Chapter Text
Gale Dekarios is fully aware that he has an almost non-existent level of self-restraint. It's why he agreed to go across the world to move in with his girlfriend of six years instead of ever once trying to ask if she could come to him. It's why he agreed to his girlfriend's proposal to teach a university class, rather than pursuing his dream of writing fantasy novels. It's why he proposed only a month after moving in with her, to which she politely declined and said she needed more time to think. It's why he tried again not a week later.
And now, it's why he's currently sitting in his new small apartment surrounded by unopened boxes and drunkenly writing an email to all of the students in his Introduction to Creative Writing class.
Gale checks it four times for any grammatical errors. He might be drunk but he's not going to allow his students to think that he's a hack! Most of the things his red pen strikes through are grammatical errors or clearly stolen phrases far beyond a student's obvious capability. No, if he's going to send a drunken email past midnight to his students, he must do it as concisely and professionally as possible.
From: [email protected]
To: [Creative_WritingALL]
Subject: Question
Hello all,
I apologize for the late hour and the day I'm sending this. I assure you I will not make it a habit to send group emails on the weekend. I hope you are all having a safe and pleasant Saturday.
This might be an odd question. As you all may know, this is my first year of teaching and I would appreciate some honest feedback to make sure I am providing the best educational experience you all deserve.
Am I a bad teacher? Do you hate this class?
No one is under any obligation to answer. If you do, I would prefer a direct and honest reply.
Thank you 🙂
Mr. Dekarios
Sent from my Iphone
Gale lets out a heavy sigh as he places his phone face down on his coffee table. He decides it's best to distract himself while he waits for the answers, if any, arrive. He takes a sip of the disgusting, cheap wine he bought from the nearest gas station and resumes the latest episode of Master Chef. Half an hour passes before he gets any replies. Much to his relief, they're all encouraging!
Re: Question
From: [email protected]
I like your class. I think ur doing great :)
Re: Question
From: [email protected]
Your class is very helpful and insightful. You give a lot of feedback to my writing and it only makes me want to try harder. Hope you have a good night, professor!
Re: Question
From: [email protected]
im not the best to answer bc i joined this class bc i needed a english credit and thought it would be an easy class. its not that easy but i dont hate it. dont sweat about it man just keep doing what ur doing and youll be fine 💯👊👊 gn
A few more arrive, all of them as encouraging as the last, though some are very clearly written by students far more drunk than he is. Or high. He likes to think it might make them more honest. Gale leans back into his sofa and lets out a sigh of relief. Maybe if he compiled all the answers and sent them to Mystra, she might reconsider their break up after seeing just how well he’s doing in the job she insisted he applied for. Maybe then, she might just see how considerate and patient he is. Maybe–
His phone buzzes with the familiar sound of his notification sound: Legolas announcing ‘they're taking the hobbits to Isengard’ from the highly amusing song edit that never fails to make him laugh. He stares at the selfie that he still refuses to change from his lockscreen for a few seconds before he unlocks his phone. A new response from a student. Instead of a reply to his original message, the student sent him a new email entirely. How odd.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Regarding Your Question
As per your instruction for a direct and honest critique of your course, I have listed my complaints regarding your teaching habits in level of importance. One being the most crucial factor that should be changed in order to improve your class, five being something I find personally irritating.
Due to the concerning nature of your email, I have made the decision to only include my top five complaints as I can only presume you wrote your original email under the effects of some sort of mind altering substance, and I have no desire to worsen your already vulnerable state with my complaints.
I am going to guess wine. If not, whiskey.
The list is as follows:
- Lack of Control During Peer Review. This is a common complaint that I have heard from other students. Your insistence on not interrupting any student during their thoughts on peer review has made the air incredibly awkward and uncomfortable for the more introverted students. Some students, such as myself, strive to be as honest as possible which may lead to harshness. Others are not educated in literature enough to make fair points during a critique. Your lack of presence or opinion during peer review makes you look weak and anxious when I can clearly see in your eyes that you have something you wish to say. Say it, you are the professor, you are allowed to interrupt and command us.
- Perfectionism Over Creativity. Within your grammatical and narrative grading of our work, your thoughts seem more intent on describing how you would rewrite a scene rather than a critique on the story. This makes it seem as if you are more interested in having us match your style of writing than teaching us how to enhance our own style. You said my style was “overly-stiff”, but your rewrites lose the intent behind the choice to be stiff as it is revealed that the narrator is a scientist, as most of my characters tend to be since I write from experience. You can ask other students and I assure you they feel a similar way. It is also a topic of discussion in the “Group Chat.”
- Overuse of the phrase “-and thus”. I think of it as your “catchphrase”. Do you know that, on average, you use the phrase “-and thus” between thoughts around 27.5 times per class? I included a statistical chart as an attachment to this email as reference to my source. This from every class I have attended, without any skipped days, from the past two weeks of research. The use of your other common similar phrase, “and so”, has also been included.
- Trying too Hard to Make the Class Laugh. Your effort to make the class more interesting by using comedy has, unfortunately, gone largely unappreciated. While I do not mind the effort, and I believe it can be a charming tactic to some, the other students do not appreciate your humor. You're often flustered and embarrassed by the lack of reaction to your humor. It both fascinates and puzzles me that you continue to try to make us laugh. Perhaps a more serious, direct approach to teaching is preferable.
- General Outfit Complaints. This may be unimportant to some, but I continue to be baffled by your choice in ties. Your sense of fashion is perfect for autumn and the manner of dress expected of an academic, but you do not seem to know how to match your ties with the rest of your outfits. You once wore a dark brown tie that had light purple accents. That tie goes better with your cardigan of choice, but might I suggest adding this and this tie to your wardrobe as I believe they might suit your preferred neutral and warm color scheme more.
Feel free to respond if you have questions about any of my points.
Have a nice weekend, Professor Dekarios.
— Silos Rios Rivera
ATTACHED: 📎AndThus_UsageStudy.xls
Gale stares at the email in utter disbelief.
He doesn't even know where to start. He puts his head in his hands before he gives into the urge to scream into his pillow. Of course the class has a group chat amongst themselves, but he assumed it was to discuss homework or peer review, not to talk behind his back!
The more he dwells on each point, the worse he feels. Gale downs the rest of the horrible wine directly from the bottle. Does he truly say and thus that often?
He huffs and takes out his laptop to look at the excel sheet properly. Sure enough, the numbers are all there, showing the number of every and thus or and so uttered by him in every class, with the date included. According to the chart, he said it seven times during yesterday's lecture. Has he been counting this whole time just for this exact moment? Did Silos intend on creating this chart whether Gale asked for it or not?
He stops himself from replying to the email with some very harsh and unprofessional words. No, he has to know just who this student thinks he is.
Silos Rios Rivera... The name rings a bell. He looks through the university's grading and submission portal and clicks on his name. It’s too early in the course to say what grade he expects from the man, but every submission seems to receive an average score. C's or C+. Nothing terrible, but nothing interesting either. Just as he described, almost all his weekly submissions are from the point of view of a scientist, and his style of prose feels more akin to reading an abstract than a story. He recalls a peer review session where another student brought the exact same critique, Silos admitted that he finds it difficult to write from a fictional perspective that is not similar to his own.
Then why join a creative writing class, then?
Who does this student think he is? It's an incredibly unprofessional way to speak to a professor, even if he asked for an honest and direct review. Technically, Gale got exactly what he asked for, and none of his points are exactly wrong. Down to the alcohol he's drinking...
The more he thinks about it, the more correct Mister Rios might be. Is he that easy to figure out? He can't recall a single time he's ever spoken directly to Silos. He's not a stand out student in the slightest, his work is boring, and Gale isn't sure he can remember what the young man looks like, either.
He googles the name out of sheer spite and curiosity. Once again, Gale is quickly proven wrong, considering the very first link is an old article titled 12 YEAR OLD BRAZILIAN GENIUS MIGHT UNCOVER THE SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE. Of course, the title is a massive exaggeration of the article itself, which describes how Silos Rios Rivera rose to fame as a child prodigy in maths and theoretical physics. He looks for more recent articles, all equally filled with high praise though far more confusing to understand. The instant they describe the actual science, his eyes completely glaze over the numbers. Maths was never his strong suit, nor any sort of science. Apart from baking, of course.
More accolades, more articles, more physics journals stuck behind a paywall. Strangely enough, the man has no social media save for a barely touched Twitter account which seems to be used to upload pictures of his pet snakes and correct flat earthers on their fundamental misunderstanding of gravity. The only recent pictures he finds of Silos are from a months old interview with The Smithsonian about the difficulties found with being a black scientist in a predominantly white field, his journey from growing up in a remote town within the Amazon to moving to one of the largest cities in the world, and the advice he'd give to any young, aspiring scientists of color. The article itself is incredibly interesting, Silos is very well spoken and honest throughout it, but Gale’s focus lingers on the professional photograph of his student.
He recognizes the man now. He's often dressed in feminine, colorful clothing and scribbling notes endlessly; Gale once wondered if he ever looked up from his notebook during class. Maybe that's why Gale didn’t remember what he looked like. The young man is clearly far too busy keeping tally of his speech mannerism to look up.
Silos looks at the camera with an unexpectedly warm gaze. His skin is dark and his hair is styled in thick, bleached blonde braids – locks? — adorned with gold clips. He isn't sure what the hair style is called, but it suits him well. He has high cheekbones, slender arms, and a sprinkling of freckles that adorn his nose and his cheeks. Gale zooms in on the picture and notices his eyes are a pretty shade of light green.
Gale lets out an embarrassingly high pitched yelp and immediately shuts his laptop. Tara looks up from the bath she was giving herself with an annoyed look in her eyes.
He sets the laptop aside. No, this is merely a moment of weakness. This man has forced him into a moment of weakness by analyzing every last flaw in his teaching habits. Gale is drunk and vulnerable. He's living in an apartment he isn't sure he even likes that he was forced to move into after the breakup he had just two weeks ago. He’s living in a country he's still trying to understand, with a job he isn't sure he wants, and with no other company or friends other than his old cat. He is not in any state to be staring at pictures of his own damn students. God help him.
Despite this, he takes what remains of his bottle of wine and walks to his bedroom with a heart full of shame and an eager cock that could care less about his ethical dilemmas.
He'll try being a better man tomorrow.
---
Gale ordered the damn ties. With express shipping too, just so they would arrive in time for Tuesday, which is when he knows Silos should be in his lecture. He knows this because he checked the man’s attendance record. Unsurprisingly, it's absolutely spotless.
He does his best to pay as little attention as possible to the only student on his mind. Though, every second he doesn't have to speak, he's rehearsing the words he wants to say to Silos. He wants to give the young man a piece of his mind, or at the very least a warning that other professors might not be as kind when presented with such brutal honesty.
Gale dismisses everyone for the day, though not before asking Silos to speak to him in his office after he's done for the day. Silos finally looks up from his notes and, oddly enough, seems confused. Surely, he must know why Gale needs to speak to him?
The young man arrives at his office a few hours later. He doesn't say hello. Instead, he looks around his office with a calculating gaze, as if inspecting the place. Gale's office is incredibly boring, he hasn't had the time to really decorate, save for a few pictures of Tara and a picture of his mother he put on the wall. Along with his degree, of course. He also brought a kettle so he can interact with the break room as little as possible, a plastic plant he thought might spruce up the place, and a cheap record player he swore he was going to use and hasn't. The vinyls he proudly has on display have garnered little attention other than a polite acknowledgement.
Silos gestures at one of them. “Interessante. That is my favorite album by Antônio Carlos Jobim. I am not shocked you like jazz. Am I allowed to look at them?” He asks, his thick Portuguese accent making him realize he's been saying the artist's name wrong this entire time.
Gale blinks. “O-Of course. They're nothing too rare. My proper collection is at home.”
“Ah, but this edition still goes for an average of seventy pounds. You can tell by the coloring of the sleeve. Your collection must be very nice indeed. Mind if I play it?” He asks, though he's already setting up a record player before Gale can answer. He stares in fear as Silos takes out the record from its sleeve, but thankfully, the young man is careful. Gale watches him set the needle in place for the first song. His hands are small and slender, adorned with multiple rings, bracelets, and small tattoos that accentuate his long fingers.
Gale clears his throat. “You know a lot about jazz, I take it?”
Silos shakes his head. “I only started listening to it recently, but I am a fast learner, and this is a classic album. I usually prefer punk. Or reggaetón.”
Gale isn't sure what those last one is. “Sorry, Mister Rios, as much as I'd love to chat about music with you, I did call you into my office for a reason.”
“I know. You're annoyed by my reply, yes? I am surprised you wanted to talk about it in person, I was certain I would receive a stern email instead.” Silos looks up at him, green eyes unblinking and staring right into his soul. He's almost a foot shorter than him. “Am I in trouble?”
“What? No! No...” Gale says. Truthfully, he wanted to find a way to get the young man in trouble, but he technically didn't break any rule. Gale asked for an honest answer and he received one. He can't chastise a student merely for being overly blunt, not only would it go against his ethics, but it would also make him seem even more unlikable. He sighs. All the previous excitement to tear him down is washed away by an odd sense of embarrassment. “I just wanted an... explanation on why you sent it. It was a tad harsh, mind you. But I can't deny it's given me a lot to think about.”
Silos nods. “I am quite observant. Some think I am too observant. But when you watch someone speak twice a week for two hours at a time, you can learn so much about them. I like to catalog details about the people I meet and observe, hence my... thorough notes on your behavior.”
Gale lets out a nervous laugh. “Well, that makes me feel a bit like a zoo animal, when you put it like that.”
“I apologize, I did not want to seem that way. I was trying to be honest, as per your instructions.” Silos looks down. “But I see you found some of it useful. You're wearing the tie I suggested. It suits you.”
He runs a hand over the nice fabric. It was a bit of an investment, but all the reviews said they lasted a long time. It fits him perfectly too. It suits him. “Ah, well, like I said... You're not in trouble, Mister Rios. Though, I worry that your persistent observation of me might be the root cause of your current grades in the class.”
The young man looks unperturbed by that. “No, I wish that was a proper excuse for me. The reason I am receiving a subpar grade is because I am not very creative. I can safely say that your class is the only one I am finding challenging in the slightest.”
Gale feels an odd sense of pride in that, knowing fully well the rest of the classes Silos is taking are far beyond his realm of understanding.
“Then why take it in the first place?”
Silos thinks for a moment. “I am striving to uncover the deepest, most fascinating secrets that our universe has to offer. I want to share these findings with as many people as possible, but academia can be incredibly inaccessible and isolated from the rest of the world. Even my peers find my writing very difficult to parse. I am afraid that I will never be able to truly share just how wondrous my findings are, simply because my explanations are... boring to read. I was hoping your class might help, but it seems I am not improving at the rate I usually do.”
Gale shakes his head. “But where do all the observations about me factor into that, admittedly, very noble endeavor?”
“I find you very interesting, Professor.” Silos says with a low, soft voice.
For the first time since the conversation started, Gale can see a clear emotion on Silos’ face. His gaze lowers to Gale's mouth. His jaw clenches in thought. He leans forward ever so slightly, as if involuntarily. Every movement he has made has seemed so careful and calculated, but desire causes the body to betray one's mind. Gale swallows. Sweat begins to form at his brow.
Silos looks hungry .
The song ends, the room is silent save for the soothing sounds of the slightest scratches in a vinyl disk as the needle finds its way to the next song. But Gale's mind is impossibly loud as he begins to connect the dots. The observations, the interest, the tie suggestions. He analyzed his speech pattern down to a science. For god's sake, he should have realized it sooner.
Gale takes a step back and leans against his desk, crossing his arms as he thinks of a proper way to respond. The motion against Silos to freeze, almost imperceptibly if Gale wasn't staring back. Silos’ eyes fail to meet his own quickly enough, lingering on his stomach and arms instead. Or perhaps lower.
Silos meets his gaze once more and swallows. Gale wonders if his mouth is watering.
“I am flattered by the inspiration I can provide for you, but I would prefer it if you focus on the lecture rather than on me. Is that why you're always writing notes?” Gale says, trying his best not to play the game Silos has set in front of him. Each word he says feels like a piece on a chess board, except he's halfway through the game and, by god, he's losing.
Silos shakes his head. “You think I am making notes about you? No, no. The notes you watch me take are calculations I need to prepare for my other classes. All of my observations of you, I have already committed to memory. Would you prefer it if I watched you the entire time, Professor Dekarios?”
Check.
Gale lets out a small laugh as he feels some heat rise to his cheeks. “Ah, forgive me. I thought... Now I sound quite conceited don't I? N-No, you do not need to do that. Though, I would appreciate it if you paid attention to the lecture in front of you more often. I'd offer to make more jokes but you made your point that no one finds me rather funny.”
Silos shakes his head. “I don't mind your sense of comedy. I just do not break into laughter easily. But I... ah—”
“You find it charming?”
The young man nods. From this angle, he can see that Silos hasn't been quite as still as he thought. He has two different fidget rings he's been toying with the entire time. “Yes, I do.”
Check. Gale smirks.
“Regardless, I initially found your email incredibly offensive, but I see now I was mistaken. It came from a genuine place of... concern. Thank you for bringing them to my attention, I'll do my best to follow your suggestions.” He pauses. “If you feel you need extra guidance with your writing, I’m more than happy to offer some help. You can come to my office around this time next week.”
Silos quirks an eyebrow. “You do not have available office hours on Tuesdays, as per the schedule you sent at the beginning of the semester. Would you still want me to come to your personal office, Professor?”
Gale freezes. He’s right. He's not typically available on Tuesdays. He should apologize and correct himself. He should end this right here before it turns into something worse. He's gambling with his reputation and career, for god's sake. All for the obsessive attention of a student he's barely talked to.
As he lingers on the question for what feels like an eternity, he sees a hint of a smug smile on Silos’ face.
The more he looks at the young man's green eyes, the less he can bring himself to care about his career in the slightest. The career he was told to have. The career she told him to pursue in the first place.
Silos looks at him expectantly.
“Yes. Come to my office, Mister Rios. Same time next week.”
Checkmate.
Silos gives him a curt nod. “I shall see you then, sir.”
Gale feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise at Silos’ words. He isn't sure if it's out of fear or arousal.
This is going to be a very long and arduous train ride home.
---
Gale slams his bedroom door behind him as he tries his best to undress with his trembling hands. He spent the entire train ride home thinking of Silos, unable to focus on a single word of his audiobook. He's grateful he wore his long coat today, or else he would've had an awfully embarrassing commute. He ignores the sound of Tara pawing at the door as he lets his coat fall before practically tearing his sweater off and throwing it aside.
Gale is usually the sort to prefer to take his time in his self-indulgence. He likes to lay down somewhere comfortable and allow his imagination to roam. A warming lube, a toy... Perhaps an erotic novel and a candle if he has the time. Instead, Gale is fumbling to pull out his aching cock as he throws himself into his bed and hides his shame with his face buried into his pillow.
He forces his hand away from his cock. God, what's wrong with him? He’s this riled up just from meager flirting. Just from the barest hint of interest. He’s only spoken to the man properly once and he's already this affected. Gale groans into his pillow.
Silos is his student. He could be fired for this. He could be barred from ever teaching again. The young man is so bright, far too bright to be pursuing a pathetic man like him. This could ruin his reputation. Or worse, it could get him suspended. Gale has no idea why such a pretty, intelligent, gorgeous young man like him would want someone like him?
But gods, Silos wants him. He finally feels wanted.
Gale can't help himself from rutting against the bed, unable muster enough shame to stop himself from picturing Silos beneath him. He wonders if the young man is just as calculated in his words while getting fucked. Maybe Gale can be the one to make him break, to make him moan and beg. He wonders if Silos would prefer to call him by his name or if he'd rather moan out his title.
The man is so short and slender compared to him. Gale is not a strong man by any means, but maybe he could lift Silos. At the very least manhandle him. Perhaps, when he comes to his office, he can set him on his desk and spread his legs. He could show him just how good he can be with his tongue — he's never received a complaint from a lover who's used his mouth. It was her preferred way to get fucked, after all. Mystra always–
Gale forces himself to stop his rutting. No. He won't think of her. He can't allow himself to think of her.
He turns to lay on his back and takes a deep breath. He takes his cock in his hand and strokes himself. Gale thinks of his student instead. He thinks of Silos sitting on his face and using his mouth however he wants. He thinks of Silos bouncing on his lap and gasping out his name. Gale's cock leaks with anticipation. His gaze alone has sent him into a stupor.
He thinks of Silos whispering into his ear. His soft, low voice that feels so effortlessly commanding tells him what to do. Stroke faster. Stop. Beg me to keep going. Harder. Good boy. That's it, professor. Please keep going, professor. Please, sir. Pleasepleaseplease –
Gale cums into his hand and lets out a pathetic whine. How the hell is he ever going to run peer review with Silos in his class ever again?
He throws his head back against his pillow, too tired to do anything but wipe his hand on his shirt. He feels disgusting, sweaty, and shameful. He just came thinking about a student . A student who had to be at least twenty years younger than him.
Gale's cock twitches at the calculation. He shudders and forces the thought away.
He can't do this. This is wrong. This is not him. He's lonely and desperate, fresh off a break up with no one to talk to other than his mother and his cat. He has no friends in this city, no proper hobbies, and no one to come home to. He shouldn't be looking for love in someone so young and, apparently, obsessed with him... Even if the sheer amount of interest Silos shows for him is incredibly appealing. She felt so distant in the last few weeks of their relationship. She only ever cared for his talents. Just after one conversation, he can tell Silos wants more from him. Perhaps it's just sex, but maybe its more. Maybe, just maybe...
Gale pulls out his phone to send an email.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Important
Hello,
Sorry for the late message. I promise I don't want to make this a habit.
I cannot allow this to proceed any further. The offer to help you still stands. If you want to come to my office, it must be during my publicly available office hours. Do not come to my office on Tuesday evening.
I hope you're having a good night.
Thank you,
- Gale Dekarios
He throws his phone beside him and groans. His phone buzzes just a few minutes later. They're taking the Hobbits to Isengard! it says. Gale really should change that.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Important
Hello Professor,
I understand.
Have a good night.
- Silos Rios Rivera
That's it, then. It's been a whirlwind few hours, but it's over. Gale is certain his smartwatch thinks he's been having heart complications, he's had two popups now telling him to keep an eye on his heart rate. Thankfully, it's just the crippling loneliness.
He cleans himself up with a quick shower before letting Tara back into his room, who seems quite cross with him for being ignored for more than five minutes. She meows at him with an annoyed tone. Gale likes to think that she's scolding him for being so foolish. Or maybe she's just bored.
Gale opens the window and lights his cigarette.
He makes a mental note: He cannot allow himself to think of Silos like that ever again. Or any other student, for that matter. Not that he's been interested in any other student before, of course. This is clearly just a one time thing that stemmed from his desperation, the last thing he needs is a disastrous rebound.
He exhales and looks at the city he’s trying to love. Everything reminds him of her. There's a coffee shop four blocks away he knows Mystra loves. The apothecary she frequently buys candles from is five blocks away. The restaurant where he proposed to her is ten blocks away. This city is a radius of nothing but tainted memories. He needs something, someone — anything — that will help him get his mind off her.
Maybe he'll finally take up embroidery.