Sweat
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.
Written for: glitch_wyatt
Title: Sweat
Characters: Ambrose/Wyatt
Word Count: 563
A/N: Prompt table: Sweethearts Challenge
Prompt: Indecent
Song: Don’t Stand So Close to Me (Sting/The Police)
“Are you sure you’re not imagining things?” DG asked soothingly, spreading butter on her cinnamon roll with equanimity.
“I’m not! I’m not! She’s coming on to me, I tell you!” Ambrose’s jam knife moved through the air like the baton of a drunken conductor. “Rubbing up against me every chance she gets, bold as brass, it’s positively indecent!”
“Well, it’s not uncommon for young women to develop crushes on their professor, particularly when he’s… um… good-looking, charming, and rich.”
“I’m not any of those things!” Ambrose protested, giving up on the jam and dropping the cutlery back on the saucer. “I have weird hair and glitch out in the middle of lectures and half the time my socks don’t even match.”
“All of which people can find very endearing in the right person.”
“People are starting to talk. Important people. I know it’s only two hours once a week, and I’m not really a professor, but I was rather enjoying it and I was hoping they’d ask me back again.”
“Glitch, they begged you to give these lectures, of course they want you back. Besides, the whole kingdom knows you are happily unioned with Wyatt.”
“What’s this about my happy union?” Wyatt asked, striding into the breakfast room.
Ambrose fumbled his coffee cup so badly he spilled it all over the pristine white tablecloth that Azkadellia had spent the last five annuals painstakingly tatting. “She won’t leave me alone!” he blurted out. “I swear I didn’t do anything to encourage her! She’s like a.. a.. some kind of a…”
While Ambrose flailed about to choose a suitable simile from the dozens of possibilities that were no doubt flooding his brain, Wyatt looked over at DG and arched a questioning brow.
“One of his students has a crush on him,” DG mumbled helpfully through a mouthful of cinnamon roll, covering her lips with her fingertips as she spoke so as not to offend.
Wyatt walked over and laid a hand on Ambrose’s trembling shoulder. “Do you want me to come sit in on your next lecture?” he offered.
Ambrose held up his hand frantically to show off the platinum band around his finger, as if Wyatt had never seen it before, as if he hadn’t put it there himself personally three annuals ago. “She knows! She just doesn’t care!”
“Still, seeing me there… I could give you a nice kiss on the cheek as we leave.”
Ambrose calmed marginally. “It might help. Would you really sit through two hours of my lecture?”
Wyatt pretended to have to think about it. “What’s the topic?”
“The Ancients’ Speculated Discovery and Use of Moratanium.”
Wyatt winced.
“With an overview on the etymology if there’s time.”
“MY TABLECLOTH!” cried the voice of wrath from the doorway.
DG grabbed a napkin and began to dab belatedly at the coffee stain Ambrose had created.
“You’re just having all kinds of girl trouble this week,” she teased her friend.
“I have a notion,” Wyatt offered, as everyone began plucking up dishes and flower vases and carafes so Azkadellia could snatch off the sullied handicraft and march it to the laundry. “Why don’t we send Az to the lecture. She can have a little heart to heart with your admirer, tell her to back off.”
Ambrose blanched. “I only want to discourage the girl, Wyatt, not scare her to death.”
Written for: glitch_wyatt
Title: Sweat
Characters: Ambrose/Wyatt
Word Count: 563
A/N: Prompt table: Sweethearts Challenge
Prompt: Indecent
Song: Don’t Stand So Close to Me (Sting/The Police)
“Are you sure you’re not imagining things?” DG asked soothingly, spreading butter on her cinnamon roll with equanimity.
“I’m not! I’m not! She’s coming on to me, I tell you!” Ambrose’s jam knife moved through the air like the baton of a drunken conductor. “Rubbing up against me every chance she gets, bold as brass, it’s positively indecent!”
“Well, it’s not uncommon for young women to develop crushes on their professor, particularly when he’s… um… good-looking, charming, and rich.”
“I’m not any of those things!” Ambrose protested, giving up on the jam and dropping the cutlery back on the saucer. “I have weird hair and glitch out in the middle of lectures and half the time my socks don’t even match.”
“All of which people can find very endearing in the right person.”
“People are starting to talk. Important people. I know it’s only two hours once a week, and I’m not really a professor, but I was rather enjoying it and I was hoping they’d ask me back again.”
“Glitch, they begged you to give these lectures, of course they want you back. Besides, the whole kingdom knows you are happily unioned with Wyatt.”
“What’s this about my happy union?” Wyatt asked, striding into the breakfast room.
Ambrose fumbled his coffee cup so badly he spilled it all over the pristine white tablecloth that Azkadellia had spent the last five annuals painstakingly tatting. “She won’t leave me alone!” he blurted out. “I swear I didn’t do anything to encourage her! She’s like a.. a.. some kind of a…”
While Ambrose flailed about to choose a suitable simile from the dozens of possibilities that were no doubt flooding his brain, Wyatt looked over at DG and arched a questioning brow.
“One of his students has a crush on him,” DG mumbled helpfully through a mouthful of cinnamon roll, covering her lips with her fingertips as she spoke so as not to offend.
Wyatt walked over and laid a hand on Ambrose’s trembling shoulder. “Do you want me to come sit in on your next lecture?” he offered.
Ambrose held up his hand frantically to show off the platinum band around his finger, as if Wyatt had never seen it before, as if he hadn’t put it there himself personally three annuals ago. “She knows! She just doesn’t care!”
“Still, seeing me there… I could give you a nice kiss on the cheek as we leave.”
Ambrose calmed marginally. “It might help. Would you really sit through two hours of my lecture?”
Wyatt pretended to have to think about it. “What’s the topic?”
“The Ancients’ Speculated Discovery and Use of Moratanium.”
Wyatt winced.
“With an overview on the etymology if there’s time.”
“MY TABLECLOTH!” cried the voice of wrath from the doorway.
DG grabbed a napkin and began to dab belatedly at the coffee stain Ambrose had created.
“You’re just having all kinds of girl trouble this week,” she teased her friend.
“I have a notion,” Wyatt offered, as everyone began plucking up dishes and flower vases and carafes so Azkadellia could snatch off the sullied handicraft and march it to the laundry. “Why don’t we send Az to the lecture. She can have a little heart to heart with your admirer, tell her to back off.”
Ambrose blanched. “I only want to discourage the girl, Wyatt, not scare her to death.”