Jun. 19th, 2005 03:03 pm
Title: The Poetry of Falling In Love 1/3
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lovely_ambitionTitle: The Poetry of Falling In Love 1/3
Pairing: Hugh/Ioan
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Really not mine. Really, really. Promise.
Summary: Hugh meets a very interesting professor and nothing is ever the same.
Notes: So very AU. It's not really accurate to the English schooling system, but please bear with me. This is just meant to be a light fluffy student!verse AU. Ioan is a professor. Hugh is a teaching assistant. Suspend that disbelief.
Monday morning.
Wake up.
It's a rigorous process of brushing his teeth, eating his breakfast, some vocal exercises in the mirror so he won't trip and slur his words during the 8:30 seminar. Rinse out with mouthwash. Prep his notes. Get the bike ready. Make sure his clothes match.
And he's on his way.
"I don't know what it is that makes me love you so," he sings on his way to campus, biking along in early morning fog and watching his breath in the air as he rides the bike in slaloms along the sidewalk. "I only know I never want to let you go. Ever since we met, you've had a hold on me," he murmurs under his breath as he locks the bike up, hoisting his backup higher on his back and making his way to the aging building and his sacred sanctuary, his inner kingdom, his fortress of solitude.
Room 241. English Seminar, Section #22 with your TA, Hugh Dancy.
He's met on the way, someone falling in beside him stride for stride and carrying just as many textbooks as Hugh. Hugh swears he carries two stone's worth of books, it has to be that many. Some days, he’s afraid he'll buckle under the weight.
"I Only Want To Be With You?" he's asked.
"Careful, Joel. You're listening in on my arrival to work? I could call it eavesdopping. I might just call immigration services," Hugh teases lightly and holds the door open for him. They laugh together as they ascend the stairs, clinging to the bannister only when they reach the top. "What are you taking your section through?"
"Explication," Joel groans. "Explication with the first year students."
"Your funeral," Hugh scoffs.
"Yours?"
"Democracy and equality in nineteenth century literature," Hugh responds with a smile of glee. Joel cringes, shakes his head, and pats Hugh on the back. "What?" he asks as Joel walks away from him. "What!" he raises his voice, confusion on his face. "It's fun!" he cups his hands and shouts after him.
He pushes in the room to find the bright and energetic...face...of one person. He chuckles to himself and runs his hand through his hair. Of the fifteen students in his class, exactly one is a morning person.
"Good morning, Keira," he says to her. "And a hearty good morning to the rest of you when you wake up at," he checks his watch, "oh, noon, after your morning injection of coffee. Won't you lot be happy to know then, that Professor Gray is slated to come to seminar this morning and have a chat with you lot about the essays and what he expects out of them."
The door opens and Hugh's glad. He's not much for the morning either, but this isn't Professor Gray. Joel is leading someone into the room that Hugh's never met before. He raises an eyebrow.
"My section got cancelled. Apparently, I’m the last to know, as per usual," Joel quietly says by way of explanation. He gestures over his shoulder to the man behind him. "Professor Gruffudd. He's going to go over the expectations and lead some discussion because Professor Gray couldn't make it."
Hugh raises an eyebrow. He's not one for changes to his plan, and this is a change. He smiles politely though, as this Gruffudd inspects the room, the students, and finally turns to inspect Hugh. He holds out a hand and Hugh shakes it amicably, still smiling perfunctorily. The Professor looks young. White casual button-down, with a stylish, short black tie and a sport coat to top it off. All of it over a pair of jeans and runners. Glasses dangling from the free hand, and a mass of curls that don't quite look combed.
"I'm Hugh Dancy," he introduces himself.
"Professor Gruffudd," he says to Hugh and to the class (but mostly to the class). He turns to Hugh. "Call me Ioan." Hugh continues shaking his hand for a moment before Joel tugs him away and they sit in the corner of the class, feet up on desks and watching while the Professor begins to work some brand of magic on the students, waking them up and evoking discussion. All the while, Joel and Hugh pass a single note back and forth as soon as Joel gives up on reading his text on poetry, and Hugh can't seem to read more than two sentences of his own thesis.
new prof? hugh writes in his legible script (Joel’s illegible scrawl a constant item to admonish. Hugh has now forced him to only write in print).
comes highly recommended.
young.
fresh out the door. think he likes you.
shut up.
not taking the piss. think he was checking you out.
you're insane, have I mentioned lately?
just last night. thanks, by the way. that girl thought I was actually crazy.
what's a best friend for?
After the allotted fifty minutes, Professor Gruffudd wraps up with a flourish and a grin. Hugh supposes that just about every girl in the class has gone and fallen in love with him. Even Keira looks slightly smitten by the way she's leaning forward and batting her eyelashes. Hugh's smirking to himself and writing some words down to recall in his Children's Lit lecture when he hears his name.
"...and to thank Hugh for letting me take over his time," the Professor is saying, extending a hand and a warm grin to Hugh. Hugh stands, surprised and gives a crooked smile and a shrug.
"It was the least I could do," he responds warmly, inching towards the front as all the students begin to mill out. Hugh notices that Keira's hanging behind and chatting away with Joel. "I see it went well. You're not cannibalized, nor are you standing here with paper airplanes littering your hair."
The Professor laughs warmly, his eyes running over Hugh as he sits in a chair. He props his feet up on the table, setting his glasses down and stretching out.
"So I noticed you scribbling on," he gestures to Hugh's notebook, tucked under Hugh's arm. "What are the young geniuses writing about these days?"
And this, this is familiar territory.
"Well, Mr. Gruffudd..."
"Ioan," he interrupts, wincing.
"Ioan," Hugh corrects himself. "Well, at the moment I'm writing about how the writing of James Joyce is the prototype of all good looks into the subconscious through stream of consciousness and how you can tie Freud into it, but I'm stuck at the moment because of word choice and word use, you see," he continues rapidly, ninety-words-a-minute and always getting faster, "because with Freud you have the theories of the id, and the ego, and the superego and you tie all that in with the subconscious and what can be evoked through stream of consciousness, and how society isn't readily able to accept what the subconscious has to say and...well," he grins, flushes and bites on his lip, muttering under his breath. "Ceci n'est pas un monde juste," he sneaks in, the blood rushing to his face. He shrugs, "you know."
"No," Ioan is smiling warmly at him; his eyes crinkling with laugh lines. "Go on."
"Well, I was actually going to go into it today, but I had a whole discussion set about starting this debate on the influence of the subconscious and how the discourse on the subject has changed over the years, you know...how an idea isn't static with the changing of the times, and how literature reflects that..." he trails off when he notices that he's lost Ioan's attention. Ioan is, instead, writing something down on the back of a card. "I'm sorry, I'm boring you," Hugh apologizes, embarrassment filtering into his smile.
"Actually," Ioan begins to say, getting up and pressing the card into Hugh's palm. "I've a lecture, but I'd love to hear more. Call me."
He smiles once more, charming and dashing and thoroughly bewitching and leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him. Hugh has watched him go and is still thinking about the guarantee of something more in his palm when Keira actually jumps on his back and squeezes him tightly before hopping off.
"The Professor likes you!" she says in a sing-song.
"He does not," Hugh shakes his head, biting back the incredulous laughter. He turns and leans against the blackboard. Keira's watching him with a look that says, 'whatever-you-say' and Joel is smirking in the corner, hiding his smile behind a hand.
"Have you edited my paper yet and did I get an A and if I didn't, why didn't I get my A?" she rambles quickly, her face ranging from petulance to demanding-princess and mature-student, all in the course of ten seconds. Hugh rolls his eyes, gathering up his books and giving a shrug. "Hugh!" she whinges, swatting his arm. "You said if I came to your seminar, you'd edit my essay! I didn't have to be awake today t’il noon!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hugh begins apologetically, his face falling. "You know, I made note that I was supposed to care, but..." he shrugs and watches her face fall into a pout. "It's in your mailbox, but it'll come straight back out if you don't stop bugging me."
"Not my fault if he was checking out your arse," she mutters under her breath as she strides out of the room. Hugh watches her go helplessly, turning to Joel for some form of support and receiving the same smirk as before.
"Not you too. I really thought you were taking the piss."
Joel takes a few steps over, draping an arm around Hugh and walking him out of the room. "So the Professor has the hots for you," he concludes with a wider grin. "Well, come on, don't leave him hanging. Be sure to flaunt some of that good ol' Hugh stuff. You know, the kind that gets all the girls to flock around us at the bar, and then, sadly, they find you're only into the male sex, leaving many, many opportunities for me."
"That charm is reserved for special occasions only," Hugh retorts, turning the business card over and over again in his hand.
They walk down the stairs.
"Call him," Joel orders quietly when they reach the doors.
"Hmm?" Hugh responds, not taking his eyes off the number. He finally pries his gaze away to look Joel in the eyes and tries his best to present a front of innocence. "I'm sorry, I was thinking about the Children's Literature assignment and how..."
"Call him," Joel repeats. "You like him," he adds, even quieter.
"I still think everyone is on some sort of crazy pill, save for me," Hugh snorts unconvincingly. "But I suppose he is rather good-looking, and…and I should call him, shouldn't I?"
"After tonight, of course," Joel nods.
"What's tonight?"
"The auction?" Joel reminds him. "You know, where we dress up and people toss money at us like the monkeys for sale we'll be? I cannot believe I got talked into wearing a tux," he grumbles, shifting through his papers. "Yeah, Bachelor Auction to benefit the English Department, that's tonight." Joel grins and feigns a woman's voice. "Oh, Hugh, however will I let you go by without bidding thousands of pounds on you!" Joel laughs warmly. "You'll earn us a new library with your smile alone."
"You'll be responsible when my ego takes over London," Hugh warns, grabbing the paper with the advertisement and groaning. The auction is that night and he's forgotten all about it. He makes a mental note to call Keira and remind her to get her dress ready and be ready to pick him up with the limo at around seven.
"I'm just waiting for the news report," Joel answers, checking his watch. "I've got Drama, but I'll see you tonight," he points back to Hugh as he walks off, waving before turning around to jog towards his next class. "Don't show me up!" Joel yells back.
Hugh smirks to himself, staring down at the extension number on the plain white business card. He bites his lip and grabs his mobile, slowly dialing the university number, following it up with the five numbers, slowly, so slowly that he might just stop pressing them at any moment.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing.
And Hugh's still not insane.
"Hi, you've reached Professor Ioan Gruffudd. I'm not in right now, but please leave me a detailed message and your number and I'll see about getting back to you."
Hugh has to smirk, wondering if this is the private line and if Ioan really wants to be called Professor behind closed doors. He paces around the steps of the building, scaling stairs every so often as he waits for the tone.
"Ioan. Hi. Listen, I'm just ringing because, well, I'd hoped maybe we could continue the conversation over a meal of some sort," he pauses, "or a liquid. Coffee would work. I'm free any other night, save for tonight."
He rambles off the digits of his phone number with great ease and finishes with a small, tidy 'see you,' that won't give anyone the wrong idea (and what idea is supposed to be the right one in this case, Hugh doesn't know). When he hangs up and just holds the mobile in his hand, he stares off at the mass of walking students and he wonders what's he started.
"Ioan," he tries it out on his tongue, wrapping his lips around the syllables. "Hmm," he muses to himself, his fingers tapping across his textbooks as he forces himself to walk to his class. "Let's try you out, then."
***
Ioan can't really justify his presence here. Really, it's a charity. He's already handed over his cheque, shaken hands with all the right people and put on a smile for the pictures. At the moment, there's nothing left to do but enjoy the buffet and the lovely little swizzle sticks they've put in his drink. Fabulous decoration, really. It's quite telling that he's already begun to drift into his lecture for the next day, seeing how well he's memorized his own material. He's already been chided by some woman who put this together about his appearance.
Ioan had been wounded. Really, he'd put on a nice pair of slacks to go with his white button-down, and a sports-coat worked in all occasions. He sighs and grabs another plate of appealing-looking desserts and pieces of fruit, watching as a row of young men and their dates are announced, received to polite applause and a promise that they'll be, "going on the market later!"
Ioan simply wants out.
He'd checked his messages on his mobile just before being rushed inside by eager hands. Hugh had left a message, sounding slightly flustered and everything that Ioan had recalled him as sounding. His stomach flips now at the mere thought and he curses that he didn't get the oppurtunity to call back and at least arrange something. He's desperate for at least dinner of some sort with Hugh. And speaking of dinner, he’s just found a delicious arrangement of strawberries lurking in the back.
"You're mine," he whispers to the fruit.
"And our lovely assistant to the English professors and on auction later tonight..."
Ioan turns now, checking his watch and wondering if they would really notice that he's slipped out the side door. After all, it’s not as though he’s up for auction or anything else terribly important. He curses his plans for escape when he realizes he still hasn't talked to Jeannie from the Library about getting his text on reserve. He grabs another few strawberries to tide himself over.
"...and we'd be absolutely lost without his help in arranging functions for the English department, Mr. Hugh Dancy!"
There's scattered applause and Ioan frowns.
And then he forgets how to react.
Hugh's walked in with a girl on his arm, the both of them looking completely glamorous, like they've stepped off the cover of some magazine. Her gown is a dark green and sparkling in the light, her hair swept up like an old starlet and she looks absolutely radiant. Ioan frowns though, because her radiance still is doing nothing to compare to how well Hugh's looking in his eyes at the moment. He freezes, only recalling that has a plate in his hand when it starts to slip away from him. Hugh’s wearing a tuxedo, complete with cufflinks, cummerbund, and bowtie. His hair doesn't seem too affected -- still all curls everywhere -- and it somehow makes the picture even more appealing as a whole.
Ioan faintly grasps for something that will properly describe this situation so he'll remember it, but there's nothing there. In that one moment, he's forgotten the whole language he's supposed to know like the back of his hand. He blinks, noting that they've moved off and away, out of his vision and he recollects his thoughts long enough to recall that he really didn't think Hugh would be there. He shakes his head, disturbing himself from his reverie and turning his attention back to the strawberries when two voices interrupt him.
"Oh, don't be such a bother," the girl is saying. "Just because they all want you," she drones. "Oh, Hugh," she pitches her voice higher, "I can't live without you! Please, Hugh, please just let me kiss you once, oh, Hugh, I'll die if you don't talk to me!"
"Keira."
"I can sing again if you'd like," she's suggesting. "I'm A Little Teapot was such a hit five seconds ago."
"Keira, love, go away."
Then, suddenly, Hugh is relaxing beside Ioan at the buffett, snatching a strawberry from Ioan’s plate, nimble fingers yanking the fruit away without even asking for permission first. Ioan looks from the hand on his plate to Hugh, raising one eyebrow. Hugh doesn't seem to be affected. He merely smiles with his mouth closed, giving a little wave and then smoothing out his suit.
"Hello," Hugh greets him, his mouth still semi-full.
Ioan bites back his laughter, taking a step back and appraising the suit from head to toe, nodding as he does. He grabs a glass of wine from a passing waitress, knowing he's going to need the aid of some alcohol to get through the night sane. He gives a satisfied nod before stepping back to where he'd been before, and Hugh snatches a chocolate-coated strawberry from Ioan's plate, slowly eating it.
"Your suit is wonderfully made," Ioan comments, taking a sip from his glass.
"Thank you," Hugh says. "I didn't choose it. Rather, I was forced into it."
"Hmm," Ioan laughs. "I know how that can be." He searches for the girl that Hugh had accompanied in and studies her for a moment, noting that she really is a rightly gorgeous girl. With as much subtlety as he could hope to possess, he clears his throat and nods to her. "Who's your date?"
"Date?" Hugh replies, frowning.
"The gorgeous plaything you had attached to your arm," Ioan teases now. He's not a jealous man by nature, and he's always quicker to a joke than he is to a fight.
Hugh sputters now. "Keira?"
"Quite the lovely creature," Ioan confides, in all honesty.
Ioan looks to check Hugh's reaction when he doesn't receive an immediate response. Hugh's looking at him with such pure bewilderment that Ioan's afraid he's done something wrong. Then, suddenly, Hugh breaks out into a gale of loud laughter. "If she knew you were calling her my date, she'd be appalled and you might have a drink in your face. She's a second year. Good friend from way back."
Ioan can't deny that there's something that just may be relief that's flooding his system. His knees relax slightly and all his muscles loosen up as he joins in with Hugh's laughter. With a great sigh that's masked with his laughter, he continues to eat off his plate, Hugh plucking food off. They fall into a comfortable patter of conversation before Hugh slips away to have his soul auctioned away, or rather, to be given to some lucky bidder and raise money for the department.
Ioan allows himself to wander, glad that he didn't bring his wallet or chequing account information with him. He could be in a deep well of trouble if he had money on him.
He hears the catcalls and whistles when Hugh's name is announced, chuckling to himself as he imagines quite correctly that the loudest of those yelling is his young friend Keira. Finally, the room is silenced and a gavel pounds down on the stand, and Ioan is sure that he's misheard the amount of money that Hugh was sold for. He shakes his head, clearing the value from his mind while the next man is announced.
He feels a tug at his sleeve and turns to find Hugh standing there, expectant.
"It's late, I'm tired of being ogled, and you owe me conversation," Hugh orders. Ioan smirks and allows himself to be dragged outside, his coat still inside at the coat check and his wallet still inside the coat, and really, a batch of people he's supposed to talk to. He forgets all about that the moment the door shuts heavily behind them and Hugh exhales loudly into the cold night. "Better," he expresses his pleasure to the sky.
Ioan watches him with bemusement, leaning on the railing.
"Well, don't just sit there," Hugh admonishes him quickly. "There are paths to walk! Things to quote!"
"You're going to be a thorn in my side," Ioan laughs, straightening himself and shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he begins to amble beside Hugh, the both of them walking slowly away from the campus and towards the courtyard and the grand fountain.
"You'll learn to appreciate me," Hugh replies dryly. He sits on the edge of the fountain, the spray of the water drizzling over his hair and face, wetting the back of his tuxedo. In the light of the moon, his smile looks purely innocent and Ioan is once again taken aback. He gives a suggestive grin, leaning back into the fountain slightly. "I can resist anything but temptation," he offers, a challenging glint to his eyes.
No. Ioan's far too good for this child.
"Wilde," Ioan replies easily, raising an eyebrow.
"Damn," Hugh snaps his fingers, wrinkling his nose even as his smile widens. "And here I was hoping I'd charm you with more poetry."
Ioan closes his eyes, trying in vain to recollect the quote he's all too often used in the past as a pick-up line. He shivers slightly as the night air begins to nip at him, but then the quote clicks and he murmurs it softly, feeling every vowel and consonant perfectly on his tongue and lips. "The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself."
Hugh rubs his hands together. "Forbidden," he grins. "I like that."
Ioan shivers again and this time, Hugh seems to notice. He snaps to his feet immediately, stripping himself of his jacket. Ioan's fixated on the way the light of the fountain has seemingly illuminated Hugh as though he were some figure in a Renaissance piece of art. He doesn't even realize that Hugh is holding out the jacket until he nudges him with a gentle, "here."
"Hmm?"
"My jacket. You're cold."
"I'm...brisk."
"You're cold," Hugh responds evenly, clearly not amused. He offers the jacket once more. "Put it on."
Ioan grumbles slightly, taking the jacket and getting into it as best he can, not complaining about the narrowness of the shoulder. It is slightly warmer after all. He gives an appreciative smile and takes off with Hugh again at a slow walk, discussing the subject of rhythm in language.
The night is declared a success when Hugh reaches over to brush 'lint' off the jacket, his fingers lingering at Ioan's shoulder while he recites two lines of a Shakespearean sonnet, the words soft and barely audible -- meant for Ioan's ears alone.
That's when Ioan asks him to dinner.
tbc
Pairing: Hugh/Ioan
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Really not mine. Really, really. Promise.
Summary: Hugh meets a very interesting professor and nothing is ever the same.
Notes: So very AU. It's not really accurate to the English schooling system, but please bear with me. This is just meant to be a light fluffy student!verse AU. Ioan is a professor. Hugh is a teaching assistant. Suspend that disbelief.
Monday morning.
Wake up.
It's a rigorous process of brushing his teeth, eating his breakfast, some vocal exercises in the mirror so he won't trip and slur his words during the 8:30 seminar. Rinse out with mouthwash. Prep his notes. Get the bike ready. Make sure his clothes match.
And he's on his way.
"I don't know what it is that makes me love you so," he sings on his way to campus, biking along in early morning fog and watching his breath in the air as he rides the bike in slaloms along the sidewalk. "I only know I never want to let you go. Ever since we met, you've had a hold on me," he murmurs under his breath as he locks the bike up, hoisting his backup higher on his back and making his way to the aging building and his sacred sanctuary, his inner kingdom, his fortress of solitude.
Room 241. English Seminar, Section #22 with your TA, Hugh Dancy.
He's met on the way, someone falling in beside him stride for stride and carrying just as many textbooks as Hugh. Hugh swears he carries two stone's worth of books, it has to be that many. Some days, he’s afraid he'll buckle under the weight.
"I Only Want To Be With You?" he's asked.
"Careful, Joel. You're listening in on my arrival to work? I could call it eavesdopping. I might just call immigration services," Hugh teases lightly and holds the door open for him. They laugh together as they ascend the stairs, clinging to the bannister only when they reach the top. "What are you taking your section through?"
"Explication," Joel groans. "Explication with the first year students."
"Your funeral," Hugh scoffs.
"Yours?"
"Democracy and equality in nineteenth century literature," Hugh responds with a smile of glee. Joel cringes, shakes his head, and pats Hugh on the back. "What?" he asks as Joel walks away from him. "What!" he raises his voice, confusion on his face. "It's fun!" he cups his hands and shouts after him.
He pushes in the room to find the bright and energetic...face...of one person. He chuckles to himself and runs his hand through his hair. Of the fifteen students in his class, exactly one is a morning person.
"Good morning, Keira," he says to her. "And a hearty good morning to the rest of you when you wake up at," he checks his watch, "oh, noon, after your morning injection of coffee. Won't you lot be happy to know then, that Professor Gray is slated to come to seminar this morning and have a chat with you lot about the essays and what he expects out of them."
The door opens and Hugh's glad. He's not much for the morning either, but this isn't Professor Gray. Joel is leading someone into the room that Hugh's never met before. He raises an eyebrow.
"My section got cancelled. Apparently, I’m the last to know, as per usual," Joel quietly says by way of explanation. He gestures over his shoulder to the man behind him. "Professor Gruffudd. He's going to go over the expectations and lead some discussion because Professor Gray couldn't make it."
Hugh raises an eyebrow. He's not one for changes to his plan, and this is a change. He smiles politely though, as this Gruffudd inspects the room, the students, and finally turns to inspect Hugh. He holds out a hand and Hugh shakes it amicably, still smiling perfunctorily. The Professor looks young. White casual button-down, with a stylish, short black tie and a sport coat to top it off. All of it over a pair of jeans and runners. Glasses dangling from the free hand, and a mass of curls that don't quite look combed.
"I'm Hugh Dancy," he introduces himself.
"Professor Gruffudd," he says to Hugh and to the class (but mostly to the class). He turns to Hugh. "Call me Ioan." Hugh continues shaking his hand for a moment before Joel tugs him away and they sit in the corner of the class, feet up on desks and watching while the Professor begins to work some brand of magic on the students, waking them up and evoking discussion. All the while, Joel and Hugh pass a single note back and forth as soon as Joel gives up on reading his text on poetry, and Hugh can't seem to read more than two sentences of his own thesis.
new prof? hugh writes in his legible script (Joel’s illegible scrawl a constant item to admonish. Hugh has now forced him to only write in print).
comes highly recommended.
young.
fresh out the door. think he likes you.
shut up.
not taking the piss. think he was checking you out.
you're insane, have I mentioned lately?
just last night. thanks, by the way. that girl thought I was actually crazy.
what's a best friend for?
After the allotted fifty minutes, Professor Gruffudd wraps up with a flourish and a grin. Hugh supposes that just about every girl in the class has gone and fallen in love with him. Even Keira looks slightly smitten by the way she's leaning forward and batting her eyelashes. Hugh's smirking to himself and writing some words down to recall in his Children's Lit lecture when he hears his name.
"...and to thank Hugh for letting me take over his time," the Professor is saying, extending a hand and a warm grin to Hugh. Hugh stands, surprised and gives a crooked smile and a shrug.
"It was the least I could do," he responds warmly, inching towards the front as all the students begin to mill out. Hugh notices that Keira's hanging behind and chatting away with Joel. "I see it went well. You're not cannibalized, nor are you standing here with paper airplanes littering your hair."
The Professor laughs warmly, his eyes running over Hugh as he sits in a chair. He props his feet up on the table, setting his glasses down and stretching out.
"So I noticed you scribbling on," he gestures to Hugh's notebook, tucked under Hugh's arm. "What are the young geniuses writing about these days?"
And this, this is familiar territory.
"Well, Mr. Gruffudd..."
"Ioan," he interrupts, wincing.
"Ioan," Hugh corrects himself. "Well, at the moment I'm writing about how the writing of James Joyce is the prototype of all good looks into the subconscious through stream of consciousness and how you can tie Freud into it, but I'm stuck at the moment because of word choice and word use, you see," he continues rapidly, ninety-words-a-minute and always getting faster, "because with Freud you have the theories of the id, and the ego, and the superego and you tie all that in with the subconscious and what can be evoked through stream of consciousness, and how society isn't readily able to accept what the subconscious has to say and...well," he grins, flushes and bites on his lip, muttering under his breath. "Ceci n'est pas un monde juste," he sneaks in, the blood rushing to his face. He shrugs, "you know."
"No," Ioan is smiling warmly at him; his eyes crinkling with laugh lines. "Go on."
"Well, I was actually going to go into it today, but I had a whole discussion set about starting this debate on the influence of the subconscious and how the discourse on the subject has changed over the years, you know...how an idea isn't static with the changing of the times, and how literature reflects that..." he trails off when he notices that he's lost Ioan's attention. Ioan is, instead, writing something down on the back of a card. "I'm sorry, I'm boring you," Hugh apologizes, embarrassment filtering into his smile.
"Actually," Ioan begins to say, getting up and pressing the card into Hugh's palm. "I've a lecture, but I'd love to hear more. Call me."
He smiles once more, charming and dashing and thoroughly bewitching and leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him. Hugh has watched him go and is still thinking about the guarantee of something more in his palm when Keira actually jumps on his back and squeezes him tightly before hopping off.
"The Professor likes you!" she says in a sing-song.
"He does not," Hugh shakes his head, biting back the incredulous laughter. He turns and leans against the blackboard. Keira's watching him with a look that says, 'whatever-you-say' and Joel is smirking in the corner, hiding his smile behind a hand.
"Have you edited my paper yet and did I get an A and if I didn't, why didn't I get my A?" she rambles quickly, her face ranging from petulance to demanding-princess and mature-student, all in the course of ten seconds. Hugh rolls his eyes, gathering up his books and giving a shrug. "Hugh!" she whinges, swatting his arm. "You said if I came to your seminar, you'd edit my essay! I didn't have to be awake today t’il noon!"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hugh begins apologetically, his face falling. "You know, I made note that I was supposed to care, but..." he shrugs and watches her face fall into a pout. "It's in your mailbox, but it'll come straight back out if you don't stop bugging me."
"Not my fault if he was checking out your arse," she mutters under her breath as she strides out of the room. Hugh watches her go helplessly, turning to Joel for some form of support and receiving the same smirk as before.
"Not you too. I really thought you were taking the piss."
Joel takes a few steps over, draping an arm around Hugh and walking him out of the room. "So the Professor has the hots for you," he concludes with a wider grin. "Well, come on, don't leave him hanging. Be sure to flaunt some of that good ol' Hugh stuff. You know, the kind that gets all the girls to flock around us at the bar, and then, sadly, they find you're only into the male sex, leaving many, many opportunities for me."
"That charm is reserved for special occasions only," Hugh retorts, turning the business card over and over again in his hand.
They walk down the stairs.
"Call him," Joel orders quietly when they reach the doors.
"Hmm?" Hugh responds, not taking his eyes off the number. He finally pries his gaze away to look Joel in the eyes and tries his best to present a front of innocence. "I'm sorry, I was thinking about the Children's Literature assignment and how..."
"Call him," Joel repeats. "You like him," he adds, even quieter.
"I still think everyone is on some sort of crazy pill, save for me," Hugh snorts unconvincingly. "But I suppose he is rather good-looking, and…and I should call him, shouldn't I?"
"After tonight, of course," Joel nods.
"What's tonight?"
"The auction?" Joel reminds him. "You know, where we dress up and people toss money at us like the monkeys for sale we'll be? I cannot believe I got talked into wearing a tux," he grumbles, shifting through his papers. "Yeah, Bachelor Auction to benefit the English Department, that's tonight." Joel grins and feigns a woman's voice. "Oh, Hugh, however will I let you go by without bidding thousands of pounds on you!" Joel laughs warmly. "You'll earn us a new library with your smile alone."
"You'll be responsible when my ego takes over London," Hugh warns, grabbing the paper with the advertisement and groaning. The auction is that night and he's forgotten all about it. He makes a mental note to call Keira and remind her to get her dress ready and be ready to pick him up with the limo at around seven.
"I'm just waiting for the news report," Joel answers, checking his watch. "I've got Drama, but I'll see you tonight," he points back to Hugh as he walks off, waving before turning around to jog towards his next class. "Don't show me up!" Joel yells back.
Hugh smirks to himself, staring down at the extension number on the plain white business card. He bites his lip and grabs his mobile, slowly dialing the university number, following it up with the five numbers, slowly, so slowly that he might just stop pressing them at any moment.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing.
And Hugh's still not insane.
"Hi, you've reached Professor Ioan Gruffudd. I'm not in right now, but please leave me a detailed message and your number and I'll see about getting back to you."
Hugh has to smirk, wondering if this is the private line and if Ioan really wants to be called Professor behind closed doors. He paces around the steps of the building, scaling stairs every so often as he waits for the tone.
"Ioan. Hi. Listen, I'm just ringing because, well, I'd hoped maybe we could continue the conversation over a meal of some sort," he pauses, "or a liquid. Coffee would work. I'm free any other night, save for tonight."
He rambles off the digits of his phone number with great ease and finishes with a small, tidy 'see you,' that won't give anyone the wrong idea (and what idea is supposed to be the right one in this case, Hugh doesn't know). When he hangs up and just holds the mobile in his hand, he stares off at the mass of walking students and he wonders what's he started.
"Ioan," he tries it out on his tongue, wrapping his lips around the syllables. "Hmm," he muses to himself, his fingers tapping across his textbooks as he forces himself to walk to his class. "Let's try you out, then."
***
Ioan can't really justify his presence here. Really, it's a charity. He's already handed over his cheque, shaken hands with all the right people and put on a smile for the pictures. At the moment, there's nothing left to do but enjoy the buffet and the lovely little swizzle sticks they've put in his drink. Fabulous decoration, really. It's quite telling that he's already begun to drift into his lecture for the next day, seeing how well he's memorized his own material. He's already been chided by some woman who put this together about his appearance.
Ioan had been wounded. Really, he'd put on a nice pair of slacks to go with his white button-down, and a sports-coat worked in all occasions. He sighs and grabs another plate of appealing-looking desserts and pieces of fruit, watching as a row of young men and their dates are announced, received to polite applause and a promise that they'll be, "going on the market later!"
Ioan simply wants out.
He'd checked his messages on his mobile just before being rushed inside by eager hands. Hugh had left a message, sounding slightly flustered and everything that Ioan had recalled him as sounding. His stomach flips now at the mere thought and he curses that he didn't get the oppurtunity to call back and at least arrange something. He's desperate for at least dinner of some sort with Hugh. And speaking of dinner, he’s just found a delicious arrangement of strawberries lurking in the back.
"You're mine," he whispers to the fruit.
"And our lovely assistant to the English professors and on auction later tonight..."
Ioan turns now, checking his watch and wondering if they would really notice that he's slipped out the side door. After all, it’s not as though he’s up for auction or anything else terribly important. He curses his plans for escape when he realizes he still hasn't talked to Jeannie from the Library about getting his text on reserve. He grabs another few strawberries to tide himself over.
"...and we'd be absolutely lost without his help in arranging functions for the English department, Mr. Hugh Dancy!"
There's scattered applause and Ioan frowns.
And then he forgets how to react.
Hugh's walked in with a girl on his arm, the both of them looking completely glamorous, like they've stepped off the cover of some magazine. Her gown is a dark green and sparkling in the light, her hair swept up like an old starlet and she looks absolutely radiant. Ioan frowns though, because her radiance still is doing nothing to compare to how well Hugh's looking in his eyes at the moment. He freezes, only recalling that has a plate in his hand when it starts to slip away from him. Hugh’s wearing a tuxedo, complete with cufflinks, cummerbund, and bowtie. His hair doesn't seem too affected -- still all curls everywhere -- and it somehow makes the picture even more appealing as a whole.
Ioan faintly grasps for something that will properly describe this situation so he'll remember it, but there's nothing there. In that one moment, he's forgotten the whole language he's supposed to know like the back of his hand. He blinks, noting that they've moved off and away, out of his vision and he recollects his thoughts long enough to recall that he really didn't think Hugh would be there. He shakes his head, disturbing himself from his reverie and turning his attention back to the strawberries when two voices interrupt him.
"Oh, don't be such a bother," the girl is saying. "Just because they all want you," she drones. "Oh, Hugh," she pitches her voice higher, "I can't live without you! Please, Hugh, please just let me kiss you once, oh, Hugh, I'll die if you don't talk to me!"
"Keira."
"I can sing again if you'd like," she's suggesting. "I'm A Little Teapot was such a hit five seconds ago."
"Keira, love, go away."
Then, suddenly, Hugh is relaxing beside Ioan at the buffett, snatching a strawberry from Ioan’s plate, nimble fingers yanking the fruit away without even asking for permission first. Ioan looks from the hand on his plate to Hugh, raising one eyebrow. Hugh doesn't seem to be affected. He merely smiles with his mouth closed, giving a little wave and then smoothing out his suit.
"Hello," Hugh greets him, his mouth still semi-full.
Ioan bites back his laughter, taking a step back and appraising the suit from head to toe, nodding as he does. He grabs a glass of wine from a passing waitress, knowing he's going to need the aid of some alcohol to get through the night sane. He gives a satisfied nod before stepping back to where he'd been before, and Hugh snatches a chocolate-coated strawberry from Ioan's plate, slowly eating it.
"Your suit is wonderfully made," Ioan comments, taking a sip from his glass.
"Thank you," Hugh says. "I didn't choose it. Rather, I was forced into it."
"Hmm," Ioan laughs. "I know how that can be." He searches for the girl that Hugh had accompanied in and studies her for a moment, noting that she really is a rightly gorgeous girl. With as much subtlety as he could hope to possess, he clears his throat and nods to her. "Who's your date?"
"Date?" Hugh replies, frowning.
"The gorgeous plaything you had attached to your arm," Ioan teases now. He's not a jealous man by nature, and he's always quicker to a joke than he is to a fight.
Hugh sputters now. "Keira?"
"Quite the lovely creature," Ioan confides, in all honesty.
Ioan looks to check Hugh's reaction when he doesn't receive an immediate response. Hugh's looking at him with such pure bewilderment that Ioan's afraid he's done something wrong. Then, suddenly, Hugh breaks out into a gale of loud laughter. "If she knew you were calling her my date, she'd be appalled and you might have a drink in your face. She's a second year. Good friend from way back."
Ioan can't deny that there's something that just may be relief that's flooding his system. His knees relax slightly and all his muscles loosen up as he joins in with Hugh's laughter. With a great sigh that's masked with his laughter, he continues to eat off his plate, Hugh plucking food off. They fall into a comfortable patter of conversation before Hugh slips away to have his soul auctioned away, or rather, to be given to some lucky bidder and raise money for the department.
Ioan allows himself to wander, glad that he didn't bring his wallet or chequing account information with him. He could be in a deep well of trouble if he had money on him.
He hears the catcalls and whistles when Hugh's name is announced, chuckling to himself as he imagines quite correctly that the loudest of those yelling is his young friend Keira. Finally, the room is silenced and a gavel pounds down on the stand, and Ioan is sure that he's misheard the amount of money that Hugh was sold for. He shakes his head, clearing the value from his mind while the next man is announced.
He feels a tug at his sleeve and turns to find Hugh standing there, expectant.
"It's late, I'm tired of being ogled, and you owe me conversation," Hugh orders. Ioan smirks and allows himself to be dragged outside, his coat still inside at the coat check and his wallet still inside the coat, and really, a batch of people he's supposed to talk to. He forgets all about that the moment the door shuts heavily behind them and Hugh exhales loudly into the cold night. "Better," he expresses his pleasure to the sky.
Ioan watches him with bemusement, leaning on the railing.
"Well, don't just sit there," Hugh admonishes him quickly. "There are paths to walk! Things to quote!"
"You're going to be a thorn in my side," Ioan laughs, straightening himself and shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he begins to amble beside Hugh, the both of them walking slowly away from the campus and towards the courtyard and the grand fountain.
"You'll learn to appreciate me," Hugh replies dryly. He sits on the edge of the fountain, the spray of the water drizzling over his hair and face, wetting the back of his tuxedo. In the light of the moon, his smile looks purely innocent and Ioan is once again taken aback. He gives a suggestive grin, leaning back into the fountain slightly. "I can resist anything but temptation," he offers, a challenging glint to his eyes.
No. Ioan's far too good for this child.
"Wilde," Ioan replies easily, raising an eyebrow.
"Damn," Hugh snaps his fingers, wrinkling his nose even as his smile widens. "And here I was hoping I'd charm you with more poetry."
Ioan closes his eyes, trying in vain to recollect the quote he's all too often used in the past as a pick-up line. He shivers slightly as the night air begins to nip at him, but then the quote clicks and he murmurs it softly, feeling every vowel and consonant perfectly on his tongue and lips. "The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself."
Hugh rubs his hands together. "Forbidden," he grins. "I like that."
Ioan shivers again and this time, Hugh seems to notice. He snaps to his feet immediately, stripping himself of his jacket. Ioan's fixated on the way the light of the fountain has seemingly illuminated Hugh as though he were some figure in a Renaissance piece of art. He doesn't even realize that Hugh is holding out the jacket until he nudges him with a gentle, "here."
"Hmm?"
"My jacket. You're cold."
"I'm...brisk."
"You're cold," Hugh responds evenly, clearly not amused. He offers the jacket once more. "Put it on."
Ioan grumbles slightly, taking the jacket and getting into it as best he can, not complaining about the narrowness of the shoulder. It is slightly warmer after all. He gives an appreciative smile and takes off with Hugh again at a slow walk, discussing the subject of rhythm in language.
The night is declared a success when Hugh reaches over to brush 'lint' off the jacket, his fingers lingering at Ioan's shoulder while he recites two lines of a Shakespearean sonnet, the words soft and barely audible -- meant for Ioan's ears alone.
That's when Ioan asks him to dinner.
tbc
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Luv ya!
Gosh, you write the best stuff, woman!
PeeK
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As much as I'm all over the Ioan/Clive angle, girl...this is so great. I adore your characterisations of them as well. So cute!
*goes to read the next part*
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