General Relativity (177/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 18:06:56 UTC
CSLXXXVII. The Force of Attraction Between Two Masses Diminishes More Rapidly Than Would Result From the Inverse Square Law
“Spare me,” the Dean groaned.
“You’re acting like we’re in trouble,” Matthew said, aware that his insides were twisting into a knotted mess but his voice, thank god and every religion on the planet, was steadfast. “But we’re two consenting adults in a committed relationship. There’s no abuse of power here. We didn’t seduce each other, there’s been no sex. I stay over because our time together is pretty short with the last of the term approaching.”
Alfred didn’t sound like he was breathing. He gripped Matthew’s fingers after a long hesitation, and it almost hurt.
“I don’t give a damn about whether or not you’ve had sex!” The Dean slammed his palm down on the table with a jarring, hollow thud. “It is professional misconduct for any educator to have even consensual relations with his students-”
“Only if they have academic responsibility for them! I’ve looked up the ban here; I know it front to back. But in case you didn’t realize,” Matthew said hotly, “I’m an English Literature major. I could fail the one course I’m taking with him and it would mean jack, sir. I have no interest in his expertise.”
“Alfred, you should have known better. This is career suicide, even if I don’t punish you.”
“I know,” Alfred said, soft.
“Bugger,” said Dean Kirkland. He slumped into his seat, at once exhausted. There was a betrayal, crumbling and bitter, in his eyes that made Matthew’s chest feel tight and wrong. But he didn’t let go of Alfred’s hand; he couldn’t.
“Damn it, Alfred,” the Dean said at last with a gruff, helpless sort of sigh. He rubbed his temples, elbows sliding forward on the desk. “Alfred, this is bad. It’s one thing to bat away the ridiculous amount of sexual harassment accusations from giggly freshmen girls taking that silly fop Bonnefoy’s class, but this is your first year. You’re young. Your education hasn’t been completed. Your professionalism being called into question will be the least of our worries-what if a parent hears of this? What do you think this’ll do to the application for admission rate?”
Alfred’s fingers pressed into Matthew’s wrist. “I know,” he said again, very quiet, trapped.
“Combined with your overzealous reputation for buddying up with students, this looks grossly inappropriate. The papers will have a field day-and you’d best believe it gets to the papers, because no one can keep their bloody mouth shut on this campus.”
Matthew wanted to hate him. He really did. But the Dean just looked sad now, like he knew what was coming and wanted nothing more to stop it, but couldn’t. “W-wait,” Matthew stuttered, reedy and weak.
“I’m sorry,” said Dean Kirkland. “I really, honestly am.”
“Spare me,” the Dean groaned.
“You’re acting like we’re in trouble,” Matthew said, aware that his insides were twisting into a knotted mess but his voice, thank god and every religion on the planet, was steadfast. “But we’re two consenting adults in a committed relationship. There’s no abuse of power here. We didn’t seduce each other, there’s been no sex. I stay over because our time together is pretty short with the last of the term approaching.”
Alfred didn’t sound like he was breathing. He gripped Matthew’s fingers after a long hesitation, and it almost hurt.
“I don’t give a damn about whether or not you’ve had sex!” The Dean slammed his palm down on the table with a jarring, hollow thud. “It is professional misconduct for any educator to have even consensual relations with his students-”
“Only if they have academic responsibility for them! I’ve looked up the ban here; I know it front to back. But in case you didn’t realize,” Matthew said hotly, “I’m an English Literature major. I could fail the one course I’m taking with him and it would mean jack, sir. I have no interest in his expertise.”
“Alfred, you should have known better. This is career suicide, even if I don’t punish you.”
“I know,” Alfred said, soft.
“Bugger,” said Dean Kirkland. He slumped into his seat, at once exhausted. There was a betrayal, crumbling and bitter, in his eyes that made Matthew’s chest feel tight and wrong. But he didn’t let go of Alfred’s hand; he couldn’t.
“Damn it, Alfred,” the Dean said at last with a gruff, helpless sort of sigh. He rubbed his temples, elbows sliding forward on the desk. “Alfred, this is bad. It’s one thing to bat away the ridiculous amount of sexual harassment accusations from giggly freshmen girls taking that silly fop Bonnefoy’s class, but this is your first year. You’re young. Your education hasn’t been completed. Your professionalism being called into question will be the least of our worries-what if a parent hears of this? What do you think this’ll do to the application for admission rate?”
Alfred’s fingers pressed into Matthew’s wrist. “I know,” he said again, very quiet, trapped.
“Combined with your overzealous reputation for buddying up with students, this looks grossly inappropriate. The papers will have a field day-and you’d best believe it gets to the papers, because no one can keep their bloody mouth shut on this campus.”
Matthew wanted to hate him. He really did. But the Dean just looked sad now, like he knew what was coming and wanted nothing more to stop it, but couldn’t. “W-wait,” Matthew stuttered, reedy and weak.
“I’m sorry,” said Dean Kirkland. “I really, honestly am.”
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