306.7 [Part 1 of ?]
anonymous
March 19 2009, 06:04:31 UTC
A/N: Original request: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/632.html?thread=897656#t897656 Had to repost this because I put it in the wrong place the first time >.< Took some liberties with the request but hopefully it will satisfy. The title is the Dewey decimal heading for "human sexuality". I am myself a library student and this is based in part on my observations of my classmates.
It took a certain type of personality to make spending thousands of dollars and two years of your life on classes in order to get a job that involved low pay, being abused by taxpayers, and telling people where the bathrooms were located all day. Library school students tended to be either A) shy and painfully unassuming, B) several bubbles off plumb, C) massive misanthropes, or D) any combination of the above. It could make for some very strange match-ups on class projects, and considering that practically all of them had work-study jobs as desk grunts in the university's library, it could make for equally weird co-worker combinations.
Like whatever very sarcastic God of Scheduling had decided that Thursday evening reference desk duty required the combined talents of Matthew Williams (who made wallpaper seem vociferous), Feliks Lukasiewicz (who made lava lamps seem coolly rational), and Kiku Honda (who made crazy cat ladies seem sociable). Not that they lacked the maturity to live and let live and get their jobs done (well, mostly...as long as Kiku brought his iPod) or that they got into any MORE trouble than the other trainee librarians (well, as long as that big Russian exchange student hadn't been terrorizing Toris The Adorable Shelver in Feliks' field of view). Most of the time, it was just slightly weird in that L-Space sort of way that you either got over or gave up for a job that actually paid.
Except when Feliks and Kiku joined forces to play Calibrate My Instrument on the male patrons, then all bets were off. (It was another quirk of library students that the men among them were rather like male calico cats: hard to come by and not inclined to breed.)
Tonight was a typical round. Matthew had become so used to it over the past few months that it was little more than white noise behind the conversation he was having with a disgruntled med student about intellectual integrity and doing one's term papers more than three hours before the deadline. Of course, such speeches were at this point ALSO little more than white noise, so he was paying perhaps a bit more attention than usual to the back-and-forth.
"Oooh, hey hey, Kiku!"
"I would really appreciate if you would keep your elbows to yourse--oh, him. Gay and probably sings Cher in the shower."
"TOtalLY marchin' in the parade. But the guy next to him at the computer station....bicurious at best."
"Hmmph. Best would be for him to be straight. Repulsive."
"Says you. Lessee, who else is on teh intarwebs tonight...straight, straight but his girlfriend straps it on, just plain kinky.....AH SHIT FUCKIN' TASTY'S BACK TONIGHT!"
The last part was said loud enough that Matthew turned in surprise (causing the med student to give up in a huff of entitlement, THANKYOUFELIKS). He wasn't the only one; Kiku had actually shifted forwards in his seat to get a better view.
The young man in question was browsing through the current periodicals, not apparently after anything very urgent. In fact, he had the kind of half-smirk on his face that suggested a high schooler thumbing through back issues of National Geographic in search of Amazonian tribal titties. And yet. And yet you could forgive him that in an instant if that smile turned towards you. He was handsome enough, straight white teeth and strong features and hair and skin almost the same shade of gold, but that wasn't what made him FUCKIN' TASTY. Instead, it was the aura that dripped off him of casual, effortless cool.
Matthew was suddenly very grateful that the reference desk was high enough to hide his groin.
306.7 [Part 2 of ?]
anonymous
March 19 2009, 06:05:41 UTC
Feliks and Kiku, having observed this particular patron before, had developed a rudimentary immunity to his charm and were breaking down what they saw as the problem here: neither of them had been able to make a firm call on straight, gay, or bi.
"He spent, like, half an hour looking at Details last time."
"Those jeans are from K-Mart, but Isaac Mizrahi collection."
"His nails were kinda ragged, but he checked with the palm down."
"And the sneakers are for track but they're lime green."
"Man, either bisexual, or homo-in-the-closet, or metro-metro. I DUNNO."
"It IS like he is utterly incapable of sending a clear signal."
"He's straight." Now it was Kiku's and Feliks' turn to swivel in their seats. It wasn't the FIRST time they'd heard Matthew speak without being spoken to, but usually he made his polite disinterest in their little pastime plain enough. "He HAS to be straight. If he's gay, God has just decreed that there will be world peace and chocolate eclairs for all."
Kiku's attention had slipped lower, taking note of what his co-worker was hiding behind the desk. "Perhaps," he said, with the most efficient sort of evil creeping into his voice, "We should gather some empirical evidence on this issue."
Feliks took a moment to warm to the idea. "We should WHAT?? Like, no WAY am I just walking up to him and YOU would probably just grump at him until he ran off, so--Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Why yes, yes we really should."
Matthew had the sudden, sinking feeling that he was about to find himself in a situation that the employee handbook completely failed to anticipate.
306.7 [Part 3 of ?]
anonymous
March 19 2009, 06:08:18 UTC
Fifteen minutes later, Matthew was headed for the current periodicals, with a stack of reshelves that Toris had generously donated to the cause (with a look of abject sympathy that had give him a lot more pause than comfort) clutched tightly to his chest. That way, they kind of covered up how far Feliks had opened up the front of his button-down shirt after stripping him of his sweater ("Like, why do you even need so many layers, Mattie? It's April already and you're from Canada. By your standards this is totally tropical weather!"). He felt a tad naked and more than a little socially unacceptable with his collarbones on display and his shirt untucked and his hair pulled back from his face (with Feliks' own barrettes, no less! Was it even hygenic to share those?).
He was scared of making a fool of himself in front of everyone but more than that he was scared of what his coworkers would do if he chickened out--because he knew exactly how crazy they really were. Kiku hadn't even had to look up the URL for the site with those hi-res Betty Paige pin-ups. He'd just entered it right in as if he were checking his email. And then he'd run them all off on the public printers, not even blinking. Matthew had made it to grad school, he was smart enough not to mess with THAT.
And then there was the inducement of Fuckin' Tasty. If he let himself believe what Kiku and Feliks had been saying about his chances...well, then he'd be crazy too, but once in awhile every boy had to dream. Most other boys didn't dream of licking maple syrup off the manly assets of the Olympic men's hockey team but that was beside the point.
He stopped one row of shelves away from his target--could see him through the shelves and oh God that smile was even more swoon-worthy close up, when you could see it mirrored in his eyes--tucked the magazines against his hip in the rakish way that Kiku had demonstrated, checked his breath, pushed his shoulders back, managed to remember NOT to fidget with his glasses, and then took the plunge.
306.7 [Part 4 of ?]
anonymous
March 19 2009, 06:09:23 UTC
The reference desk was unusually active tonight. There had been a lot of back-and-forth between the Asian poker face and the bouncy blond, which wasn't totally unsual but then some shifts they seemed to be ignoring each other so hard there was an invisible-mime-wall down the center of the desk. Tonight, though, was special, because the third wheel had finally looked up from his work and for the first time Alfred Jones had actually seen his face. Not that there had been anything blindingly distinctive about the face, just as there wasn't much that stood out about the rest of him. It was the expression that had been memorable, open and honest and longing in a way that Alfred hadn't seen in a long time.
Of course, then for some unfathomable reason it had turned into open and honest and hilarious confuzzlement and his coworkers had dragged him away into the staff-only area and Alfred had had to stifle his laughter into a copy of Sports Illustrated for a full five minutes. Thursday evening was definitely the most amusing shift on the entire schedule. Even better than the crazy chick with the mace and her albino stalker on Tuesday afternoons.
Then Opportunity struck like a plummeting brick outhouse. Or like a hot little bundle of librarian brushing past him (with his shirt open far enough that he could feel the warmth of bare skin for a fleeting second) with an adorably accented "pardonnez-moi" and a glance that was probably supposed to be haughty and seductive but came off more as "my glasses have slid down and I cannot bring you into focus". Somehow, it ended up being hotter that way.
Oh. OH. THEN IT GOT BETTER. As Alfred's sweaty palms threatened to bring the magazine's short life to an ignoble end, the sweet minx bent over at the waist to put something away on the bottom shelf. Except he didn't so much bend over as subtly cross one leg in front of the other (wobbling just a bit before he got his balance) and then stick his ass up in the air in such a way as to outline its curve for posterity.
There was only one thing Alfred's upper brain could think to say to a display like that: "So are you available for circulation? Because I'd like to check you out and take you home with me..."
It took a certain type of personality to make spending thousands of dollars and two years of your life on classes in order to get a job that involved low pay, being abused by taxpayers, and telling people where the bathrooms were located all day. Library school students tended to be either A) shy and painfully unassuming, B) several bubbles off plumb, C) massive misanthropes, or D) any combination of the above. It could make for some very strange match-ups on class projects, and considering that practically all of them had work-study jobs as desk grunts in the university's library, it could make for equally weird co-worker combinations.
Like whatever very sarcastic God of Scheduling had decided that Thursday evening reference desk duty required the combined talents of Matthew Williams (who made wallpaper seem vociferous), Feliks Lukasiewicz (who made lava lamps seem coolly rational), and Kiku Honda (who made crazy cat ladies seem sociable). Not that they lacked the maturity to live and let live and get their jobs done (well, mostly...as long as Kiku brought his iPod) or that they got into any MORE trouble than the other trainee librarians (well, as long as that big Russian exchange student hadn't been terrorizing Toris The Adorable Shelver in Feliks' field of view). Most of the time, it was just slightly weird in that L-Space sort of way that you either got over or gave up for a job that actually paid.
Except when Feliks and Kiku joined forces to play Calibrate My Instrument on the male patrons, then all bets were off. (It was another quirk of library students that the men among them were rather like male calico cats: hard to come by and not inclined to breed.)
Tonight was a typical round. Matthew had become so used to it over the past few months that it was little more than white noise behind the conversation he was having with a disgruntled med student about intellectual integrity and doing one's term papers more than three hours before the deadline. Of course, such speeches were at this point ALSO little more than white noise, so he was paying perhaps a bit more attention than usual to the back-and-forth.
"Oooh, hey hey, Kiku!"
"I would really appreciate if you would keep your elbows to yourse--oh, him. Gay and probably sings Cher in the shower."
"TOtalLY marchin' in the parade. But the guy next to him at the computer station....bicurious at best."
"Hmmph. Best would be for him to be straight. Repulsive."
"Says you. Lessee, who else is on teh intarwebs tonight...straight, straight but his girlfriend straps it on, just plain kinky.....AH SHIT FUCKIN' TASTY'S BACK TONIGHT!"
The last part was said loud enough that Matthew turned in surprise (causing the med student to give up in a huff of entitlement, THANKYOUFELIKS). He wasn't the only one; Kiku had actually shifted forwards in his seat to get a better view.
The young man in question was browsing through the current periodicals, not apparently after anything very urgent. In fact, he had the kind of half-smirk on his face that suggested a high schooler thumbing through back issues of National Geographic in search of Amazonian tribal titties. And yet. And yet you could forgive him that in an instant if that smile turned towards you. He was handsome enough, straight white teeth and strong features and hair and skin almost the same shade of gold, but that wasn't what made him FUCKIN' TASTY. Instead, it was the aura that dripped off him of casual, effortless cool.
Matthew was suddenly very grateful that the reference desk was high enough to hide his groin.
Reply
"He spent, like, half an hour looking at Details last time."
"Those jeans are from K-Mart, but Isaac Mizrahi collection."
"His nails were kinda ragged, but he checked with the palm down."
"And the sneakers are for track but they're lime green."
"Man, either bisexual, or homo-in-the-closet, or metro-metro. I DUNNO."
"It IS like he is utterly incapable of sending a clear signal."
"He's straight." Now it was Kiku's and Feliks' turn to swivel in their seats. It wasn't the FIRST time they'd heard Matthew speak without being spoken to, but usually he made his polite disinterest in their little pastime plain enough. "He HAS to be straight. If he's gay, God has just decreed that there will be world peace and chocolate eclairs for all."
Kiku's attention had slipped lower, taking note of what his co-worker was hiding behind the desk. "Perhaps," he said, with the most efficient sort of evil creeping into his voice, "We should gather some empirical evidence on this issue."
Feliks took a moment to warm to the idea. "We should WHAT?? Like, no WAY am I just walking up to him and YOU would probably just grump at him until he ran off, so--Ohhhhhhhhhhhh. Why yes, yes we really should."
Matthew had the sudden, sinking feeling that he was about to find himself in a situation that the employee handbook completely failed to anticipate.
***
Reply
He was scared of making a fool of himself in front of everyone but more than that he was scared of what his coworkers would do if he chickened out--because he knew exactly how crazy they really were. Kiku hadn't even had to look up the URL for the site with those hi-res Betty Paige pin-ups. He'd just entered it right in as if he were checking his email. And then he'd run them all off on the public printers, not even blinking. Matthew had made it to grad school, he was smart enough not to mess with THAT.
And then there was the inducement of Fuckin' Tasty. If he let himself believe what Kiku and Feliks had been saying about his chances...well, then he'd be crazy too, but once in awhile every boy had to dream. Most other boys didn't dream of licking maple syrup off the manly assets of the Olympic men's hockey team but that was beside the point.
He stopped one row of shelves away from his target--could see him through the shelves and oh God that smile was even more swoon-worthy close up, when you could see it mirrored in his eyes--tucked the magazines against his hip in the rakish way that Kiku had demonstrated, checked his breath, pushed his shoulders back, managed to remember NOT to fidget with his glasses, and then took the plunge.
***
Reply
Of course, then for some unfathomable reason it had turned into open and honest and hilarious confuzzlement and his coworkers had dragged him away into the staff-only area and Alfred had had to stifle his laughter into a copy of Sports Illustrated for a full five minutes. Thursday evening was definitely the most amusing shift on the entire schedule. Even better than the crazy chick with the mace and her albino stalker on Tuesday afternoons.
Then Opportunity struck like a plummeting brick outhouse. Or like a hot little bundle of librarian brushing past him (with his shirt open far enough that he could feel the warmth of bare skin for a fleeting second) with an adorably accented "pardonnez-moi" and a glance that was probably supposed to be haughty and seductive but came off more as "my glasses have slid down and I cannot bring you into focus". Somehow, it ended up being hotter that way.
Oh. OH. THEN IT GOT BETTER. As Alfred's sweaty palms threatened to bring the magazine's short life to an ignoble end, the sweet minx bent over at the waist to put something away on the bottom shelf. Except he didn't so much bend over as subtly cross one leg in front of the other (wobbling just a bit before he got his balance) and then stick his ass up in the air in such a way as to outline its curve for posterity.
There was only one thing Alfred's upper brain could think to say to a display like that: "So are you available for circulation? Because I'd like to check you out and take you home with me..."
Reply
Can't wait to read more Authornon!
Reply
Reply
yes anon, yes.
Thank you
Please more k thx?
Reply
Oh plz let there be more. THis isn't the last part right?
Recaptcha says Rouss that. Rouse that indeed.
Reply
Reply
I think the sheer luls-factor of this shorted out something in my brain, since I CAN'T COME UP WITH ANY RESPONSE BEYOND
WELL
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
Reply
YUS!
MORE NAO!
Reply
God, that was seriously THE BEST PICKUP LINE EVER.
Reply
MORE
DKSHFKSLHFKUEHSLFKUSEHF FUCK YEAH OMFG i cant stop F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5 forever.
Reply
Reply
Oh god, they're both so dorky. THIS IS THE BEST.
Reply
Oh Matthew <3
Reply
Leave a comment