I didn’t want you to feel like you owed me something for it. I didn’t know it would upset you—”
“You did. You knew damn well how I’d feel, and you did it anyway.”
“...Fine.” Wriothesley scrubs a hand through his hair. “I did know. I took things too far. I should have told you right away that it wasn’t going to happen, and I’m sorry.”
He looks at Lyney, beseeching, and Lyney’s heart softens. He hates himself for it.
“Even if I accept your apology, what does it matter?” he says. “The semester’s over—”
“Exactly. The semester’s over, and you’re not my student anymore.”
“I’m still a student.”
Wriothesley shrugs. “Not mine. Unless you’re planning on studying history. I would support that—you’re good at it.”
“I’m good at most things,” Lyney says.
“Yeah, I bet you are.”
Heat travels up Lyney’s chest to his cheeks. He hopes it’s not too obvious. “So what, you wanna fuck me now—”
“Go for coffee with me.” Wriothesley gets up and walks around the desk to stand in front of him. “Or, well—I’m more of a tea drinker. But the point is that I’m asking you on a date.”
“I… I actually prefer tea too,” Lyney says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Lynette is something of a connoisseur. We’ve got lots of kinds at home, and it’s what I usually bring to class.”
“Then I guess that’s something we have in common,” Wriothesley says. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind Lyney’s ear.
He doesn’t push him. He just waits, longer than should be comfortable, longer than would be if Lyney didn’t want him so badly. Lyney holds out for as long as he can—stubbornness is also something they have in common, but while Wriothesley’s stubbornness is the patient kind, Lyney has never been patient in his life.
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” he finally says, before wrapping his hand around Wriothesley’s tie and dragging him into a kiss.
It’s so good it’s infuriating. A whole semester of pent-up desire, and now Wriothesley’s tongue is in his mouth like it’s the simplest thing in the world, licking into it slowly. His hands are enormous where they wrap around Lyney’s waist. He backs Lyney into the door, and Lyney doesn’t even feel it when his head hits the hardwood. Wriothesley moves down his neck, pulling his shirt aside to bite into the meat of his shoulder, and Lyney twines his hand in Wriothesley’s hair and holds on tight.
Wriothesley hesitates at the waistband of Lyney’s pants. “I do want to get tea,” he says.
“Later,” Lyney says. Fuck tea. Wriothesley lifts him up and deposits him on the desk, and Lyney reels at how easy it was for him. Why is a professor so fucking built?
He gets a hand down Lyney’s pants, making him shiver when he brushes his cock. He dips lower, to where Lyney’s soaking wet, and raises an eyebrow. Lyney shakes his head, guiding him lower still. He lets Wriothesley know, enthusiastically, when he finds the right spot.
He pulls his hand away, and then Lyney’s being manhandled over the desk, ass in the air. He hears the click of a lock behind him. “This okay?” Wriothesley asks. Lyney makes some kind of affirmative noise. His pants get dragged down to his knees, his cheeks spread apart, and he breathes deeply, preparing himself.
He doesn’t expect to feel Wriothesley’s tongue against his ass. He shoots upright. “What the fuck!?”
“What?”
“That’s—I thought you were going to fuck me!”
“I didn’t say that,” Wriothesley says, “but I’ll get there eventually.”
“You—you are…”
“You said you’d do anything,” Wriothesley reminds him.
“I didn’t think anything would be that!” Can Wriothesley ever just do what he wants him to? “Fucking—fine!” he says.
“We don’t have to—”
“Just get on with it!” He’s blushing furiously. He turns around, hiding his face in his hands, before he leans back over the desk.
Wriothesley snickers, and Lyney wants to kill him, but his tongue’s already back on him, the heat and wetness making him squirm. It’s not like he hasn’t done this before, but it’s never made him feel so… exposed. He blames that on the fact that they’re doing it in a room with fluorescent lighting. Wriothesley nudges his legs apart, making him arch his back, and buries his face so far into him that Lyney can feel his nose pressed to his tailbone. He circles Lyney’s hole and pushes into it, spearing him open on his tongue.
Honestly, Lyney’s kind of a quick shot, and once Wriothesley gets his hand on his cock, he’s a goner. He clenches around his tongue as he comes, moaning and drooling on the desk, then collapses on it, too tired to hold himself up. Wriothesley eases off him, kissing his ass cheeks, the small of his back. He rolls Lyney over, but Lyney pushes him away. “You’re not coming anywhere near my face after that.”
“Okay.” He helps Lyney get his pants back on, then says, “Come back to my place. There’s toothpaste there.”
“You’ll eat me out here, but you won’t fuck me?”
“It’s not going to be comfortable.” True—there’s already a stapler digging into Lyney’s thigh.
“It’s not going to be comfortable for you to walk home with that,” Lyney says, pointing to Wriothesley’s hard dick. Ah, he was right about the size.
“Lyney,” Wriothesley says. “I like you. I don’t want to fuck you on a table. Would it help if I said ‘please?’”
“Are you capable of that?”
“I could be. For you.”
Lyney rolls his eyes. “No. It’d be weird. Come on.” I like you echoes in his head. “Let’s go.”
He spends the night in Wriothesley’s bed, split open on his cock, sitting on his face. They only emerge to order takeout, which they eat in bed before going another round. It’s well past midnight when they wear themselves out, and Lyney’s back is killing him in the best possible way.
He checks his texts when Wriothesley goes to the bathroom and sees he has one from Lynette. I suppose things went well? she says. He sends back an eggplant emoji, which gets him a grossed-out looking cat. Glad you’re having fun, she says.
Wriothesley comes back and flops on the bed. “You tired me out,” he says. “I don’t do this often.”
“Fuck younger guys?”
“Fuck anyone. You’re actually my first…”
Lyney shoves him. “You’re not funny.”
“And you are not the first person to tell me that, unfortunately.”
“And I won’t be the last. It’s fine,” he adds, when Wriothesley frowns at him. “You’re hot enough to make up for it.”
“Oh? Are you being nice to me?”
“Maybe,” Lyney says, “but that will be the last time, so you better appreciate it.”
They lie there for a long time, Wriothesley’s arm around Lyney’s shoulder. Long enough that Lyney starts to wonder what comes next. He got what he wanted—he fucked his teacher. But this is pretty nice too. He’s tired enough to fall asleep, but he doesn’t know if he can, or if Wriothesley will ask him to go—
“Do you have Christmas plans?” Wriothesley asks suddenly.
“Huh?” Lyney says. “Just spending time with my family. I’m not leaving town. You?”
“I’m visiting friends on Christmas Day, but they live in the area. I don’t have much family.” He pauses. “I’d like to spend some time with you too, if you’re free. Do you ski, or snowboard?”
“You want to take me skiing?”
“Or we could do something else,” Wriothesley says. “That’s just what came to mind. I snowboard a bit.”
Lyney hums. “We were too poor for that, but I had a skateboarding phase. The skills are probably applicable.”
“Probably,” Wriothesley agrees. “You’re good at most things.”
Lyney almost doesn’t catch that last part. He’s already dozing off.
When he wakes, the bed is empty, and the sun is shining. Despite Wriothesley’s words, he fears the worst. He’s prepared to find an empty apartment, a note telling him to get lost.
Instead, he hears someone moving around in the kitchen.
“Wriothesley?” he calls.
“In here,” Wriothesley replies. “Come pick out your tea.”
Lyney smiles. He gets out of bed, putting on Wriothesley’s discarded shirt, and follows the sound of the kettle.