FIC: "Teacher's Aide" 1/1 (Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen) PG
Title: "Teacher's Aide" 1/1
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Summary: Sean gets a welcome break from grading papers. Professor AU. Sequel to Teacher's Pet.
Notes: Written for the lovely caras_galadhon. Fandom is fortunate to have you, baby, and I'm SO happy I can count you among my friends. ♥
The poem quoted at the end is T.S. Eliot's "A Dedication To My Wife".
Sean's eyes were starting to blur behind his glasses as he stared hopelessly down at the papers strewn on the desk. He sighed, gave in to the inevitable and rubbed across his eyelids in the vain hope that the stinging sensation would lessen. He loved his job, he truly did, but grading essay finals when the subject was T.S. Eliot's poetry was akin to attending a lecture on bio-chemistry in Chinese. Reading the thought processes behind some of the interpretations in some of these papers was definitely an exercise in learning another language.
He looked around his tiny, cramped office, which was dominated by a large, battered-looking desk that probably predated the school itself. Every bookshelf was crammed with books and papers and more books, lying haphazardly in precarious piles (he had a system - honestly - but he knew it looked like uncontrolled chaos), the walls were covered in travel posters for exotic locations like Bora Bora and Goa (his latest student aide's attempt at livening the place up a bit), and the worn, but very comfortable sofa on the far wall beckoned him with the promise of a quick lie-down to recharge his batteries.
He glanced outside the small, grungy window, and was unsurprised to see that it was fully dark. No wonder he felt so wiped - he'd worked straight through the afternoon and missed dinner. Again. Next semester, he told himself, he really would put a better system in place for finals. Have the students do an oral presentation or maybe a nice, boring, multiple choice test. Something that didn't involve five-page essays and badly annotated footnotes.
He loosened his tie a little more so he could undo another button of his shirt. His tweed jacket had long since come off, and he'd rolled up his sleeves to just under his elbows. Granted, he could simply go home and change into something more comfortable and work from his own back porch, but he knew if he left, he'd faceplant right into bed. Which would hardly help matters.
The door groaned in protest as it opened, and Sean was startled to see Viggo - in his usual well-worn jeans and soccer t-shirt - walk in, carrying a Styrofoam tray with three large cups, and a white bag fairly dripping with grease. "I brought reinforcements," he said, by way of greeting. When he smiled, the corners of his remarkable Nordic eyes crinkled.
Sean wanted to lay his head down on his desk and weep in gratitude. "Please tell me that's coffee."
"And almond croissants from the bakery up the street," Viggo confirmed, and set everything down on the one corner of the desk that was miraculously free of debris. "When you didn't show up for dinner, I figured you were still holed up here."
Sean winced, even though there was no censure in Viggo's tone. "Christ, I'm sorry, I completely forgot we had plans."
"Conventional meals are boring," Viggo replied, with another easy grin. "Being an adult means you can eat dessert croissants for dinner and drink far too many lattes without getting into trouble." He passed over one of the cups and Sean took off the lid, closing his eyes as he inhaled the heady combination of espresso and steamed milk. Already, he felt rejuvenated.
After the first, life-affirming sip, he opened his eyes to find Viggo had moved beside him, and was leaning against the desk. His gaze was sympathetic, and when he cupped Sean's cheek in a roughened palm, Sean leaned into the warmth like a grateful cat. "Thank you."
"No need." Viggo leaned down and Sean met him halfway, the kiss brief, but no less potent. Sean felt another jolt of energy surge through him. Maybe he'd forgo the coffee next time and skip right to feeding off the energy from Viggo's lips.
Viggo glanced down at the papers. "That's a lot of red ink," he observed, shaking his head in sympathy.
Sean snorted softly. "Some of my students couldn't extrapolate meaning from a flow chart."
"Well, you know what Edward Gorey used to say."
"Life is boring and dangerous?" Sean guessed.
Viggo chuckled. "Close, but no. He said to beware of people who try to find the meaning in things."
"I'm fairly certain he wasn't talking about poetry," Sean replied, with his own grin. "After all, that's its sole purpose. Although, I'm thinking next year I'll make the students give oral presentations. No footnotes."
"You could always try interpretive dance," Viggo suggested, as he popped a large piece of croissant in his mouth.
"That's more your area of expertise than mine, I'm afraid," Sean said, and took another bracing sip of his drink.
"You want some help with these?"
Sean was tempted, but shook his head. "I've only got six left. I'll be fine. Thank you for the much-needed break, however."
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," Viggo told him. "If I leave you here, you'll stay all night, and you know how much I hate to sleep alone."
Sean raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't have to steal the covers if you slept alone."
"True, but where's the fun in that?"
Typical Viggo, Sean thought, fondly. "Alright, stay, but you have to sit on the sofa. I can't think when you're this close. It's distracting."
"Gratifying to hear," Viggo replied, and leaned in for another kiss, then held up a book. "I've got Akhmatova to keep me company. I'll be fine."
Sean squinted at the title. "You're reading her in the original Russian?"
"When in Rome..."
"I admire your fortitude," Sean said. "Do me a favor, though, and skip Requiem for tonight. You'll want to discuss it and I really do have to finish these."
"Fair enough. But you have to promise to put it on the list of extra reading for your next class."
"Deal."
Viggo patted his cheek one last time, and then moved to the sofa. Sean looked at him for a moment - sprawled on the cushions, so at home in his office, his presence a welcome respite - and smiled. The breathing in unison/Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other/Who think the same thoughts without the need of speech..., he thought to himself, and knew that he was truly the most fortunate of men.
***
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Never happened.
Summary: Sean gets a welcome break from grading papers. Professor AU. Sequel to Teacher's Pet.
Notes: Written for the lovely caras_galadhon. Fandom is fortunate to have you, baby, and I'm SO happy I can count you among my friends. ♥
The poem quoted at the end is T.S. Eliot's "A Dedication To My Wife".
Sean's eyes were starting to blur behind his glasses as he stared hopelessly down at the papers strewn on the desk. He sighed, gave in to the inevitable and rubbed across his eyelids in the vain hope that the stinging sensation would lessen. He loved his job, he truly did, but grading essay finals when the subject was T.S. Eliot's poetry was akin to attending a lecture on bio-chemistry in Chinese. Reading the thought processes behind some of the interpretations in some of these papers was definitely an exercise in learning another language.
He looked around his tiny, cramped office, which was dominated by a large, battered-looking desk that probably predated the school itself. Every bookshelf was crammed with books and papers and more books, lying haphazardly in precarious piles (he had a system - honestly - but he knew it looked like uncontrolled chaos), the walls were covered in travel posters for exotic locations like Bora Bora and Goa (his latest student aide's attempt at livening the place up a bit), and the worn, but very comfortable sofa on the far wall beckoned him with the promise of a quick lie-down to recharge his batteries.
He glanced outside the small, grungy window, and was unsurprised to see that it was fully dark. No wonder he felt so wiped - he'd worked straight through the afternoon and missed dinner. Again. Next semester, he told himself, he really would put a better system in place for finals. Have the students do an oral presentation or maybe a nice, boring, multiple choice test. Something that didn't involve five-page essays and badly annotated footnotes.
He loosened his tie a little more so he could undo another button of his shirt. His tweed jacket had long since come off, and he'd rolled up his sleeves to just under his elbows. Granted, he could simply go home and change into something more comfortable and work from his own back porch, but he knew if he left, he'd faceplant right into bed. Which would hardly help matters.
The door groaned in protest as it opened, and Sean was startled to see Viggo - in his usual well-worn jeans and soccer t-shirt - walk in, carrying a Styrofoam tray with three large cups, and a white bag fairly dripping with grease. "I brought reinforcements," he said, by way of greeting. When he smiled, the corners of his remarkable Nordic eyes crinkled.
Sean wanted to lay his head down on his desk and weep in gratitude. "Please tell me that's coffee."
"And almond croissants from the bakery up the street," Viggo confirmed, and set everything down on the one corner of the desk that was miraculously free of debris. "When you didn't show up for dinner, I figured you were still holed up here."
Sean winced, even though there was no censure in Viggo's tone. "Christ, I'm sorry, I completely forgot we had plans."
"Conventional meals are boring," Viggo replied, with another easy grin. "Being an adult means you can eat dessert croissants for dinner and drink far too many lattes without getting into trouble." He passed over one of the cups and Sean took off the lid, closing his eyes as he inhaled the heady combination of espresso and steamed milk. Already, he felt rejuvenated.
After the first, life-affirming sip, he opened his eyes to find Viggo had moved beside him, and was leaning against the desk. His gaze was sympathetic, and when he cupped Sean's cheek in a roughened palm, Sean leaned into the warmth like a grateful cat. "Thank you."
"No need." Viggo leaned down and Sean met him halfway, the kiss brief, but no less potent. Sean felt another jolt of energy surge through him. Maybe he'd forgo the coffee next time and skip right to feeding off the energy from Viggo's lips.
Viggo glanced down at the papers. "That's a lot of red ink," he observed, shaking his head in sympathy.
Sean snorted softly. "Some of my students couldn't extrapolate meaning from a flow chart."
"Well, you know what Edward Gorey used to say."
"Life is boring and dangerous?" Sean guessed.
Viggo chuckled. "Close, but no. He said to beware of people who try to find the meaning in things."
"I'm fairly certain he wasn't talking about poetry," Sean replied, with his own grin. "After all, that's its sole purpose. Although, I'm thinking next year I'll make the students give oral presentations. No footnotes."
"You could always try interpretive dance," Viggo suggested, as he popped a large piece of croissant in his mouth.
"That's more your area of expertise than mine, I'm afraid," Sean said, and took another bracing sip of his drink.
"You want some help with these?"
Sean was tempted, but shook his head. "I've only got six left. I'll be fine. Thank you for the much-needed break, however."
"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," Viggo told him. "If I leave you here, you'll stay all night, and you know how much I hate to sleep alone."
Sean raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't have to steal the covers if you slept alone."
"True, but where's the fun in that?"
Typical Viggo, Sean thought, fondly. "Alright, stay, but you have to sit on the sofa. I can't think when you're this close. It's distracting."
"Gratifying to hear," Viggo replied, and leaned in for another kiss, then held up a book. "I've got Akhmatova to keep me company. I'll be fine."
Sean squinted at the title. "You're reading her in the original Russian?"
"When in Rome..."
"I admire your fortitude," Sean said. "Do me a favor, though, and skip Requiem for tonight. You'll want to discuss it and I really do have to finish these."
"Fair enough. But you have to promise to put it on the list of extra reading for your next class."
"Deal."
Viggo patted his cheek one last time, and then moved to the sofa. Sean looked at him for a moment - sprawled on the cushions, so at home in his office, his presence a welcome respite - and smiled. The breathing in unison/Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other/Who think the same thoughts without the need of speech..., he thought to himself, and knew that he was truly the most fortunate of men.
***