What if...

... Brad and Schuldich Weren't Psychic?


It was only Crawford's second class of the day, and the room was as 
packed as the first--a sight which had enchanted him. Standing there, 
facing that sea of youthful faces, Crawford could not help but recall 
just why he had chosen to go into teaching. The imparting of 
knowledge, shaping a youngster's life--perhaps even inspiring one or 
two to follow in his footsteps--was thrilling. Heady, even. 

That first rush of excitement, though, was quickly lost, for this 
new group turned out to be a pack of empty-headed idiots. Not one 
question he had posed did anyone answer--and class was twenty minutes 
away from being over. Time ticked by like drops of water from a leaky 
faucet. 

"Stockholm syndrome," Crawford began anew, his brown oxfords clacking 
on the floor as he paced before his desk. "Who can describe that 
condition to me?" 

Not a single voice rose to be heard. Not one hand moved into the 
air. Nudging his glasses back into place, Crawford glowered at the 
group; his patience was thinning.  

"Stockholm syndrome is a condition where a captive begins to feel 
sympathetic to their captor. Can anyone tell me how that condition 
got its name?" 

From his seat in the front row, Peterson, a lanky tow-headed youth 
with a vicious case of acne, none-too-quietly closed his book. He 
didn't even blink when Crawford met his vacant gaze. 

"Can anyone tell me the four responses of Stockholm syndrome?"

Silence. More eyes dropped to desks, to blank notebooks, to the 
window and the sunny quad beyond. Crawford whirled about and 
practically threw his chalk onto the tray. 

"Did anyone here even read the fucking book?!" he bellowed, 
startling more than a few students out of their stupor.

The startled students began fidgeting in their seats like bewildered 
sparrows, and some of the preppier girls giggled over the fact their 
professor had said such a "bad word".  Neither one of these happenings, 
or the yawn from the dozing football player in the back row were 
especially remarkable on their own.  However, in their midst, the door 
to the classroom banged open. It was then a miraculous thing happened.  

For the man who had just come stomping into the classroom raised his 
hand.  A long shadow of his fingers danced over the empty chairs at the 
front of the room.  Not that any of him or his shade stayed in one 
place for too long- he shortly came flouncing down the center aisle of 
desks, answering even though no one had taken the time to call on him.

"Stockholm syndrome happens to have that ridiculous name 'cause it took 
a botched bank robbery- in Stockholm oddly enough -to convince the 
medical community that hostages were and are capable of bonding with 
their captors.  'If I am supportive my captor will not hurt me'.  Of 
course, it's all purely subconscious, a defense mechanism as deliberate 
as most of the results are.  The childlike desire for approval, the 
coddling, the fear of would-be liberators.  The sex."

While Professor Crawford might have been inclined, on better days, to 
behave as if he didn't give one whit about what said captives might be 
doing with their captors, the intruder finished his soliloquy off with 
a lecherous wink and a quick scoot dealt to the frames of his neon pink 
John Lennon glasses.  He then proceeded to yank the nearest copy of the 
class text out of the hands of the girl who was about to use it to swat 
a rather innocent lacewing that had landed in her pencil well.

"C'mon, this happened LAST YEAR, people.  Your book's called 'Current 
Psychology' for a reason!"   

"What do you expect from such troglodytes as these, who only care 
about when they'll next get laid? Not that a longing for sex makes 
them troglodytes, oh, no," Crawford quickly amended. "I suspect they 
were born that way." 

No one grumbled at the slight, though Crawford certainly had their 
attention now--or rather, both professors did. For only a blind 
person could avoid granting Schuldich his or her attention. 

"You see? If he were a student of mine, he undoubtedly would have 
passed this course," Crawford began, addressing his now alert 
audience as he settled himself on the edge of his desk, and loosened 
the wide white collar of his pale blue paisley shirt. 

"You are quite knowledgeable on this matter, Professor," he said, with 
a bold look of admiration. "It seems you have done quite a bit of 
research on the topic." 

"Well, aside from getting to hear you practice your lectures in bed, I 
*do* read the textbooks you're reviewing for the next semester while 
waiting in the aforementioned bed for you."

Schuldich meanwhile tired of fiddling with his glasses and left them in 
favor of lighting a cigarette.  Or at least, trying to.  He had no 
sooner gotten the fag out of the pocket of his bell bottom jeans then 
one of the particularly sinewy students all the way in the back 
shrieked, "That's gross, man!"

The intruding professor pouted and rolled his eyes.  "What? Admin knows 
I have an oral fixation.  I discussed this at length with them after 
they hired me.  Long as it doesn't interfere with my work, they don't 
give a flying..."  

"Yeah but," began the scrawny, blond creature presently half sprawled 
in the boy's lap.  "You're the sex ed instructor, Professor Marlow.  
Haven't you ever read, 'All You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex But Were 
Afraid to Ask?' 'One penis...'" she blushed so madly on uttering the 
word 'penis' that her nose began to sweat, "'plus one penis equals 
nothing.'"

After an almost thoughtful puff of smoke, Schuldich openly applauded 
the girl's extracurricular diligence.  "Very good.  Shame you don't 
read your psych book that well.  But hey, you want somethin' juicy? You 
gotta do what you gotta do.  Anyway, yes, I have read it.  I've found a 
very interesting use for it, too."

He gave a smoky whistle and with its trill summoned up a second young 
lady, this one quite the opposite of the petit blond.  Her hair was 
unkempt, but not dirty, and she was plainly braless.  There were 
feathers on her glasses and fringes on her vest.  She bore the enormous 
black book in question as if it were a dead fish, but wielded it more 
like a mace, bringing it down first on the impeccably manicured fingers 
of her rival for Professor Marlow's attention, and second on the crotch 
of that rival's boyfriend.  Both burst into tears and ran screaming 
from the room. 

"Thanks, Maybel."

"Don't mention it," Schuldich's student quite unabashedly helped 
herself to her mentor's cigarette and went skipping from the room.  

"Charming girl--already burned her bra, too, I see. I would say it 
was a pity that women didn't do anything for me, but...I'm not a damn 
bit regretful." Crawford edged off the corner of his desk. "About 
anything." 

Schuldich looked awfully pleased over his lover's admission, for he 
grinned at him most saucily as Crawford made his way to the middle of 
the centermost aisle. His students watched, some agape and some 
silently cheering him on as he slipped first his glasses off, and 
then Schuldich's, letting them dangle from his curled fingers as he 
unhurriedly, smolderingly kissed him. Almost as one, the crowd 
surrounding them gasped (though the effect was ruined by those few 
who chose to giggle and whoop in support of the professors' 
brazenness). The couple ignored them all, drawing into an embrace so 
tight that Crawford could feel the telltale bulge of his lover's 
penis snug against his own. It didn't help matters at all when 
Schuldich hitched his hips so that their cocks nuzzled each other, 
robbing him of coherent speech or thought. 

"Do it!" came a whisper to their left--that from a pretty girl who 
sported an afro, a brown peasant blouse, and a pair of faded 
bellbottoms whose legs were adorned with red and purple butterflies. 
Her motion was echoed by a handful of others, but neither man seemed 
to hear them. Not until the bell in the church tower had rung, 
signaling the end of classes, did they end the kiss. 

Awkwardly settling his glasses upon his face, Crawford pulled away 
from Schuldich just enough to be able to glare at all those who 
ringed them. "Show's over. Get the hell out of here," he 
ordered. "And don't come back unless you intend to try for a 'B' or 
higher!"

"Yeah," Schuldich chimed in, "And nobody'll be doing *it* in this 
classroom unless everyone at least passes!"

The usual rush of post-class chatting ground into sticky, shocked 
quiet and then back again to breathless wonder, some less thrilled than 
others.  Some of the more conservatively clad students were I-nevering 
incessantly as gulls while Crawford's lovely girl and her ilk whispered 
cool as surf spatters, and he didn't mind thinking of it that way- the 
noise was almost culpable.

But then again, it almost always was around Professor Marlow, Professor 
Schuldich to his students and his lover.  And he lived for it, not that 
he let any of this less than chaste elation steal over him as he waved 
farewell to Crawford's students, their scowls and smiles alike.

As soon as the last straggler padded into the hallway, he yawned,  
"Hehe, I'd LOVE to see what they'd do if I showed up at the end of 
class every day! You think they'd file a complaint or just get usedta 
it?"

"Probably about half-and-half," said Crawford, abandoning his lover 
in the aisle for the chance to gather his belongings from the 
desk. "Of course, it's not like we don't have a reputation as it 
is." 

Shoving his books and papers into his coffee-stained, green canvas 
satchel, Crawford gave him a look that glinted with wicked humor. "I 
gather most of the kids who sign up for this particular class are 
only hoping to be treated to a spectacle of some sort. Which, with 
your help, I was able to provide today. Ah, if only they'd stayed 
longer." 

Crawford laced the straps through the skinny metal buckles, only to 
drop the bag into the hard-backed red chair behind the desk--the one 
he never rested in save for exams. In a few strides, he had 
Schuldich in his arms again, and was kissing him with his usual 
teasing passion. 

"Shall we take up where we left off?"

"Hmm, you know they're expecting us to make a scene in the cafeteria."

Schuldich only pushed himself away and slipped after his breath as best 
he could without leaving his lover's embrace all together.  His eyes 
were closed, the pink of his lips deeper than bruises alone should left 
it. 

"I gave my extra lecture on how relative the perverse is.  You know 
what that means; going down that list of medieval penances for 
homosexuals.  Simple kissing- six special fasts.  Licentious kissing- 
eight special fasts.  Kissing with embrace- ten special fasts.  Mutual 
masturbation- twenty days penance.  One hundred days for a second 
offense... Only time all semester I have to stop myself from laughing."

Stop himself from earning another ten days penance he did not though.  
Schuldich let his tongue slip from the rosy crevice of Crawford's 
mouth, and with blind grace caressed his lovers lips until they opened, 
and the slick muscle there answered his intrusions.

For awhile at least.  It was suddenly he swept away, still without an 
answer outright, though he gave that much when he locked the door and 
spun the blinds on its window closed.  He sat down on Professor 
Crawford's desk with newly naked foot propped on the same edge where he 
steadied himself.

"Not the only time I manage to get myself this bothered and kick the 
brats out so I can come see you but annnnnnnyway."

"Hm. Just like you to give impressionable youth such ideas and then  
turn them loose upon the sunshiny morning. No doubt they're all off  
sinning somewhere. Under trees, in locker rooms, under covers in  
incense-scented rooms..."  
 
Crawford had drawn close to him then--near enough to tap the naked  
sole of Schuldich's upraised foot with two fingers. "You've given me  
enough ideas..."  
 
They kissed lightly, the briefest touch of lips. Eyes closed,  
Crawford palmed the ball of his lover's cold foot; stroked hard the  
shifting bones and stretching tendons his digits encountered. He  
felt Schuldich loosely gather the folds of his shirt in his hands,  
clinging to him even as they tempted each other with sly flickers of  
their tongues, the tickling of their breath.  
 
Crawford hooked his roaming hand under Schuldich's bent knee, and  
drew it forward across his hip, making his lover shift his weight  
fully upon the desk. Crawford hastily wrapped an arm around him,  
supporting him, holding him still for another nibbling brush of his  
mouth.  
 
"Want me to show you just what you've inspired?"

The wet warmth of his lover's mouth slunk to the edge of his collar, 
tracing skin and cotton until Schuldich had reached the button there- 
that he took, and he sucked for awhile before pushing the sliver of 
plastic through its eyelet with his tongue.  His nose he ran over 
Crawford's throat, swaying through his aftershave for awhile until he 
finally treated himself to the tender well of flesh between his collar 
bones.

"Does it involve sucking me off?"

Brad didn't pull away, didn't make any noise at all, but his toying 
with the ends of his lover's hair grew somewhat slower and more aimless 
than before.

"What? I want my four year's penance.  C'mon.  I'm really hot..."

He didn't need any proof, but just the same quieted his gasps and lead 
his lover's hand between his legs- the front of his trousers was very 
warm indeed, much tighter than it had been when he first stormed into 
the classroom.  Then again, the same went for his lover's trousers, and 
he didn't hesitate to arch against them, catch his Brad's hand between 
their bodies.

Amidst the rustling over their clothing, the playful click of their  
frames as they kissed, came Crawford breathless voice. "Hot. Yeah,  
that's an understatement."  
 
He maneuvered his hand so it covered the whole of Schuldich's cock  
from root to tip, and there he gave him a little squeeze, making him  
tremble. Schuldich stifled a moan against Crawford's chest, biting  
him hard just above one nipple in retaliation. Brad forced him  
back with a sharp nudge of shoulder to his forehead, lowered him to  
the desk with a kiss.  
 
"Poor baby," he whispered. "Can't have you be uncomfortable."  
 
He rose then, pausing only to raise his shirt-tail above his stomach  
before he left him. The chair Crawford usually ignored landed with a  
noisome clatter at the edge of the desk where Schuldich's legs  
dangled. Crawford swung himself onto the seat, settling one of  
Schuldich's limbs over his shoulder, and balancing the bare foot of  
the other upon his thigh. Grasping his hips, Crawford coaxed him  
forward until his straining, still-concealed cock lay just mere  
inches away.  
 
Schuldich lay quietly panting as Crawford rubbed his cheek against  
his lover's thigh, his fingers working the fastenings of his jeans  
open, dragging the garment down his hips as far as he could. His  
cock quivered as it came free. Crawford allowed himself a moment's  
admiration of it, before he leaned in to trace its underside with his  
tongue; he crested the tip, and dipped back down to the red-gold hair  
rimming its root, tasting of his musky-honey flavor. His mouth began  
to water, and a delicious ache traversed from his own cock, and  
spread all through him.  
 
"No one makes me as hungry as you do."

Schuldich did little more than purr at what he had said, though the 
sound wasn't one purely of contentment- it had a knowing gleam to it.  
But then again, so did his candor, the silken movements of his hips as 
he shifted.  Though he did curl his toes around his lover's pants to 
keep himself steady.  

Would tumbling off the desk have bothered him all that much? Well, 
falling off the bed was usually a good thing, as was falling off the 
couch, falling off a friend's couch, falling off the dining room table... 

Not that Schuldich felt very much anywhere as Brad sighed against his 
blood-warm skin and kissed the lowest curve of his belly- it was just 
enough to make him start.

"Do that."

He listened, but only because he felt like listening and letting his 
tongue drip velvety soft over professor Marlow's skin until his breath 
turned to sighs and he could taste his heartbeats surely as his want.

Schuldich threw one arm over his face, took one of his nipples in his 
finger tips and let his foot slide down against his lover's crotch.

Through the sudden tightening of his hands upon his lover's thighs, an 
abrupt skipping of his teeth along the crease marking limb from torso, 
Crawford demonstrated his appreciation of Schuldich's thoughtfulness. 
For a moment, their eyes met across the plain of Schuldich's body, and 
then the redhead broke the spell with a wave of his hand across 
Crawford's face. His fingers skimmed the mussed, dark strands of his 
hair as he bent to kiss the tip of his cock. 

His hands surged upwards over Schuldich's sides, and on the neglected 
nub of his nipple, Crawford's thumb descended, circling it slowly. He 
echoed the movement with his tongue, ringing the crown of his sex. And 
there, he paused, considering his options as Schuldich worked his penis 
into full blown life with the scrunching of his toes. 

Crawford didn't ask his permission, just raised his head from where 
he'd rested it against Schuldich's hip, and caught him up in his arms, 
dragging him off the desk and into his arms. Hungrily, he kissed him, 
his hands impatiently brushing aside the garments that clung to 
Schuldich's lanky frame. His own he loosened just as hastily as they 
moved to the center aisle of the room. 

"So I'll wash your back tonight, and your hair," he said, nudging him a 
few steps backward until Schuldich's heels touched the flattened red 
pile of the rug. "Every single inch of you, if you want. It's worth it 
to be able to have you right here, where so many students have passed 
this morning."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you read my mind."

And Schuldich, at hearing himself and their old joke, began to laugh as 
if he was very, very stoned.  He had to dig his nails into Brad's 
shoulders to keep from keeling over, not that he would have minded 
keeling over all that much now.  When they kissed, he spluttered and 
nearly bit his lover's tongue and for that Crawford grabbed his ass and 
pressed their hips closer and closer together, till they were both 
giddy and panting.  It was Schuldich tore himself away and sat down on 
the floor, his hands still bound around the arms that had swept his 
clothes away, and his cheeks bright red.

"You and your carpet fetish.  If I get rug burn, are you gonna rub 
lotion on me? If I cut myself on a stray staple, will you lick my blood 
away?"

Brad didn't say anything to this- just pounced.  He and Schuldich met 
the floor with a loud thump and a jingle of the pens still straying 
over his desk.  From there, they tumbled through a fit of stray 
caresses offered with hands and thighs and lips.  Schuldich's hair 
caught on his lover's glasses.  

When they both found themselves comfortable at last, Crawford still lay 
atop Schuldich, albeit upside down and with his mouth tantalizingly shy 
of his lover's oozy tip.

"So I like to roll you on the carpet. It's not as if you're strictly a 
'vanilla' kind of guy. Or are you?" 

With that, he flicked his tongue over Schuldich's tip, tasting of his 
bittersweet precum. He felt his lover's fingers squeeze his naked 
thighs, and he laughed soft and breathy over the length that hovered 
just millimeters from his lips. 

"I'll take that as a negative," said Crawford before he parted his lips 
over the head of Schuldich's penis and embraced him with his mouth in 
one swoop. He bobbed twice down his length, just to tease a gasp out of 
him. 

"Come on," he whispered. "I know you want me like I want you."

Schuldich's only audible answer was the loud thump their bodies made as 
he tossed himself and his lover onto their sides.  He held Brad's hips 
and kissed him between his legs as he might have on his mouth.  This 
until they were both gasping, torn between straining for skin or air.  
Neither quite ready to relent.  After that, no more waiting.  "Happy?" 
He asked.  Not that there was time enough to answer.

He took all of Crawford's warm cock into his mouth and sucked him so 
hard his lips grew pale.  Oh, but he could still grin, and he did as 
his gasping lover caressed his thigh in to make him hold still and 
lunged, swallowed him whole, let his tongue brush against his balls 
with each none-to-gentle dip.

For awhile, all that could be heard was the rustle of their partially 
clothed bodies writhing on that carpeted scrap of the floor, the wet 
smacking of their mouths on each other's flesh; the harsh rasp of their 
breaths. Crawford buried himself between Schuldich's legs, one such 
long limb now braced under one arm across his ribs, allowing him more 
access. Light fell across that part of his lover's anatomy, formerly 
bathed in grey shadow; he could more clearly see his fragile balls 
where they lay nestled shyly together in their bed of dull gold floss. 
With a secret grin, Crawford withdrew Schuldich's cock from his mouth, 
and held it to his chest instead, along his breastbone where he stroked 
it as he leaned closer to sigh gently over his testicles. 

Schuldich started in his embrace, hips abruptly bumping against his 
shoulders. Dealing a tiny lick to one ball, Crawford softly laughed. 

"You're not the only one who can tease." 

And he lunged forward to graze Schuldich's perineum with his teeth.

"I hate you!" Schuldich moaned in answer.  "I hate you! I FUCKING HATE 
YOU!" But his cock stirred against his lover's chest and he squirmed 
beneath him, fighting not to free himself but to drive his skin tight 
against Brad's teasing lips.

"I hate you so much... oh..."

But where he could not scream how much or beg to be nibbled on, he 
quieted himself by sucking hard on Crawford as he eased him down into 
his throat.  His lover obliged him, going limp and pliant in his arms 
even as he strained to bite at him, just gently, or what was gentle 
between the two of them.  Schuldich sighed, and obliged him with a 
quick fumble of his ass, a few red marks where his fingers had ground 
into his thighs.  

It was gently be bobbed up and down over his lover's cock, rocking in 
time with his licks and his kisses.  At least until he came, which was 
with his nails in Brad's back and his legs latched around Brad's 
shoulders.

But, unfortunately for Brad, not with his dick in Brad's mouth.

"Aa... whoops."

Given that semen now clung like a web to the long locks framing his 
face, and oozed down his cheeks and chin to drip daintily onto his 
chest, "whoops," seemed too mild an utterance. 

"Ah...damn," he grumbled as he sat up to take in the damage. With a 
swipe of his finger, he interrupted a small glob of cum from its 
inching downward journey across one pectoral. "You and your 
sensitive groin.  I would haverather had you cum in my mouth."  

To prove his point, Crawford licked his finger clean with relish.

"Eh, it was an accident.  You know I get carried away when you start 
chewing on me."  Schuldich shrugged, his movement jostling his lover's 
legs before he bent and took him in his mouth again, after having 
added, "Oh, and same to you."

He clung to Brad's hips and heaved himself from the matted carpet, 
bringing his lover's cock deep into his silken throat.  There was no 
movement this time- he simply sucked, and licked and swallowed around 
his tip until he felt him start to tighten.  It was only the tip he 
nursed after that, slurping at his head until he tasted bitter salt and 
Crawford had collapsed atop him.

Schuldich mumbled quite sarcastically, "There there," as he extricated 
himself from his lover's now very rumpled school clothes.  So freed, he 
committed himself once more to Brad's embrace, flopping down beside him 
as he began to lick his own cum from his lover's hair.

"It's all copasetic."  

"The department head might not agree. He didn't look too happy last 
Tuesday when he caught us with our pants down in my office. I'm still 
not sure if he was angry or jealous, though..." 

Crawford drew a limp lock of his hair from his lover's lips, then 
kissed them, tasting traces of himself and his lover on Schuldich's 
tongue. They settled closer into each other's arms, and Brad ceased 
toying with his mouth in favor of sucking and biting on his neck. 

"Of course, it might have been both. It's always hard to tell with 
him." 

Schuldich rolled him away with his shoulder, meaning to leave him, but 
he submitted to another kiss when Brad grabbed him, and drew him down. 
His neck glowed with kiss marks, echoing the few he'd left on his 
thighs in bed that morning. 

"What are you doing tonight? I want to take you out."

"Waiting for you to take me out," a smirk ghosted over Schuldich's lips 
as he leaned over and set them to Brad's nipple. Of course, they both 
more or less still had their shirts on, and so his bite left a tell-
tale wet mark on his lover's chest. He figured it was payback for the 
stupid question- not the bites. He liked to show those off to his 
curious students, compare if they had any marks of their own.

As such, he wasn't especially concerned about what buttons of his had 
been injured. 

"You remembered to throw your chaps in the back of the van, right? 
'cause that things too hard to park if we go where I think you wanna 
go. And my bike misses you."

Crawford just rolled his eyes and gave his glasses a tap with his 
fingertip and Professor Marlow managed to slink away from him and 
refasten his fly. 

"In the mean time, we're expected in the cafeteria. I say we don't 
freshen up."

"I second that. Mid-terms are coming: I'm sure the kids are sorely in 
need of a diversion, however small." 

Crawford dragged his trousers on, zipped up, and then got to his feet. 
He raked his drooping bangs out of his eyes, wiped his spermy hands 
on his pants legs, then gathered up his packed green satchel from 
where he'd dropped it. 

"Okay, we'll go on the bike. The van's making odd noises anyway. I 
thought it wasn't going to make it to school when I left out this 
morning." Crawford tugged at the bag's frayed straps as he headed 
towards his lover, whoawaited him in the aisle. 

"As for what we do...I'd just like to ride downtown, see what's going 
on," he added, wrapping an arm around Schuldich's waist. "My students 
have been talking about clubs and bars that have just opened, but I've 
been so buried in work, I haven't had a chance to get out. If we get 
hungry, we'll go by that vegetarian restaurant the Hare Krishnas run." 

Professor Marlow licked his lips and shortly glossed them with the 
curve of his lover's fingers where he had captured them. He said, his 
voice feathery and sensuous, "MMM! Hare Krishna celery!" and laughing, 
bolted from the door.  

He got about ten feet before he bumped into the very football player he 
had earlier arranged for Maybel to assault.  The lad presently took off 
like a rabbit who had a hungry fox chomping at its tail.

Neither very stunned nor very amused, Schuldich put himself to rights 
(which involved rezipping his fly, pawing at his hair and righting his 
glasses with his middle finger at the exact instant several girls with 
well-known religious predilections were passing) and once his lover had 
stopped laughing, escorted Crawford down the hall at an irritated clip.

The cafeteria was centrally located in the quad adjacent to the 
library, providing easy access for all the university's faculty and 
students. It wasn't just a place to eat, though, but a place for 
students to gather and mingle. At that hour of the day, it tended to be 
crowded, filled with diners and those who simply craved some coffee and 
a chance to catch up with their friends. 

The dull roar of voices raised in conversation grew louder as Crawford 
swung open the outer door. A few students passed by them, trays in hand, 
on their way to the tables that stood outside. At the inner entrance, 
they parted, and Crawford headed off to snatch a veggie sandwich, an 
apple, a cup of blueberry yogurt, and some coffee before making his 
way to the dining room. 

It was square in shape, marked here and there by block pillars covered 
with white-speckled black tile; the floor was covered in black 
linoleum, and battered wooden tables stood widely scattered across it. 
By far it was a dismal place, not unlike a cave in that regard. He 
wouldn't have eaten there at all except for the fact that one wall was 
entirely made of glass; the view from there was of the Botany club's 
Shakespearean garden. He made a beeline for the row of tables along the 
windows, but not a one seemed to be empty. He was on the verge of 
abandoning his search when someone called his name. 

"Professor Crawford!" 

He turned around and spotted a hand waving frantically at him from 
above the sea of bobbing heads. It happened to belong to one of his 
graduate students, one Alec Cassault. As Crawford walked towards him, 
the boy rose from his seat, and waved him towards the two chairs that 
stood empty at the other side of the long table.  All the 
others had been claimed by students that both he and his lover knew. 

"C'mon, have a seat," said a boy at his elbow, one with long, light 
brown hair and piercing blue eyes. 

"Thanks. You're Richard, right?" 

"Yeah." With a smile for Crawford, Richard resumed his study of the 
board before him; he and Alec were in the middle of a game of chess. 

"Who's winning?" Crawford asked. 

"I am," said Alec smartly. "But I usually do." 

"You sometimes do," countered Richard as he made his next move. 
"Check." With a smirk, he sat back in his seat. "Try and get out that 
one, Alec." 

Crawford grinned, catching the eye of a girl who sported long, black 
braids. To the side of her tray lay a Russian copy of Crime & 
Punishment. 

"Hello, Emily."

"Hello, Professor Crawford. How odd it is to see you here alone. 
Wherever is your companion?" 

"Oh, I suspect he's terrorizing some member of the staff. Does wonders 
for his appetite, you know."

Just as the other students were nodding, a hoard of girls on the other 
side of the room shrieked.  Such things were not especially unusual: 
the cooks were not the most sober of people, the floor not the firmest 
place to stand when it happened to be coffee-slicked, and the streakers 
still known to now and then cross the quad never especially inclined to 
wait until dusk.  Why, the only remarkable thing about the situation 
was that all the girls in question happened to be from Schuldich's 
beloved Christian club.  They were easy to spot that afternoon- the 
bright orange fliers they happened to be handing made them hard to 
miss.  Presently, they all vacated the cafeteria, littering in their 
wake.  Several were blushing.  One looked about to sob with rage.  

Professor Marlow sighed, finished whatever he was doing at the counter, 
and paid the cashier.  Bearing a plate of ranch dressing with some 
vegetables and cursory croutons floating in it, he wandered over to the 
table where his lover waited, and sat down.  He gave only a wave of 
hello before he began to slurp away at his lunch.

After a few moments of inquisitive silence (and a missed chance for a 
checkmate on Richard's part) that he volunteered any information.  
"What? They asked if I'd come pray with 'em and I wanted to know if I 
could bring my sister and her pet goat.  Anything else that came out of 
that conversation was their imagination, not mine."

"So saith the Devil," replied Crawford as he swiped his spoon through 
his yogurt. "Tell me, O Dark One, how many innocent maids and men have 
you tempted this week?" 

A chuckle rose around the table, and Alec piped up with a toss of his 
sleek golden brown hair, "He hasn't tried to tempt me as of yet." 

"Of course not," said Richard evenly. "You don't qualify. And..." he 
reached over the board to take Alec's king. "Checkmate."

With a smile, Richard kissed the crown of the newly won king, and then 
set the piece at the edge of Schuldich's tray. 

"My lord, will you accept this as tribute?"

Schuldich, who had been looking out the window (there was presently a 
spat in the parking lot he had nothing to do with) at the time the king 
alighted on his try, nearly stabbed it with his dressing-slathered 
fork.  It was, after all, nearly the same color as the croutons.  Emily 
snickered into her book until the pages stuck to her nose.
 
But the professor took his misinterpretation in stride, and having 
licked his fork clean and set it aside, tossed the hapless king into 
the air as if he expected it would land heads or tails up like a coin.  
"You of all my servants know there's nothing I like better than a 
hapless ruler for my collection."

But having said so, he took a minute to inspect the cafeteria.  There 
were no administrators about, and what faculty there was dining 
presently happened to be sealed away in the staff room.

"Of course, you should know I'll still need to seal the contract the 
usual way... for students not presently in my class that is."

Without giving Richard much time at all to answer, Professor Marlow 
leaned across the table, seized the boy by the collar of his shirt and 
kissed him hard on the mouth. 

Emily's dark eyes widened with delight over the top shelf of her book, 
and a few catcalls rose from the tables around them. Alec blithely 
began to reorder the pieces on the board. 

"No, stop. He's mine," he drawled laconically. "Give him back."

"You don't sound as if you want him," murmured Crawford, who looked on 
with interest.

"He never does," gasped Richard, who had finally been released from his 
bruising kiss, though Schuldich still held him by the shirt. 

"The Devil wants an answer," said Crawford as he picked at a bit of 
tomato that dangled from one side of his sandwich. "I wouldn't keep him 
waiting." 

But Richard paused anyway, licking at his moist, reddened lips. And 
then he leaned over and gave Schuldich a ardent kiss of his own. 

"I should have become your servant years ago."

"Mnn, why rush?" Professor Marlow asked, though there was nothing in 
his heady gaze that made it seem he wanted any answer at all from 
Richard.  Or Richard's shirt, which he only spared the slightest glance 
as the topmost button on it gave way.  Another day and he might well 
have unfastened the rest, but for now he merely winked at his audience, 
and folded his long fingers in the boy's hair.

"And even I wouldn't want to spoil... other delights for you.  At least, 
not right away."

Alec bit his lips and shook his head, not especially nonplussed at the 
time that boyfriend happened to be nibbling Schuldich's ear.

"C'est la vie.  Now that you are mine, who else shall we corrupt first? 
Lord Alec or Lady Emily?"

With a snort for the title he'd been given, Alec placed the last black 
pawn in its square. Richard shot him a glance, but the other boy didn't 
grace him with a look. 

"I say we work our wickedness on Emily first. She'll be more of a 
challenge than Alec." He leaned in a little, his voice dropping to a 
whisper. "He's far less pure than she."

At that, Alec's startling emerald eyes finally swept over Richard, 
freezing his breath in his lungs. For a moment, he forgot about where 
he was and who he was in company with. 

Emily, though, did not. Still peeping at them over the edge of her 
book, she looked as if she were torn between curiosity and fear. At 
last, though, she firmly closed the book and set it to one side, trying 
very hard to look businesslike despite the odd excited gleam in her 
black eyes. 

"Give it a shot, O Dark One."

Across the table, Crawford bit back a grin.

Schuldich nodded, and beckoned to Richard.  The boy let his hand steal 
over his former professor's hair as he took his chair over to the far 
end of the table.  They sat on either side of Emily now, neither near 
enough to touch, and neither giving any sort of overt attention to her- 
Professor Marlow occupied himself for some moments merely batting his 
eyes at his boyfriend proper, and Richard dandled a few chess pieces 
for the sake of distraction.

Slowly, Schuldich's palm crept onto Emily's thigh.  He felt out the 
seam of her jeans before he caressed her there.  Richard took this as 
his cue and did very much the same before he took one of the girl's 
braids in his hand and held it to his lips.  He kissed her there and 
all along the plait until he reached her neck, and there he bit.

"Be nice," the professor told him, even as he spun the Emily where she 
sat so her back was to him.  Richard nibbled her lips, and he took her 
breasts against his palms.  She wore no bra, so when her nipples grew 
taught beneath his touch he could feel every tiny detail of them.

At least until Alec whispered hoarsely, "Dr. Fujimiya, ten o'clock."

They were all back to their lunches in scarcely a heartbeat.  

Unfortunately, their attentiveness scarcely made a difference, for Dr. 
Fujimiya had spotted them as he neared those tables by the windows. It 
was hard not to notice them, what with all the attention they were 
getting from the surrounding students. 

Hastily nudging of his square black hornrims into place with one 
knuckle, he sidled up to their table, where he paused, imperiously 
glaring at all of them. In his pale blue, wide-lapeled sport coat, 
starched white shirt, dark blue paisley tie and light grey trousers, he 
looked more the part of a professor than did his counterparts--despite 
the fact that it was his first semester there. 

"I take it all the cheap hotels are booked this time of day." 

With a slight smirk for his lover, Crawford turned to their colleague. 
"Well, now, I wouldn't know about that, Ran. I never am in need of a 
room." 

"So I see..."

"From what I hear, though," Crawford smugly added, "you are." 

Ran frowned deeply at him. "Why are you so interested in my private 
life?" 

Schuldich grinned up at his colleague and carefully re-arranged his 
wayward hand on the table-top.  "Well, we do work with you.  It's only 
natural for us to be interested in your life and well-being.  I don't 
think you can really blame us for that."

He paused long enough to make a point of stealing his lover's spoon, 
licking it clean, and then using it to slurp up some dressing which had 
no lettuce to hold it.  

"And besides, when you applied here for a job, you didn't REALLY think 
this was a traditional college, now did you?"

"Strangely enough, I did," said Ran. "But then, I'm sure the President 
of the College has no idea about how his certain members of his staff 
conducts themselves with their students. Otherwise, he would have 
divulged such information to me."

Alec twirled the still mateless white queen between his fingers. "Would 
he?" he drawled. "Somehow I doubt it." 

"And if anyone would know, it would be Alec," chimed Richard, who 
daringly kissed Emily's hand. 

"Whatever are you talking about, Richard? You were there, too." 

"Ah, yes. So I was." 

Over the row of trays, they shared a smile, one which Crawford fondly 
echoed. Ran, however, looked somewhat appalled at their implication.   

"You mean...You and the President...?"

"My," crooned Alec. "You are the quick one." He let the queen tip back 
into place on the board. "Why don't you sit down and join us? Play a 
game with me." 

But Ran only scowled. "No." 

"Yes, it's best you don't waste your time with him," replied Crawford. 
"He's anti-social."

"Really now? He struck me more as schizotypal," mused Professor Marlow 
as he lifted his plate up to drink from- the spoon was proving entirely 
useless at that point.  "Ah well.  You're the psychology teacher." 

Crawford nodded and his lover, who, finding himself short on napkins, 
dabbed up his ranch dressing moustache with a corner of Dr. Fujimiya's 
coat which had suffered the misfortune of remaining too long in his 
grasp.

If Emily was more shocked by this or the kiss Richard took the time to 
deal her ear, it was hard to tell indeed.  Either way, neither seemed 
to disgust her horribly much.

What she thought of Alec's dignified exit from the scene that was on 
the verge of erupting, no one knew. Richard had coaxed her into a full-
on kiss, and so Emily was suitably distracted--so much so that she 
hardly skipped a beat when she wound her fingers through Richard's hair 
and combed Alec's as well. He had settled himself behind his lover, and 
was nibbling at the back of Richard's neck. 

Crawford, on the other hand, was visibly torn. Who would be the more 
entertaining to watch? Expectantly, he shifted his attention to their 
colleague, and Ran, as if in unconscious heeding of his cue, coldly 
replied. 

"I will be sending you a bill for my jacket." Fujimiya looked as if 
he'd just swallowed a mouthful of spoiled milk. 

"He'll only tear it up," goaded Crawford. 

"Then I'll sue him in small claims." 

"And you'll be ridiculed out of court for wasting the judge's time." 

Fujimiya said nothing, only stared at Crawford as if he were wishing 
him dead; in fact, Brad was sure that he was. He countered his attack 
by audibly slurping his coffee, and continued with his lunch as if 
there wasn't an irate redhead standing over him and whispering curses 
under his breath. 

"I'm not finished with you," he said, daring to tear one handed at 
Schuldich's shirt in retaliation; a pair of buttons flew through the 
air and chattered merrily away across the ghastly floor. Dr. Fujimiya 
stormed away in their wake, avoiding the amused gazes of the students 
who'd witnessed their exchange. Crawford grinningly lifted his coffee 
up to Fujimiya's retreating back. 

"Ah, there's nothing like seeing old friends."

"Or finding out those old friends are awful good at button tearing," 
Professor Marlow replied.  

"What on earth do you mean?" Emily asked with what little time her lips 
were her own between the dawdling of both boys upon her.  

"I mean I think SOMEBODY'S got a squeeze or at least a kinky side.  I 
mean, look how he took them clean off! The thread's hardly stretched, 
just busted."

"You would be a connoisseur of ruined shirts," sniggered Alec.

"Yes, actually I would be.  Many other things besides.  Speaking of 
which..." After a moment's fumbling around in his pocket, he came up with 
a set of keys which he threw into their midst.  Someone caught them, 
and someone sighed.  "If you guys wanna keep an eye on the good doctor 
when you can, I'll let you borrow my van this afternooooooo~on.  And 
what do you know, it's after noon now!"

"You are an awfully trusting soul," said Alec with a happy jingle of 
the keys. "What do you say, children? Shall we take advantage of our 
professor's good nature?" 

"Mmm, yes," breathed Emily against his cheek. One of her braids had 
come undone in the crush of caresses, but she didn't seem to notice it. 
The hand Richard had managed to slip under her skirt had proved to be 
suitably distracting. Spying the bulge of his knuckles between her 
thighs, Alec struck. 

"Save something for later, Richard," he hissed. "Or have you forgotten 
how easily Emily comes?" 

Emily giggled, and with one last kiss for Alec, she grabbed her book 
and tore away from their collective arms. Richard, looking less 
chagrined than Alec reckoned he ought to be, stalked off after her, 
ever the hunter. Alec, though, rang the keys in Schuldich's ear, 
followed with a lush kiss to his mouth, purring, "If we damage anything 
of value, you can punish me later." 

And then he left him, winding down the same path his lovers had gone. 
Across the table, Crawford and Schuldich shared a secretive smile. 

"Ah, the young. They're so...hungry. I do find such joy in them." 
Leaning over, Crawford held out a bite of apple for Schuldich to 
sample. 

"What do you think of our sullen colleague though? Does he have a 
lover? I have heard a rumor that he's taken up with another member of 
the faculty, but no one's actually caught them in the act, as it were."

Professor Marlow took a rather enormous bite of his lover's apple and 
pondered a moment as he chewed. "If he does, I could almost feel sorry 
for the imbecile."

It was of course much less than common that he would make a remark 
regarding any sort of sympathy for another human being, even if that 
sympathy was plucked from scorn and sarcasm to begin with. Brad 
contemplated his lover's almost-change of heart a moment and bit where 
his lips had brushed the apple.

"Looks like we're on the lookout from now on, eh? There's gotta be an 
opportunity for compromising pictures sooner or later."

"Oh, yes," drawled Crawford. "And think of what we could do with them: 
blow them up to poster size and hang them on the notice board in the 
student center. Blackmail him. Perhaps we could even sell them to one 
of those underground gay porn mags, if the shots are juicy enough."

Schuldich nodded, though as he did so he was clearly more interested in 
rooting around in his back pocket, which he did with much gusto.  
Several quarters, crushed cigarette wrappers and a condom later, he 
finally came up with what he had been searching for.

"You mean like this?" he asked as he flashed his lover a somewhat less 
than tame image of they two entangled in a bathtub, Professor 
Crawford's ass towards the camera being occupied by an icicle penis and 
the corner of Schuldich's tongue as he leered at the camera from under 
his knit cap (the only thing he was wearing besides a silver cock 
ring).

The caption read "January '72 Photo Contest Winner".

Professor Crawford took the picture, folded it up neatly, and crammed 
it into his wallet as he swept off.