And suddenly Altair and Malik are prom chaperones
THIS IS DUMB, I AM DUMB. I thought I could hold back, but here is more of Altair, the high school government teacher, with his long suffering co-worker Malik, the geography teacher, and they are boyfriends.
And the worst chaperones for prom.
(The original high school AU is here. I'm so sorry.)
Altair was well aware that being a teacher was essentially a babysitting job that sometimes involved books. Books, he had no problem with, but there was very little he could like about the school dances he was forced to chaperone. Thankfully, Altair could breathe easy knowing that it was the last one of the year and that he, at least, wasn’t alone in his suffering.
“You wouldn’t believe what I just saw,” Malik said, joining him next to the punch fountain. He grabbed a plastic cup and filled it halfway, and Altair thought it he could hear him say, “-I hope this is spiked” over the music before draining the entire thing.
Altair knew Malik had just made his rounds around the dance floor and ventured a guess. “Two students grinding it out.”
“Yes, but that’s what everyone’s doing,” Malik said, leaning close so that they could speak over the booming bass of the Black Eyed Peas’ latest hit. He smelled like a mixture of perfumes and cheap cologne, no doubt from exposure to too many dancing and sweating students. Yet for all that, Altair found himself a little drawn to Malik’s crisp black button-down and loosened tie.
“-Lucrezia and Cesare,” Malik was saying.
“What?” Altair asked, glad that he could blame the music for his inattentiveness.
“The Borgia siblings,” Malik repeated, and made a swinging motion with his hips and-damn that man-Altair stared, unsure if it was the news that made him do it, or Malik’s brief interpretation.
“Well, that’s two people not going to win Prom King or Queen,” Altair finally said, dragging his eyes back up to Malik’s face. Maybe the punch fountain was spiked after all; he refilled his cup. “My money’s on Ezio.”
“Oh, god, speaking of Ezio,” Malik began, passing a hand over his eyes. “Ten minutes ago I caught him in the hallway, half-naked-“
“Please don’t tell me this involves Leonardo,” Altair groaned, “This school can’t take anymore scandals.”
“No, he was with Cristina.”
“Oh,” Altair said. “Well, that’s good.”
“No, it isn’t,” Malik said, scowling. “My eyes have been subjected to too many horrific things tonight, most of them underage and illegal, while you get to stay here and take care of the punch fountain.”
“It’s a hard job,” Altair said, indignant. “I already had to take away two water bottles filled with Smirnoff.”
There was a pause.
“Smirnoff,” Malik said flatly. “And you know this, how?”
Altair pulled out a water bottle from under the table. “Try it for yourself.”
Malik did, chasing it down with some more punch. He grimaced, but it didn’t detract from the suspicious look he threw Altair. “Where’s the other bottle?”
“With Lorenzo.”
“Ah,” Malik said. He was about to say more, but Claudia came up to the table, looking quite pretty in her fiery orange dress.
“Hi,” she said, reaching for the plate of crackers. The smile on her face was wry. “You two look like you’re having fun.”
“We’re not paid to have fun,” Altair said, smoothly taking the water bottle from Malik’s hands and putting it back under the table. “But what about you?”
“Um, just sitting this song out.” Claudia’s smile became a little fixed and Altair felt Malik nudge his arm. He abruptly remembered that she had recently broken up with her boyfriend; normally Altair didn’t care about the romantic affairs of students, but Ezio had beaten up the poor boy in the middle of passing period, so it was common knowledge now.
“This is a bad song anyway,” Malik said, filling in the awkward silence. He glanced around, eyes lighting up for a moment, and he tilted his head in one direction. “Kadar’s over there by himself. I’ll give you extra credit if you ask him to dance.”
Claudia followed his line of sight where a sad group of people had moved to the edge of the dance floor, unable to find a partner for the sickly sweet slow jam. She laughed.
“Oh! I didn’t notice him there,” she said, grinning, “And you really didn’t have to offer any extra credit. Thanks, Mr. A-Sayf.”
Altair and Malik watched as she walked over, forcibly taking a startled Kadar by the arms. It was hardly a match made in heaven, but eventually the two students were laughing at each other, fumbling over their own feet and bumping into other couples.
“Kadar is a horrible dancer,” Altair observed. “Haven’t you been teaching him?”
“No, of course not,” Malik said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to see him flail around like that.”
Altair smirked. “Well, I don’t think it would have made a difference, even if you did.”
“Is that so?” Malik said with a sidelong glance. “I think I could show you a thing or two.”
Altair looked up at the gym’s ceiling, suddenly very interested in the dusty, old beams. “Are you asking me to dance?”
“No,” Malik said, grabbing Altair by the wrist and tugging him away from the table. “I’m going to prove you wrong.”
+
The air outside the gym was refreshingly cool. There was a ringing in Altair’s ears the moment the doors closed behind them, and somehow during the quick walk out of the gym, Malik’s hand had slid down from his wrist so that their fingers were loosely twined together.
The hallway was empty and the florescent lights dimmed, but Malik dragged him over to a gap between two rows of lockers, not exactly hidden, but dark enough to avoid any immediate attention from any unsuspecting passerby.
“That punch fountain won’t be filled with punch by the time we get back,” Altair said, placing his hand on Malik’s waist, the muffled music still thrumming through his body.
Malik made a noncommittal noise, pressing against him in a way that made Altair almost forget what he was about to say next. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, giving some semblance to a swaying motion.
“This is hardly dancing,” Altair muttered into Malik’s neck.
Malik chuckled, his breath warm against his cheek. “I blame the song. It’s awful.”
“It’s Bruno Mars. Talking to the Moon,” he hummed. “And it’s not awful.”
“How do you even know this?”
“I confiscated an iPod last week,” Altair said defensively. He tilted his head, listening as the last of the verses faded away and turned into a fast-paced pop song-Ke$ha, though Altair wasn’t going to admit that he knew. “Not all the new stuff is terrible.”
Malik snorted, stepping back and letting go of their hands.
“Well, it wasn’t so bad,” he conceded, looking up the mounted clock on the wall. “One more hour.”
“I’m sure they’ll play songs more to your taste,” Altair grinned, and opened the gym doors.
Malik’s reply was drowned out by the music, but as the dance lights passed over them Altair caught sight of his smirk before he disappeared into a crowd of mingling students.
And next time, Altair thought, he was going to be the one to ask Malik to dance.
And the worst chaperones for prom.
(The original high school AU is here. I'm so sorry.)
Altair was well aware that being a teacher was essentially a babysitting job that sometimes involved books. Books, he had no problem with, but there was very little he could like about the school dances he was forced to chaperone. Thankfully, Altair could breathe easy knowing that it was the last one of the year and that he, at least, wasn’t alone in his suffering.
“You wouldn’t believe what I just saw,” Malik said, joining him next to the punch fountain. He grabbed a plastic cup and filled it halfway, and Altair thought it he could hear him say, “-I hope this is spiked” over the music before draining the entire thing.
Altair knew Malik had just made his rounds around the dance floor and ventured a guess. “Two students grinding it out.”
“Yes, but that’s what everyone’s doing,” Malik said, leaning close so that they could speak over the booming bass of the Black Eyed Peas’ latest hit. He smelled like a mixture of perfumes and cheap cologne, no doubt from exposure to too many dancing and sweating students. Yet for all that, Altair found himself a little drawn to Malik’s crisp black button-down and loosened tie.
“-Lucrezia and Cesare,” Malik was saying.
“What?” Altair asked, glad that he could blame the music for his inattentiveness.
“The Borgia siblings,” Malik repeated, and made a swinging motion with his hips and-damn that man-Altair stared, unsure if it was the news that made him do it, or Malik’s brief interpretation.
“Well, that’s two people not going to win Prom King or Queen,” Altair finally said, dragging his eyes back up to Malik’s face. Maybe the punch fountain was spiked after all; he refilled his cup. “My money’s on Ezio.”
“Oh, god, speaking of Ezio,” Malik began, passing a hand over his eyes. “Ten minutes ago I caught him in the hallway, half-naked-“
“Please don’t tell me this involves Leonardo,” Altair groaned, “This school can’t take anymore scandals.”
“No, he was with Cristina.”
“Oh,” Altair said. “Well, that’s good.”
“No, it isn’t,” Malik said, scowling. “My eyes have been subjected to too many horrific things tonight, most of them underage and illegal, while you get to stay here and take care of the punch fountain.”
“It’s a hard job,” Altair said, indignant. “I already had to take away two water bottles filled with Smirnoff.”
There was a pause.
“Smirnoff,” Malik said flatly. “And you know this, how?”
Altair pulled out a water bottle from under the table. “Try it for yourself.”
Malik did, chasing it down with some more punch. He grimaced, but it didn’t detract from the suspicious look he threw Altair. “Where’s the other bottle?”
“With Lorenzo.”
“Ah,” Malik said. He was about to say more, but Claudia came up to the table, looking quite pretty in her fiery orange dress.
“Hi,” she said, reaching for the plate of crackers. The smile on her face was wry. “You two look like you’re having fun.”
“We’re not paid to have fun,” Altair said, smoothly taking the water bottle from Malik’s hands and putting it back under the table. “But what about you?”
“Um, just sitting this song out.” Claudia’s smile became a little fixed and Altair felt Malik nudge his arm. He abruptly remembered that she had recently broken up with her boyfriend; normally Altair didn’t care about the romantic affairs of students, but Ezio had beaten up the poor boy in the middle of passing period, so it was common knowledge now.
“This is a bad song anyway,” Malik said, filling in the awkward silence. He glanced around, eyes lighting up for a moment, and he tilted his head in one direction. “Kadar’s over there by himself. I’ll give you extra credit if you ask him to dance.”
Claudia followed his line of sight where a sad group of people had moved to the edge of the dance floor, unable to find a partner for the sickly sweet slow jam. She laughed.
“Oh! I didn’t notice him there,” she said, grinning, “And you really didn’t have to offer any extra credit. Thanks, Mr. A-Sayf.”
Altair and Malik watched as she walked over, forcibly taking a startled Kadar by the arms. It was hardly a match made in heaven, but eventually the two students were laughing at each other, fumbling over their own feet and bumping into other couples.
“Kadar is a horrible dancer,” Altair observed. “Haven’t you been teaching him?”
“No, of course not,” Malik said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to see him flail around like that.”
Altair smirked. “Well, I don’t think it would have made a difference, even if you did.”
“Is that so?” Malik said with a sidelong glance. “I think I could show you a thing or two.”
Altair looked up at the gym’s ceiling, suddenly very interested in the dusty, old beams. “Are you asking me to dance?”
“No,” Malik said, grabbing Altair by the wrist and tugging him away from the table. “I’m going to prove you wrong.”
+
The air outside the gym was refreshingly cool. There was a ringing in Altair’s ears the moment the doors closed behind them, and somehow during the quick walk out of the gym, Malik’s hand had slid down from his wrist so that their fingers were loosely twined together.
The hallway was empty and the florescent lights dimmed, but Malik dragged him over to a gap between two rows of lockers, not exactly hidden, but dark enough to avoid any immediate attention from any unsuspecting passerby.
“That punch fountain won’t be filled with punch by the time we get back,” Altair said, placing his hand on Malik’s waist, the muffled music still thrumming through his body.
Malik made a noncommittal noise, pressing against him in a way that made Altair almost forget what he was about to say next. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, giving some semblance to a swaying motion.
“This is hardly dancing,” Altair muttered into Malik’s neck.
Malik chuckled, his breath warm against his cheek. “I blame the song. It’s awful.”
“It’s Bruno Mars. Talking to the Moon,” he hummed. “And it’s not awful.”
“How do you even know this?”
“I confiscated an iPod last week,” Altair said defensively. He tilted his head, listening as the last of the verses faded away and turned into a fast-paced pop song-Ke$ha, though Altair wasn’t going to admit that he knew. “Not all the new stuff is terrible.”
Malik snorted, stepping back and letting go of their hands.
“Well, it wasn’t so bad,” he conceded, looking up the mounted clock on the wall. “One more hour.”
“I’m sure they’ll play songs more to your taste,” Altair grinned, and opened the gym doors.
Malik’s reply was drowned out by the music, but as the dance lights passed over them Altair caught sight of his smirk before he disappeared into a crowd of mingling students.
And next time, Altair thought, he was going to be the one to ask Malik to dance.