#but when my one coursework essay this year is due in less than a month | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

unfortunatelysirius · 4 years ago

Text

Wicked Charm, What’s Your Patronus? | Remus Lupin, Marauders Era

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」

One day in Defense, Professor Boomstick offers whoever can produce a corporeal Patronus an Outstanding on the next essay as well as an out on a test. When Y/N shockingly produces a wolf Patronus, well… you can assume the rest.

「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」

Why did I name a guy Boomstick? Because that word is fucking hilarious to me THAT’S WHY (also this sucks ass but tbh I'm just going with the flow nowadays whatever comes out comes the f out whether it’s shit or not) and for anyone who wants to get technical, believe me i already know what u will say

DEFENSE WAS Y/N L/N’S last class of every Friday and as of late, the only class she fervently dreaded. It was a mix of students from different Houses but dominated by Gryffindors. Three of the infamous sixth-year Gryffindor circle, James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin, were in there, each of the blokes gifted with a wand. Y/N didn’t pay them much mind at the start of the year but after a few months of mingling and getting to know her classmates, she had developed somewhat of an acquaintanceship with the boys, perhaps even a friendship. She was one of the other few Gryffindors in the room and after she particularly chewed out one of the Ravenclaws feet from the classroom for ruining her perfect attendance record (allegedly, the clumsy arse caused her a three-day sentence in the Hospital Wing) James and Sirius decided she had enough style and substance (“Marauder flair,” they called it) to invite her into their gang.

It was as unenticing on the inside as it was from a feet-on-the-ground outsider’s perspective. Y/N wasn’t very adventurous. She was miles away from Lily’s singlehanded definition of “studious”, but still a pretty mellow person, preferring to keep to predetermined routes and undetected on radars. She was an extrovert with introverted tendencies, mostly appearing at times with people who differed in lifestyle. Like James and Sirius, two peas in a pod.

Remus Lupin was much less of a firecracker inches from popping, his voice tampered and quiet, his disposition ripe with premature wisdom. Y/N found him likeable. Almost too likable—a noticeable kind of fancy that only prats would fail to see. Then that fancy became more; she didn’t remember how.

This was open to judgment from the gods, who could choose to interfere or leave Y/N’s recent change of heart alone.

Unfortunately for her with this newfound friendship and growing fancy, James and Sirius had enough arrogance to fit the Greek gods from ancient myth…

Zeus and Poseidon, at least. Maybe even Aphrodite, the bloody matchmakers.

Professor Boomstick, a stout, ashen man who oftentimes went into tangents about how the Muggle Army was a lousy old group of incompetent twats, liked challenges. He liked challenges for his students, specifically. He also liked favoritism and had yet to liken any students to his old pub buddies. Today Y/N and the Marauders all went to class expecting a test, but Professor Boomstick was already there waiting—and the room was empty of desks. Y/N stopped in her tracks, feeling Remus’s tall, lean frame smack into her backside. He apologized but she ignored him, sweeping her gaze across the floor. A group of students who found themselves there before her were huddling in a corner, nervous as sheep waiting to be sheered.

Y/N’s steps held an edge... She couldn’t deny she herself was nervous.

“Damn the test,” Professor Boomstick barked suddenly, catching Y/N’s bewildered eyes and holding them hostage. She swallowed hard. Surprises were not fun to her; she hated them with a passion. This old fart was just an arse to be incorporating one in place of a test on the history of Patronuses and Animagi she spent eons studying for. “We’ll see what you’re made of today without wasting parchment, can’t read your writin’ anyhow.”

“What exactly are we doing?” a long-faced, petite-nosed girl asked.

Professor Boomstick raised his wand and closed the door behind Y/N and the Marauders, throwing them further into the room. Y/N felt Remus’s arm brush her side and heat enveloped her from head to stomach. Glaring at Professor Boomstick, they all walked to stand with the other students, keeping a close eye on the crazy man they all called their teacher. Thank Merlin Defense professors never lasted.

“For any of you kids that can produce me a corporeal Patronus, I won’t just give ye bonus,” Professor Boomstick said, smirking at the huddle of students. “Ya got an essay due two weeks time on endangered species of the Wizarding World and that test we had scheduled today’s rescheduled for Monday. I’ll give any of ya who give me what I want a freebie on the quiz—and an automatic Outstanding on the essay. Still gotta turn three pages in though.”

The huddle of students struck up an excited exchange of whispers before going abruptly silent. Patronuses? That was hard-level shit and sparingly learned outside of class lessons due to its difficulty. Disappointment shuttered down the spines of each student, one at a time, as they all came to the same conclusion: this was a waste of time.

“What? None of ya have even tried?” Professor Boomstick demanded, bushy white eyebrows furrowing in the middle of his forehead. “May be a charm, but it could save yer life someday. All it takes is one loose Dementor and BOOM! Your soul’s been sucked right outta ya.”

Everyone flinched, some horrified at the sheer mention of Dementors. Professor Boomstick was right. No one really knew Patronuses and their uses. Advanced magic like that was too extensive, too dueling of a task.

Professor Boomstick was getting frustrated and impatient, glaring at each student individually. Crazy old man.

Y/N L/N nervously glanced at her classmates, mostly the marauding group of boys she befriended, before she stepped out of the huddle. All eyes automatically went to her.

James and Sirius were (in their opinion, rightfully) shocked she had this information under her belt the entire time—sitting on it, dwelling on it, never admitting to it where her friends were concerned. The two of them didn’t have any concept of privacy, both too invasive to be capable of secrets; Remus was nowhere near similar. Secrets were a part of his nature, only for the benefit of others and never his. If anyone could understand Y/N’s need to keep something like this close to her chest, it was Remus. Though, this wasn’t much of a secret. They all knew Y/N’s history and domestic life.

Remus glanced at her, an unreadable expression on his face, but her back was turned to him. She could feel everyone looking at her and picking out a single pair of eyes was too strenuous a task.

“Get on with it, L/N,” Professor Boomstick demanded.

“Okay, sir,” Y/N said. She would have never dared do this, but she was drowning in coursework from her other classes—any further work and she’d lose sleep, her grades suffering for it. Her mouth opened, inhaling a deep breath she braced.

Patronus charms were a complicated, beautiful species of magic. Arduous and dogging, it took someone particularly skilled to produce one—and you had to conjure one of your best memories, one of pure joy and exhilaration. Not just happiness, as one of Y/N’s old mentors incorrectly told her once upon a time. Y/N came from a family always preparing for the worst and through the years as the likelihood of a war reached its peak, her parents grew increasingly paranoid and enrolled her in a summer mentorship program as a precaution. She learned the Patronus charm from an eccentric man named Ellis Hawking.

Y/N’s happiest memory, the one that gave her pure, unadulterated joy, was when she was twelve and got to see her new baby sister.

“Expecto Patronum,” Y/N said when an incandescent smile reached her lips. All concentration went into her wand when she pointed. Her wand felt like it thrummed under her fingertips and she targeted the air just north of herself, where no one was in her line of sight.

Everyone behind her gasped when a shot of pure light emitted from her wand’s end, something growing larger as it left. Tendrils of silver and white swept the floor, coiling to become a translucent shape. The shape growled noiselessly, galloping on the ground like a wolf. It was a wolf. Majestic and sleek, making a turn to come running back at the caster herself—polarizing white eyes staring right into hers. Ears pinned back and slivers of silver hair standing on edge. All until it disappeared into the same device that made it. Creation and destruction, two separate words that meant the same: an inevitable, unavoidable cycle.

Y/N’s Patronus was last a dolphin when she first learned how to cast, not a wolf.

Her Patronus had changed.

“Bravo, bloody Hell—bravo, girl!” Professor Boomstick clapped enthusiastically. “For sure you’re gettin’ in my good graces rest of this here year. You’ve gotta be one hell of a witch casting a corporeal Patronus at sixteen! Bloody—”

Y/N stared down at her wand, completely bewildered.

Why did it change?

James glanced over at Sirius while Y/N was distracted, a grin breaking his shocked composure. Neither he, Sirius, or Remus expected that; while Remus was busy frozen and possibly panicking himself into early gray hairs, James was bursting on the inside from excitement. Sirius shared a similar expression.

“Looks like little Y/N’s in love with Moony,” he hissed under his breath, failing to lose his grin. “That’s gotta be it. I’ve read on this before.”

Sirius nodded, a faux solemnness combatting the electric shock darting around like butterflies on his face. “After General Prat’s done,” he said, and the two nodded like soldiers heading to war.

When no one other than Y/N could even produce an incorporeal Patronus, Professor Boomstick disappointedly released them—promising a nervous Y/N not to worry about the test or upcoming essay. James and Sirius automatically attacked at the last nameless student’s retreat, Remus trailing his two mates like a left-behind dog.

Sirius’s eyes zeroed in on Y/N’s wrist, where a charm bracelet dangled. It was covered in expensive-looking charms, one of engraved letters, a wand, a little wolf.

Whoa, cauldron’s bearings. There was a bloody wolf charm! What were the odds?

“Wicked charm,” Sirius said through a wink. Y/N’s eyes flickered between the two blokes then at her charm bracelet, not at all soothed in their presence. Still struggling to understand why her Patronus would be different, the two twats harassing her wasn’t desirable—especially since they looked like they did while meddling. Pranking. Causing mischief. Y/N made it clear ages ago she wouldn’t react kindly if they decided to fuck around with her the way they did with the rest of the Hogwarts student body. She liked her comfort bubble how it was, unperforated by buffoons best left six feet away. “Wolves. Did you get it to match your Patronus?”

Y/N bit her lip. “Well, actually—"

“Ah, Padfoot, obviously that wouldn’t be the case,” James said, slinging an arm around his mate’s shoulder. “She got it because it makes her think of a certain someone.”

“Who would I even think of? You guys are such prats,” Y/N said indignantly, narrowing her eyes now. Seriously, what were they getting at? They didn’t know anything, just perfectly well how drive anyone and everyone up the bloody wall. They’d drive a sane man mad!

“James, Sirius, don’t,” Remus said softly, appearing from behind. His eyes were wide with alarm, meeting Y/N’s at her sharp twist. He gulped at the annoyance in hers; James and Sirius had already done their damage. Idiots, they were.

“See, Y/N, I don’t think your Patronus has always been a wolf,” Sirius went on, pretending like neither Y/N nor Remus spoke in the first place. “Am I wrong?”

Y/N warily said, “No…”

“Did you know Patronuses can change to be complementary of their lovers’?” Sirius grinned obnoxiously. He shrugged his shoulders and nudged Y/N with one of his hands. “Just a thought. Maybe you fancy somebody, love ‘em.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and involuntarily, they looked at where Remus was standing. Remus froze again.

“We’ll leave you to it,” James said hastily, still grinning.

The bespectacled boy quickly lassoed Sirius around the neck and guided him to the door, calling to Remus that they’d be back in their dorm by the time he finished.

Remus awkwardly glanced over at Professor Boomstick. The man was just standing by his desk, drinking out of a flask, presumably waiting for his next class. Y/N sighed and unconsciously laced her fingers into Remus’s, dragging him away from their crazy-ass professor.

Once outside, Y/N faced Remus. “Is your Patronus a wolf?” she asked quietly, hurriedly. She didn’t want anyone to overhear, though the only likely soul left in distance was Peeves.

Remus looked at the ground. “Yes,” he reluctantly told her. He and the Marauders had yet to let her in on his furry little secret.

“Oh,” Y/N said and went silent. It’s not that she didn’t want to be in love with Remus, she just didn’t understand why she could have been so stupid to cast her Patronus in front of the entire class without contemplating her feelings for Remus first. Especially with prior knowledge that a wolf Patronus implied the chance of the charm caster being a werewolf. Students from the class would be beside themselves with rumors of Y/N being a werewolf herself.

As long as it wasn’t Remus being investigated.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, peeking up at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Remus, why are you apologizing? Because of what animal the charm was? I’m not a bloody idiot. I know. Good thing I’m the caster, no one else, right?”

“Why would you like me, let alone love me?” Remus asked. “I don’t understand. I’m—”

“No, don’t even say it,” Y/N said, meeting his gaze. She reached forward and held his shoulders. “You’re handsome, funny, and intelligent. The least mad of any bloke I’ve seen. That’s all that matters to me.”

The heels of her feet lifted off the ground so she could peck his cheek. Remus flushed red and flinched back, not having expected any sort of affection—but Y/N deliberately ignored his confusion. She snorted and turned to leave.

Remus stood processing the unlikely events.

Y/N didn’t hear corresponding footsteps and stopped walking herself. “I hope you at least somewhat like me,” she said over her shoulder. “Else, that’d be one bloody embarrassing confession.”

Oh.

Remus’s shoes squeaked when he jogged to catch up. With his cheeks still aflame, Y/N hoped that meant he did, in fact, reciprocate.

I might need to do something about everyone seeing my Patronus, Y/N thought. Stupid Hogwarts and its plethora of assholes waiting for worthy gossip.

She was sure James and Sirius wouldn’t mind Obliviating the entire school for her and Remus. The idiots did supposedly do anything for their friends.

792 notes · View notes

inthesummerswelter · 4 years ago

Photo

Michael Clifford goes to uni with a mountain of advice on what to expect.

None of it, it seems, turns out to actually be true.

University was supposed to be the best time of his life. Or, that’s what everybody told him, citing all the enlightening courses he would take, the raging parties he would attend, the rampant feeling of indestructible freedom he would exult in.

They failed to mention how he would be waiting in the laundry room at three in the morning because all his clothes were frankly beyond stale-smelling and starting to offend his roommates. They failed to mention that all the dryers would subsequently be filled with like, five loads of pink lacy things during his quick run to the minimart for a midnight snack to tide him over until next morning’s breakfast. They failed to mention how fucking long it takes for like, five loads of pink lacy things to actually run through a drying cycle.

Michael Clifford sits in the basement of his dormitory, a pile of dripping laundry beside him in a plastic basket with one of the handles broken, trying desperately to not fall asleep. It smells like dampness and mold and copious detergent spills.

He runs a hand through his hair and rubs along his neck, checking to see if there’s any excess dye from his escapades earlier with a bottle of purple he'd picked up on a whim last Thursday. There is, of course, and he wipes his palm along his denims.

Except he's forgotten that he's not wearing his black denims because they're all stacked up beside him. He's just wiped a streak of dark purple all down the leg of his last clean pair of pajama bottoms.

"Fuck me," he says, grumbling and rummaging among his laundry things for one of those fucking stain sticks that Calum always bugged him about getting whenever they went to the shops together. His fingers snag it but, as he's trying to extricate it from the tangle of wet, black fabrics, it slips out and rolls under one of the dryers that's still chugging along.

"Oh, fuck me."

He's so exhausted, but Michael knows from past experience that the stain will set if he doesn't treat it soon.

So, he gets down on hands and knees and just as soon as he's gotten his whole arm shoved under the dryer, fingers searching the dusty cement for the stick, and his face pressed up against the glass front of the dryer, there's clattering footsteps coming down the stairs.

"God, you fucking perv!"

What?

It takes him a second to determine that it's him that the shrieking voice is addressing, mostly due to sleep deprivation and the fact that one ear is filled with the tumbling thunder of the machine.

"What?" He didn't say he understood why he was being addressed. Through his one available eye - the one not stuck up against the glass pane showing all the pink lacy things - he can see a flurry of long limbs flying towards him and instinctively throws himself away from the dryer.

A girl stands before him in a floppy set of sweats, arms crossed and arms furious. “You think it’s cool to drool all over a dryer with my knickers in it, huh? Think you’re smart or something, perv?”

Immediately he puts his hands up defensively. “Oh my god, oh my fucking god, no! I dropped something under the dryer and I was just trying to reach it. Jesus!”

Grumbling under her breath, she whips through the laundry room towards the row of dryers and, in one economical movement that defies the laws of physics, manages to pile all five loads of pink lacy things into a basket, and leaves in a hurricane.

When they told him about university, there was a lot more emphasis on the amazing things he would learn and less on the amount of time it would take for him to learn them. A lot more emphasis on renewed perspectives and a lot less on how long it would take sitting at a table in the university library reading things dead people wrote over seventy years ago to actually understand why his perspectives needed renewing in the first place.

They also neglected to mention how much of a maze the university library was and how all of the easily-accessible tables were always taken ridiculously early in the evening.

Michael Clifford sighs as he pushes himself through the gaps between the shelves, turning his body sideways so he can get back to his table as quickly as possible and still have some time to complete his coursework before today turned into tomorrow.

Of course, as he’s making the final turn at an insane angle in a narrow passage that makes it impossible to see around the other side because this is university and why would anything as simple as walking back to his table be easy for chrissakes, he bumps into another body.

Well, bumps really isn’t the right word. Crashes is more accurate. Vaguely, his mind catalogs the sensations as he begins to fall backwards from the collision: long hair whispering along the side of his neck, sharp pain in his chest from the edges of textbooks, the condensation coating the outside of a water bottle soaking into his shirt.

“Shit!” The word explodes from his mouth as he bumpers off the shelves behind him, thankfully not knocking any books off the shelves.

He’s immediately chastised by a harsh whisper.

“Will you keep it down? We’re in a library, genius.”

Snarking back automatically, Michael says, “Oh, really? I thought this was a zoo.”

“Well, it might be,” the girl on the ground replies, giving a pointed look at his hair as she readjusts her glasses.

It’s the pink lacy girl, this time dressed in an entirely different set of baggy sweats, not a speck of pink or lacy anything on her.

Fuck this, fuck his history of religion paper on transcendentalism in 19th century America. What did those dead people know anyway?

“I don’t need to put up with this shit, thanks,” he says as he picks up his books from the floor and heads out the door.

He’s going to go take a nap.

When they told him about the textbooks that he would have, they expressed how miraculous they would be, how every page he turned would bombard his brain with information he couldn’t live without now.

They failed to mention how much each of those pages cost. After his trip to the bookstore at the beginning of term, one would have thought that each book was bound in genuine Italian leather and illuminated in gold leaf by an isolated sect of monks who only work once every eight days and take three month-long holidays each year.

Which is why, two days later when he actually goes about writing the essay on transcendentalism in 19th century America because he really doesn’t want to flunk out of uni and have to head back to the Southern hemisphere, he’s having a mild panic attack.

His book is gone, his history text that cost him more than two weeks’ worth of wages at his part-time job, and in its place is a pro-fem book detailing the struggles of minority women after the end of the Civil Rights Movement.

It’s actually quite intriguing, and he finds himself reading through the introduction before he remembers to look in the inside cover for a name.

Michael Clifford finds what he’s looking for in blocky script written with a hunter green gel pen: Tal Harrison.

To his horror, he searches her name in the student directory and finds that she lives in his hall, on his floor. The other end of the hall, granted, which is like over fifteen doors down, but still. On his floor.

His horror mounts as another realization strikes him. If he has her book, then she must have his.

The thought of more confrontation with the pink lacy girl makes him a touch queasy. Not as queasy as shifting the majority of the food-money in his monthly budget over to paying for another copy of this book, though.

Mustering up his nerve, he takes one last look at her room number before shoving his feet into a pair of slippers and grabbing her textbook. He shuffles down the hallway, counting the doorways under his breath.

He needs to know exactly how far away from him she is so he can forevermore maintain that distance at all costs.

Stopping in thirteen doors later, Michael bites nervously at his lip before bringing his hand up to knock at the door. Three knocks, then a pause.

Which stretches out obscenely long.

He knocks again, three more times. Another pause.

Goddamn, he really needs his book back, especially considering he’s fallen into another fit of procrastination and left off the essay until tonight, even though it’s due tomorrow morning at the beginning of lecture.

Michael is just about to knock again when the door to his left opens up and a head pokes out of the frame.

“They’re never in this early, so I would suggest you stop knocking and leave. Some of us are trying to study, y’know.”

It’s the girl. The pink lacy girl. The girl that has his book.

Tal Harrison.

He starts to talk, to try and defend himself and also to ignore the fact that he failed to correctly count to fifteen, when her eyes widen, gaze dropping down to the cover of the textbook he’s still got in his hand.

“Hey,” she says, “You’re the asshole who took my book in the library! And the asshole perving in the laundry room!”

“Excuse me, I’m the asshole trying to return your book right now, thanks. And I was not perving in the laundry, Christ! I was waiting for a dryer to open up because you had filled up every single one with your shit.”

To his surprise, Tal – he figures he better start actually using her proper name now – colors, cheeks pinking up just a few shades lighter than her pink lacy things.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, ducking her head. “I…mis-prioritised. Left the wash until I ran out of everything.”

“Is that even a word?” The question is out before he can catch it, and his face flushes, realizing exactly how rude he probably sounded, especially after she had apologized.

“Nope.” She pops the p, motioning him over to her doorway. “Here, I must have your book then, right? If you have mine, we must have switched them accidentally.”

Her room is nothing like what he had expected. Although, granted, his only expectations – bare walls with a magenta punching bag in the corner – stemmed from aggressive encounters with a girl who wears loose sweats and pink lacy things.

Instead, there’s only a minimal amount of painted brick walls exposed. The rest are covered with whiteboards, which themselves flash in a rainbow of dry-erase markers detailing out complicated-looking diagrams and equations with too many foreign symbols for him to understand.

There is a neat, patterned bedspread in shades of dark blues and purples as well, along with a full bookcase and well-organized desk crammed into the rest of the space in the small single.

“Here,” Tal says, locating and extracting his history book easily from one of the stacked piles at the corner of her desk. “That’s yours, right?”

He takes it from her absentmindedly, eyes still overwhelmed by the formulas on all the whiteboards. Michael honestly thought Luke was the only one crazy enough to be into all that maths shit.

“Physics.” She plays with the pencil behind her ear and readjusts her glasses. “I’m Physics and Gender Studies. Joint degree.”

“That’s…” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Totally weird, I know, it’s difficult to explain --”

“I was gonna say that it’s really impressive. Like, really impressive.”

She pinks again, looking pleased. “Oh. Oh, thanks. What’s yours? I’m Tal Harrison, by the way.”

Now he’s the embarrassed one. “History, just history. And I’m Michael, Michael Clifford.”

Someone is being killed down the hall. If there’s any way to judge by the noises, Michael would suppose that whatever the method of homicide is, it’s not a clean one.

There’s another piercing scream that cuts through the guitar solo blasted through his ears.

They didn’t mention anything about mass murder in when they told him about living at uni.

Okay, hell, they really didn’t tell him anything actually applicable to life at a university in general, so he’s just going to stop mentioning it at this point.

Five more seconds of shrieking later, and he gets up in a huff, pulling on a jumper over top his boxer shorts and puts on his slippers again. Trekking out into the hall only amplifies the noise as it bounces down the narrow passage and back up.

After some investigation, Michael finds that the sounds take him to the door to the women’s washroom.

Fuck.

One lengthy internal debate later, he tamps down the urge to walk away and turn the volume back up on his headphones. The screaming has intermingled with sobbing now, so he grits his teeth and slowly pushes the door open.

In hindsight, knocking first may have been a good idea.

The door to one of the shower stalls has become inexplicably unlocked and now sways inwards. The contents of a shower caddy are dumped across the floor, shampoo bottles and those weird poofy things that his mom keeps in their bath strewn and rolling around on the slick tile.

Tal is in there, water turned off with the world’s tiniest towel preventing him from getting an eyeful, body quivering and legs knocking.

She’s staring, petrified at the drain in the center of the shower, shallowly breathing.

He clears his throat. “Um, Tal?”

Head snapping up, her eyes widen. “Michael, thank God. Help me, um, please?”

She gestures down to the drain, motioning to the thing he previously thought was just a clump of hair in stuck in the metal grate.

“Holy hell.”

There’s a big-ass spider down there, sitting on top of the drain. He stares at the big-ass spider. The big-ass spider stares back at him and twitches its legs threateningly.

Tal shifts nervously. “Michael?”

He and the big-ass spider exchange glances once more. The eight beady eyes only serve to harden his resolve. “Okay, you’re gonna have to jump over here. I’m not getting any closer to that.”

“Jump?”

“Yeah,” he says, motioning to the little bench where the plastic shower caddy once sat. “Just, like, step up there and jump across to me and I’ll catch you. No worries.”

She wavers, indecision showing as her eyebrows furrow. “But what if I slip?”

“I’ll catch you.” He sounds much more confident than he actually is. He hasn’t worked out in a few weeks, and he’s pretty sure that chicken-boy Luke could bench more than him at this point.

But, when she does jump, she does slip. Everything slows down to half time, and he can only watch, arms outstretched to catch her, horrified as she throws her hands out to break her fall. The world’s tiniest towel drops to the ground just as she crosses the last bit of the gap between them and lunges into his chest.

Boobs. Boobs pressed against him.

Michael takes a long, hard look at the ceiling tile and contemplates his grandmother’s undergarment choices and the last time he found Calum in their room dancing suggestively around to the newest emasculating pop song.

He tries to ignore the sensation of her wet hair dripping on his collarbone as she shakes, repeating over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God, I touched it with my foot, I touched it, oh my God.”

“Tal,” he starts after she’s beginning to calm down. “Tal, um, I’m going to let go of you now and close my eyes so you can get your towel, okay.”

“Okay.”

She’s not brave enough to get anything else besides her room key and robe, and, honestly, Michael’s not either. So, they end up in his room, her in his borrowed shirt and sleep trousers – the one with the purple stripe down the leg because he didn’t end up getting to it in time after all – perched on the edge of his desk chair while he sits on his bed and makes them a cup of fortifying coffee.

They end up talking until three in the morning, even though they’ve both got early lectures the next day.

Okay, he lied. They did tell him one thing about uni that seems to be marginally true.

There is, often as not, a greater chance of finding really good mates at university. Some of those friendships might happen after traumatic incidents because, hey, sometimes, near-death experiences with spiders in bathrooms really bring people together.

Some of those people might be certain particular girls. Those particular girls might live on his floor.

Those particular girls might be named Tal Harrison and smell nice and are the optimum combination of really fucking smart and really fucking cute.

Michael Clifford might have a little bit of a crush.

Tal ends up routinely saving him a spot at her reserved table in the library when he wakes up late from his afternoon nap. In return, he supplies the coffee and the occasional apple that he manages to steal from Calum’s hoard of assorted fruit.

“Hey,” she says, grinning. “Make yourself at home.”

Silently, he presents the traditional offering of coffee and fruit and they settle down to their work, her on more physics coursework and him on a mountain of history readings he needed to complete by yesterday.

He can’t keep quiet for long though, as he’s distracted by the question that’s been burning on his mind for weeks. It finally bursts out.

“Why were you so mean to me when we first met?”

She twirls a piece of hair around her finger as she continues to copy down notes from her book. “Well, you were in a compromising position. You were kind of a dick. And kind of cute. So, I got flustered.”

Michael blinks. Cute?

“Also, you really did look like you were perving on my knicks so I was totally justified there.”

“You’re cute.”

Oh God, he said that out loud.

She pulls her head up to look at him for a long moment, before her eyes crinkle up in a smile. “Thanks, Mikey.”

So, when he takes her hand later as he finishes his reading and she works through the rest of her notes, it isn’t weird at all.

This is the one thing he’s going to write home about.

#5sosff #5sos fanfic #michael clifford #fic: glass in the park #updates #i'm finally posting some of my other 5sosff stuff to my tumblr!!#in case anyone is still wanting to read this

6 notes · View notes

officialcolumbiauniversity · 5 years ago

Text

Core in Review: Art Humanities

De jure: A one-semester course in the most influential visual artists in western canon. Three credits, which means it’s less demanding than Lit Hum or CC at 75-minute classes twice a week (instead of two hours). Seminars are capped again at 22 students, although honestly I’m pretty sure I saw the cap at 25 students the past few semesters. They might have upped it a little bit over the years. Supposed to be an easy A.

De facto: Yeah, I would argue that it is. I took this class during the first few months of the pandemic, so our grades received were only Pass/Fail, but I’m pretty sure my letter grade would have been somewhere around an A-.

Like every other Core class I’ve reviewed so far, the quality of this course depends heavily on the instructor. In an unusual stroke of good luck, I had my first good instructor since Lit Hum! He was a very fair grader, great with feedback on written assignments, made assignment expectations crystal clear, and facilitated in-class discussions really well. As a perk, most of our readings were not required and therefore an easy way to get participation credit in. I was not the best about participating when classes were moved online but after two or three weeks I got my groove back and went to his online office hours, and he was very helpful and I was able to participate thoroughly for the rest of the semester.

I’m not sure the class really teaches you anything about how to analyze art in ways that aren’t already common sense, but it did give me a good idea about the general motivations and main works of each artist that we studied, which I think is the point of all the Core classes anyway. In that sense, it’s a great class. It’s also really fun, and if your professor is good about using NYC as a resource it can be the most explorational class you take at Columbia. It certainly was mine.

In general, I was a huge fan of this class. I think it’s also one of the best Core classes to practice writing in, even over UW. UW focuses on the technicalities of writing an essay but instructors aren’t really good about teaching you how to develop and defend a claim, but that’s something that I got to practice a lot in Art Hum, without it even being a stressful amount of writing. I really appreciated this class.

Speaking of workload, we had ten “annotations” due over the semester, where you have to print the chosen artwork off of Courseworks and annotate it with observations (NOT claims, no need to analyze the work and argue that the artist is trying to portray anything in particular) before class. We then had readings, which were mandatory about once every three or four seminars, and two “writing assignments” for the whole semester, one of which was 2-3 pages and the other was 5-6. We had a take-home midterm and final since both happened after the transition to online learning. The final assignment was particularly easy: he offered us about 6 assignments to choose from, about half of which were artsy, and all required about a day’s worth total of work. For example, the one I chose was a 2-page paper on how a work of art of my choice related to my field of study. One of the artsy ones was making a few self-portraits and writing a few sentences on how they compare to the portraiture we’ve studied over the semester. Selfies counted.

Tips for Acing the Class:

Show up. There isn’t really anything to review, per se, so it’s futile to expect to miss a class and try to catch up via other students’ notes or going to office hours. This is very much a discussion-based course, and the only way to know what’s going on is to pay attention in class. That being said, it’s easy to get an A as long as you’re in class.

Take notes of what other students say, not just the professor. Most of the course is taught via students agreeing or disagreeing with each other, and usually what is on exams is just whatever main points we honed in on during class. Also take notes of what kind of questions the professor asks, as these are usually regurgitated on exams.

Vocab is essential. Pretty much any kind of difficult question will involve you defining and applying a certain term that’s specific to an era or style of art, so if you don’t know what something means in class it’s important that you stop the class to ask the professor to spell and define it. Our professor had a list of vocab words on Courseworks, but no definitions, so definitions fully relied on whatever was said in class, especially more subjective terms like impressionism.

The best two ways to get participation credit are to incorporate something from the reading into your response, and to incorporate a comparison from art studied in previous seminars into your response. It’s super easy to take good notes on whatever is said during the few two weeks of class or so, and for the rest of the semester just find a way to compare the subject to whatever you learned in those first few classes. Since art is really only contextualized by previous art, your prof will be impressed that you’re “thinking critically.” lol.

#IP #columbia university #official columbia university #columbia Core #core curriculum #art hum #art humanities #arthum #art history #university life #studyblr #new york #zoom university #online classes #college online #core in review

1 note · View note

imagineiero · 6 years ago

Text

Grade A

teacher/student frerard fanfiction (smut warning) teacher!frank + student!gerard

Frank didn’t set out to become a teacher, in fact he’d spent the majority of his school career despising the very profession - the source of his unhappiness, along with relentless school bullies. He’d been intelligent enough to get a scholarship and spend a year or so studying in university before dropping out and pursuing his dream as a musician, that was how his life was supposed to be planned out - he’d imagined it since he was four years old and sat in a speak-easy watching his Grandfathers band play, music was his life - he was born to play, it was in his DNA.

The crash hadn’t been part of his premonition, he hadn’t expected his dream to turn into a nightmare and he definitely didn’t see such a tragedy signalling the end of his career. He’d lost his best friend that night, as well as band-mate and Frank just couldn’t see himself getting back up on stage without his right-hand man, maybe it was cowardly - or maybe Frank was just shaken into an easy life, one with minimal risk and hearts intact. His family, especially his Mother had been happy to hear of his decision - while they knew that music was his love, his everything - they had attended the funeral with broken hearts, only thankful that it wasn’t their son they were burying.

It had been six years now and Frank was turning thirty in the fall, he still played his guitar everyday - he couldn’t ever give up that part of him, it was like an extra limb - it was part of him, a piece of his heart. He’d obtained his teaching degree rather quickly, his partial university education helping him bypass some of the coursework - he was rather well known now in Jersey as someone who had the skills to tutor even the lowest performing student into an exam-worthy scholar.

Frank didn’t work in a school, couldn’t bring himself to set foot in the building he had wished to burn to the ground barely twelve years before. Instead he’d set himself up a private tutoring service from the comfort of his own home, he’d take on one student at a time with weekends at his leisure - it gave him the time to focus on his clients fully instead of going from one student to another and mixing up their school-work. He’d met a diverse range of people through his tutoring, he taught all ages - anyone from little Rosie Michaels who was a seven year old in special education to fifteen year old Johnny Byers who’d been kicked out of school for setting fire to a science lab.

All of his students flourished, maybe it was his style of teaching and laid back attitude that helped him connect with the younger students. Frank made a pact with himself not to become one of those boring old teachers who’d lost the love of their craft years before and instead took it out on those they taught. It was working out fine for him as the years went by and last year he’d even managed to win a community nominated award for services to children - he was achieving greatly, he felt like he’d found his path in life and things were going well.

Gerard was his latest student, he’d been tutoring him for three months now and the boy was improving thanks to Frank’s dedication. Gerard was 19, he’d been held back a few years in school due to lack of progression - his Mother said he’d been bullied badly, to the extent that he refused to attend school and as a result failed to graduate. Frank wasn’t sure what to expect until Gerard showed up on his doorstep on that first Monday morning.

To put it nicely, Gerard was a total sweetheart - He walked shyly into the large open-plan room that Frank had dubbed his classroom, his soft black hair framing his pale, pixie-like face. Gerard was feminine to say the least, in fact he was androgynous and downright beautiful - Frank couldn’t help but notice the sway of his hips and the way his eyes widened so innocently every time Frank spoke to him. To top it all off, Gerard was wearing a baby pink dress - his milky thighs peeking out between the midway hem and a pair of white thigh-highs, Frank’s throat dried up at the sight.

Over the coming weeks Gerard began to ease into student life, overcoming his initial shyness and becoming more comfortable with Frank. His teacher was having a less than easy life though, in all his years of teachers he had prided himself on the fact he had never been attracted to one of his students, and though Gerard was 19 and fully legal it still felt immoral and wrong, but he just couldn’t help himself. He wondered sometimes if Gerard could see the effect he was having on him, wondered if he knew that the way he sucked on his lower lip made Frank’s jeans tighten just a little - wondered if he could see the way Frank’s eyes trailed the length of his body as he entered the classroom each morning.

Frank decided that it wasn’t completely weird that he let Gerard into his thoughts when he touched himself at night, it was just imaginary after all - where was the harm? He couldn’t deny that the thoughts of Gerard with his soft cotton dresses, bitten-red lips and doe-eyes gave him the most intense orgasms he’d ever experienced. It both excited and pained him to spend so much time with Gerard, wishing that they had met under different circumstances because Gerard was definitely the type of boy Frank would ask on a date.

“Hey Sweetheart, did you get that homework finished for me?” Frank asked as he heard the faint patter of Gerard’s white slip-ons coming down the hallway.

They’d built up a routine now, Gerard would arrive at eight-thirty each morning and let himself in - Frank would be in the kitchen making breakfast for them both, making sure to pour Gerard a coffee to get him to wake up a little, the boy hated mornings almost as much as he hated Math class.

“Yes Sir” Gerard hummed, sliding into his chair at the table and getting out his English essay “Did you sleep well, Mr Iero?”

“You know you can call me by my first name, Gee” Frank reminded him as he did every day “I slept fine thank you, did you?”

“Okay Frankie” Gerard bit his lip, swinging his legs a bit as he watched Frank walk over with the coffee “I slept okay, had a bad dream but I went back to sleep for a bit.. that’s why I look messy today.. I overslept”

“You look fine-..” Frank frowned, placing the mug in front of him and turning back to retrieve a plate of pancakes “..-real pretty, I like your dress today”

“Thanks Frankie” Gerard blushed, sipping at his drink before waving his hand furiously in front of his mouth “Ouch-Ouch-Ouch!”

“Careful Gee, it’s hot” Frank mused, repeating the same words he used every morning when Gerard was too quick to drink his caffeine

They went through their morning routine as usual, sharing pancakes and coffee as Frank marked Gerard’s work and Gerard got started on his next task.

“You did well on this one” Frank praised, sliding the essay back over to Gerard who grinned happily “A few spelling mistakes but nothing too major, it’s a really great piece Gee - you’re really improving”

“Thanks to you, Sir” Gerard smiled, resting his chin on his hand as he blinked up at the older man

“Hey, you’re doing the hard work - I’m just helping a little” Frank replied modestly “Right, so shall we start reading the next chapter in our book? I want you to do a little mock test on it later on”

Gerard nodded excitedly, they’d been reading through their current book for a few days now and it was slowly becoming Gerard’s favourite read. It told the story of a young girl who wore pretty dresses and an innocent smile to seduce her older crush, Gerard couldn’t help but feel excited at the thought of trying out such a plan on his tutor. He’d seen the way Frank would stare at him when he thought he wasn’t looking, it had start off as innocent glances at first but the heat was rising between them and Gerard longed for the day when Frank would forget his morals and just take him.

They were curled up on the sofa now, Frank would always allow Gerard to get comfortable while he was reading to him - he tended to drift off and not concentrate otherwise, besides it made a difference to being cooped up in the classroom all day. Gerard would kick off his shoes and curl his legs up underneath him, leaning against the back of the sofa as he turned to face the older man who would read sonnets and plays and fiction with his smooth, velvety voice - unaware of the effect it had on his student.

“..-and so she put on her favourite colours, knowing the way her blush contrasted with the pink puff of her sleeves - before making her way to his study, praying he would be alone-..” Frank concentrated on the pages of the book, his thick-framed reading glasses making him look even cuter than Gerard had anticipated.

“Do you think that she was bad, Sir?” Gerard piped up, tilting his head to the side

“Bad?” Frank frowned, marking the page with his fingertip “Do you think she was bad, Gerard?”

“Well.. she’s trying to seduce him, but she’s much younger-.. isn’t that bad?”

“I guess-.. I guess in that kind of situation it would be the older man that’s wrong, Gerard” Frank tried to explain carefully “Because he’s the one who should know better.. it’s not right what she’s doing, no-.. but the older man should stop it before it goes ahead, he’s the adult in the situation”

“Because he’s older?”

“Yes and No-..” Frank licked his lips slightly “.. it’s not wrong because he’s older, it’s wrong because she’s still under-age.. and whether she consents or not, it’s not her decision - not really.. it’s statutory rape, however you look at it”

“What about if she was older?” Gerard reasoned “If-.. If she was the legal age but, but he was still older than her.. is that wrong?”

Frank ran his fingers through his hair, the situation hitting a little too close to home for his liking “I guess it’s how you look at it, I mean-.. I believe that two consenting, legal age people can be together but-.. but I guess it’s frowned upon a lot by people, it’s just perspective”

“I understand” Gerard nodded, biting the inside of his cheek so he didn’t look too elated at the fact Frank had basically just said it would be fine if he and Gerard were together.

Frank went on from where he left off, reading out sentences oblivious to the thoughts and emotions swimming through Gerard’s head. He figured that now was as good a time as any to make a move on the older man, especially after what he’d just said - he only wondered now if Frank liked him back, had he imagined all the longing glances and attention? Only one way to find out.

Gerard stretched his leg out, pretending to straighten the hem of his thigh highs and taking the opportunity to brush his foot against the inside of Frank’s calf, pretending that he hadn’t noticed the hitch in Frank’s breath and the way he stuttered over his word, mid-sentence. When he’d finished messing with the stocking he left his foot where it was, pressed up against the inside of Frank’s leg - gently caressing him over his jeans.

Frank paid no attention after the first contact, choosing to carry on with his reading - much to Gerard’s delight - it was when Gerard’s foot began to rise closer to his knee that Frank’s eyes flickered from the text to the white-clothed foot between his legs yet still he made no move to push Gerard away, instead trying to refocus on the task at hand.

“..-his infatuation was becoming too strong, he was weak to resist the angelic nymph-..”

Frank took a sharp intake of breath, eyes shooting up to Gerard who was watching him innocently - waiting for him to continue, acting unaware to the fact his foot was resting against Frank’s inner-thigh. Frank swallowed thickly, looking like he was debating something in his head before glancing down at his book and continuing, his voice sounding a little higher and more unsure as he went on.

Gerard was enjoying himself now, he could see the effect he was beginning to have on the older man from the way his entire body had stiffened and the way his Adam’s apple would bob up and down as he repeatedly swallowed. His foot began as a light caress but gradually grew stronger, the pressure increasing as he ran his foot along the inside of his thigh, stopping just barely before his crotch and only when on instinct Frank’s hand darted out to grab him, his loose grip on his ankle holding his foot just barely touching his crotch.

“G-Gerard-.. What are you-..” Frank breathed, the book dropping to the ground noisily though neither of them bothered to give it a second glance - they were too caught up in the charged stare they were currently sharing.

“Nothing, Sir” Gerard bit his lip, raising his eyebrow slightly in challenge

Frank swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes showing hesitation before he loosened his grip entirely on Gerard’s ankle, leaving him to press his foot tentatively against Frank’s already tented jeans, eyes widening as the ball of his foot grazed the outline of Frank’s arousal.

“G-Gerard-..I-..” Frank whispered hoarsely, unsure where to put himself at this point but not strong enough to push Gerard away, not when he was touching him so intimately, it was all he’d dreamed of for months “G-Ger-..”

“Shh..” Gerard whispered, moving forwards to place his fingertip over Frank’s lips “Please don’t make me stop..”

“I-..I-..O-Okay-..” Frank stuttered out, blinking softly

Gerard moved his foot away, carefully sliding his way into Frank’s lap and planting himself over his teacher’s erection, his forearms draped gently over the older man’s shoulders.

“Is this okay, Sir?” Gerard asked innocently, tilting his head slightly

Frank nodded quietly, unable to form words as his hands lay planted stiffly at his sides

Gerard pushed his slender fingers through Frank’s hair, pushing it back slightly as the older man’s eyes fluttered shut momentarily. He slowly removed Frank’s glasses and placed them down on the table, tracing his fingertips down the side of his cheek and jawline, his lips parting as he watched curiously. Gerard gently brushed their lips together, pulling a quiet whimper from his teacher before he pressed them together properly, sliding his arms over his shoulders and feeding his fingers through Frank’s hair.

Frank came to life now, his hands gently resting on Gerard’s hips, thumbs caressing circles against the soft cotton of his dress as their mouths moved in sync. He gasped lightly into Gerard’s mouth when the boy rolled his hips, pressing deliciously against his tight jeans - setting his entire body alight with burning want. He tentatively swept his tongue along Gerard’s lower lip, pleased when he parted his lips and allowed him entrance, their tongues fighting against one another until Frank overpowered him and dragged the tip along the roof of his mouth, making him whimper softly.

By now Frank was more confident in his actions, pushing one hand against his bare thigh and travelling beneath his dress, squeezing at the flesh of his thigh as Gerard rolled his hips again. The younger boy’s fingers found their way to Frank’s shirt, not hesitating before unfastening the buttons deftly, his fingertips pushing the material from the teacher’s shoulders and trailing down his tattooed chest. Gerard broke the kiss to mouth his way down Frank’s neck and collar bone, biting down playfully on his clavicle as the older man sighed breathlessly.

“Mm.. do that again-..” Frank murmured, tilting his head back against the sofa

Gerard clamped his teeth around the soft skin, running his tongue over the bite repeatedly as he gently sucked a purple bruise into his canvas. He pulled away to admire his work, pressing a soft kiss to the blemish - pleased with how blissed out Frank looked already with his bitten red lips and half-lidded eyes. He traced his fingers over the tattoos decorating Frank’s torso, dragging the tips down until he could tease just beneath the waistband of his jeans, glancing up at him expectantly - pleased when Frank nodded, bucking his hips up just enough for Gerard to unfasten his belt and shimmy the offending material to the ground.

Gerard sat himself in the space between Frank’s feet, looking up at the older man who sat naked awaiting his next movement. His cock stood proudly, curving towards his stomach - Gerard couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight, making Frank’s mouth water as he kissed his way up the inside of his thigh. Frank couldn’t believe he’d found himself in this position, he’d fantasised about it way too much but hadn’t ever considered it becoming a reality.

Gerard’s fingertips raked against the sensitive skin of Frank’s inner thighs as he lips and tongue followed the trail, gently wrapping themselves around his thick cock - his thumb sweeping over the tip and soaking up the first beads of pre-cum. Frank let his eyes flutter shut, his head lolling back slightly as he relied on his sense of touch to feel everything Gerard was submitting him to.

The sensation of Gerard’s hot breath blowing against his leaking tip made his breath hitch and he held it for what seemed like forever until Gerard’s mouth engulfed him and he let out a low groan, his hand unconsciously finding its way to Gerard’s mess of hair. He pressed his tongue flat against the underside of Frank’s cock, teasing along the prominent vein as he inched his way down - only stopping to breath through his nose when his face was buried in the wiry hairs at Frank’s base.

“G-G-..Ohhh..” Frank murmured, gently tugging at Gerard’s hair as his eyebrows furrowed, lost in the feeling and never wanting it to end.

Gerard’s fingers toyed with his balls, rolling them around before edging backwards and stroking his fingertips against his perineum making Frank buck involuntarily into the back of his throat. Gerard moaned, desperate to have his mouth filled as much as possible - he’d been dreaming about his teacher for weeks now, surprised in himself that he’d managed to wait this long.

He began to slide up and down Frank’s erection, pleased when the older man would momentarily lose control and thrust up into his mouth. He pushed his hand further beneath him until he could stroke his fingers around his tight rim, spurred on when Frank whimpered a desperate “P-Please Gee.. oh fuck, please touch me-..”

He wasted no time in sinking two fingers past his tight ring of muscle, Frank loved the burn - letting his eyes roll back as he pushed down on the intrusion, alternating between riding on the two digits and thrusting up into Gerard’s pretty little mouth. Frank’s movements began to stutter after a while and Gerard was excited to have his tongue coated in release but his teacher clearly had other ideas, backing away just enough to stop his movements.

“W-Wanna fuck you-..” Frank grunted out between breaths

“You want me to ride you, Sir?” Gerard asked sweetly, using his best puppy dog eyes as Frank whined quietly at the word ‘Sir’

Frank shook his head, nodding towards the other side of the sofa “Hands and Knees”

Gerard obeyed him, resting his forearms on the arms of the sofa and waiting for further instruction

“Good boy” Frank slurred, clumsily climbing to his feet. His eyes were dark and lustful now, all responsibility discarded and replaced with a need to ruin the pretty boy offering himself up to him.

He flipped the hem of the dress over Gerard’s hips, revealing his pale blue panties barely containing the bulge between his legs. His fingers were rough against the soft material, rubbing at Gerard’s erection and pressing his fingertips gently against his balls - tracing all the way back until he could trace the crease of his ass, swatting him sharply and pulling a desperate whimper from the younger man.

“So fuckin’ pretty.. look at you..” Frank groaned hungrily “.. all laid out ready to play”

He wasted no time in tugging the material down past Gerard’s thighs, leaving them bunched at his knees and pressing both hands against his ass cheeks, parting them until he exposed the fluttering pink hole. He massaged the meaty flesh for a moment, pulling him apart and then kneading him back together until finally without warning he pressed his tongue against Gerard’s rim and pushed all the way in, dragging a strangled cry from the younger man as he ground back against Frank’s face desperately.

“Oh-..Oh-.. Oh Sir.. Oh Frankie-.. Oh don’t stop.. Oh please-..” Gerard chanted, fingertips digging into the material of the sofa, his cock leaking profusely between his thighs.

Frank’s tongue worked expertly, stretching him open until he was pliant and needy - letting his saliva coat his chin as he pressed as deep as he could, rubbing his open mouth against the desperate entrance before pushing two fingers past the rim without warning. Gerard cried out his name louder this time, a tone in his voice he’d never heard before - a brand new moan all for his teacher, he’d never felt this close before - like Frank was keeping him dancing dangerously on the edge but refusing to let him topple over into his climax.

By the time Frank was three fingers deep, Gerard was incoherently babbling - riding desperately on his fingers and driving Frank wild. He pulled out without warning, leaving Gerard to whine - head lowered between his arms as Frank left momentarily to find protection. He returned barely a minute later, his cock sheathed up and ready to go - Gerard gasped as he felt the head of Frank’s cock against his entrance, slowly edging inside him with his fingertips leaving crescent moons over Gerard’s hips.

He was slow and careful, bottoming out a few moments later with a sharp exhale, his fingertips caressing the soft skin of Gerard’s hips as they both got used to the tight hole. The air was thick and silent apart from their synchronised panting until Frank began to slide out with a groan, thrusting back in quicker than before and dragging a punched out moan from Gerard’s lips.

It didn’t take long to build up his rhythm, one hand planted firmly on his hip and the other buried in his mess of hair, tugging gently with each movement. Gerard’s cock was leaking profusely between his legs but any thought of the soiled material beneath them was long gone when Frank began to circle his hips, slamming relentlessly into Gerard’s waiting hole, stretching him impossibly open as Gerard whined and whimpered beneath him, Frank’s name falling from his lips along with expletives.

“Oh.. F-Frankie..Please-.. Harder-..” Gerard chanted “D-Don’t stop-.. Please-.. Ah-..”

Frank used all his strength to pound into him repeatedly until the familiar heat began to pool in his stomach, swirling lower and lower until he was crying out Gerard’s name and spilling over inside of him, pulling the younger man into climax along with him. They collapsed in an exhausted heap, limbs tangled and Frank’s face buried in the space between Gerard’s shoulder blades.

“I like this lesson” Gerard murmured a few minutes later “I definitely think you should teach this way more often”

Frank snorted, snaking an arm around his middle “You definitely get an A for that one, Gee”