General Relativity (15/?)
anonymous
March 29 2010, 03:32:35 UTC
XV. Exact Formulation of the General Principle of Relativity
“All of those Cheetos are going somewhere after all.”
“Stop complaining,” said Dr. Bonnefoy merrily. He hefted Mr. Jones up higher between them, twisting his head aside long enough to give Matthew a wink. “Use your golden, opportune moment. Steal a squeeze.”
Matthew gave him a horrified look.
In actuality, the problem was not squeezing. The walk down the English department’s stairwell, through the courtyard, down the city block to the apartment complex where, Dr. Bonnefoy reassured him, Mr. Jones was bunking until he could find more permanent housing, was not exactly a short trek. Moreover, Mr. Jones was not exactly dainty. Even with their combined support, one arm over Dr. Bonnefoy’s shoulder and the other over Matthew’s, Matthew still had to wrap around his teacher’s waist to keep him from sliding down to the pavement.
He could feel Mr. Jones’ breath moving in and out. The shift of his ribcage. The curve of his hip.
He half-worried that Dr. Bonnefoy had set this whole thing up.
“What…” Mr. Jones lifted his head, sounding confused and bleary. They paid him no mind, since he’d already done this a few times before fading out again. “This isn’… ahh, I don’ like wine…”
Dr. Bonnefoy tutted. “Really. Getting plastered in front of a student.”
Matthew pursed his lips. “Really. Encouraging a teacher to get plastered in front of a student.”
“You’re so adorable when you’re possessive!”
At that point, Mr. Jones buried his face in Matthew’s neck and he completely forgot whatever he was going to say to whatever had been said to him. Oh. Well. It probably didn’t matter.
“All of those Cheetos are going somewhere after all.”
“Stop complaining,” said Dr. Bonnefoy merrily. He hefted Mr. Jones up higher between them, twisting his head aside long enough to give Matthew a wink. “Use your golden, opportune moment. Steal a squeeze.”
Matthew gave him a horrified look.
In actuality, the problem was not squeezing. The walk down the English department’s stairwell, through the courtyard, down the city block to the apartment complex where, Dr. Bonnefoy reassured him, Mr. Jones was bunking until he could find more permanent housing, was not exactly a short trek. Moreover, Mr. Jones was not exactly dainty. Even with their combined support, one arm over Dr. Bonnefoy’s shoulder and the other over Matthew’s, Matthew still had to wrap around his teacher’s waist to keep him from sliding down to the pavement.
He could feel Mr. Jones’ breath moving in and out. The shift of his ribcage. The curve of his hip.
He half-worried that Dr. Bonnefoy had set this whole thing up.
“What…” Mr. Jones lifted his head, sounding confused and bleary. They paid him no mind, since he’d already done this a few times before fading out again. “This isn’… ahh, I don’ like wine…”
Dr. Bonnefoy tutted. “Really. Getting plastered in front of a student.”
Matthew pursed his lips. “Really. Encouraging a teacher to get plastered in front of a student.”
“You’re so adorable when you’re possessive!”
At that point, Mr. Jones buried his face in Matthew’s neck and he completely forgot whatever he was going to say to whatever had been said to him. Oh. Well. It probably didn’t matter.
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