Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Professor Sex
A stack of papers tumbled from Henry’s laptop case, landing haphazardly on the floral-patterned carpet. Bugger he thought. He’d forgotten to zip his case in his haste to flee the seminar room. With a loud sigh, he bent to gather the scattered papers. Could this day suck a little more, please? He’s at his wits end thinking about the three-day conference ahead of him. Already after day one, he’s ready to lock himself in his tiny hotel room, with a well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice, an episode of the Great British Bake-Off and a bubble bath.
A chorus of ‘chug, chug, chug, chug’ followed by enthusiastic cheers came from across the lobby near the elevators. Well someone was having a good time tonight. It certainly wasn’t him.
He crammed the papers inside his bag, not caring that each word on the well-loved pages was plucked from his heart, pouring all but himself into his research. What did he think about coming to present at this conference? How did he manage to succumb to his dean’s request? What a total waste of time. The other professors in his field wouldn’t know an innovative idea if it stood on its head and sang ‘God Save the Queen’. Feeling more than discouraged, he signed.
Why did he care what her colleagues thought of his methods anyway? His students loved his classes, he had his tenure for almost three years now. He bought his first home in New York almost a year ago. He was successful. For God’s sake - there were waiting lists for his classes. Rate-my-professor.com crashed after his first week at Columbia.
Steps echoed his. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He paused his heart racing, palms dump. Whoever followed stopped several steps behind him. He could hear him breathing. His own breath growing more labored.
Jeremy?
No. It couldn't be his ex-boyfriend. He didn’t know how to find him. He left the continent to get away. Right? Tell that to the cold sweat trickling down his back. He clutched the handle of his laptop case, prepared to clobber whoever was dumb enough to sneak up on him.
“You gave a great seminar, Dr. Fox” an unfamiliar voice said to his back.
Not Jeremy. Thank God. He took a deep, shaky breath, glancing over his shoulder. He noticed the lanky, fortyish man, extending his hand in his direction. “Who would ever think to use piano chords and guitar riffs in discussion of human psychology? Not me. I mean, I am sold on the method. I’m just not sure I can pull off with your level of uh…” he cleared his throat. “…enthusiasm.” He grinned, gaze dropping down the length of his body.
It was a well known fact that Henry preferred the company of men, it wasn’t something he hid. A rainbow flag pin securely resting on his lapel. It did not give, however, some of his colleagues permission to objectify him. He suppressed the urge to throttle him and extended his free hand to accept his handshake. “Thank you, Mister uh…”
When his fingers wrapped around Henry’s, a wide smile appeared on his face. “Doctor. Doctor Frank Vander, from Stanford Abnormal Psych. Head of department, actually.”
Ah, Doctor Ass. Doctor Pompous Ass. We’ve met before. Countless times actually.
He nodded and plastered a weary smile. “Nice to meet you”
“Say, would you like to have a drink with me?” He nodded toward the cocktails lounge, his gaze dropping briefly to Henry’s lips. Henry cringed inwardly, somehow still maintaining a professional smile. The guy was the antithesis of his type. Boring. No, thanks. “I am sorry, but I’ll have to pass. I was heading to my room. Maybe some other time”
He deflated like a punctured balloon . The rejection sinking in his eyes. “Sure. I understand. You must be exhausted after that lively…” He grinned again. “…discussion.”
Discussion? Had he been there? “Bloodbath” seemed a more fitting description and he felt particularly anemic at the moment.
“Quite” he muttered, eyes narrowing. He spun on his feet and continued towards the elevator, walking around the edge of the hotel’s bar and skirting several bushy, potted plants. Quickly escaping the encounter. It always surprises him how horny, these professors get at events like these. What about crappy finger-food, stale-as-teacakes air and polite conversations makes this into such a fuck-fest? It’s like a goddamn viagra for middle aged professors. Yuck.
A loud round of laughter stopped him in his tracks and drew his attention to the cocktail lounge. Four men sat in a semi-circular booth, laughing at the fifth man who was lying on his back in the center of their table. The table, covered with glasses, containing various amounts of amber and clear liquid, titled precariously under the man’s weight as he learned to one side his companions scrambled to rescue their beers and possibly-tequila (judging from lemon and lime wedges scattered around them) from certain demise.
“Tell the room to stop spinning” the lounging man shouted at the knock-off Tiffany lamp above the table.
“No more tequila for you, Alex,” one of his friends said.
Alex help up a finger. “One more”, he lifted another finger, “or two,” another finger, mmmmmmaybe four.”
Henry grinned. The five of them didn’t exactly ‘blend’ with the conference attendees, mostly professors, scattered throughout the lounge and lobby. The unconventional crew in the booth drew more than their fair share of animosity and stares. Was it their tattoos? The various piercings and jewelry? The dyed hair, strange haircuts and black clothing? Whatever it was, they were just guys having fun. And not a boring one in the bunch, he’d wager.
Henry took a hesitant step forward the elevator. He’d love to hang out with them for a while. He could use a little fun. Exactly the opposite of boring. Something wild. Maybe he’s also affected by the conference pheromones. Whatever it was, he was ready to sign the dotted line.
Alex, still lounging in the center of the table, vocalised a riff, while playing masterful air guitar on his back. Henry recognised the series of notes at once. He used in his class discussion on male sensuality, because no one on earth played a guitar more sensually than Master ACD.
Hold it. Could that be…? Nah, what would the rock group Sinners be doing at a college teaching conference? They were probably fans of the band, though the name Alex made his lead guitarist's senses tingle. Wasn’t Sinners’ lead guitarist Alex Claremont-Diaz?
One of the men seated in the booth turned his head to scratch his chin with his shoulders. Despite his mirrored sunglasses, she instantly recognised vocalist Rafael Luna. His heart rate kicked up a couple of notches. It was Sinners!
“I am so fucking drunk!” Alex yelled. He rolled off the table, knocking over several empty beer glasses, and landed on the laps of two of his companions. They dumped him unceremoniously on the floor.
Henry snorted and then glanced around to make sure no one witnessed him producing such an unbecoming sound. He had to go talk to them. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. He could pretend that he wanted to meet them because of the seminar. He meticulously analyzed their sheet music, comparing sexuality within their riffs and rhythms. His latest research focuses on the function of homo-erotic notes on the sensuality and sexuality as a precursor to adult attachment, romantic and lustful love. The historical context of his research excited him even more. Drawing on the depictions of sensuality in literature, especially entwined in queer themes.
Meeting Sinners was a dream. Their inclusivity towards sexuality and gender was unparalleled within the industry, they took the stereotypes of rock band and flipped it on its head. Gone the gender stereotypes, the toxins masculinity. We are left with five hot guys, pouring their hearts out through their heavy music.
In truth, Henry loved their music not just for research but also as a guilty pleasure. The hard rock so unlike his dapper-professor style. But it was his favourite past time, where he got lost in the heavy screams of Rafael and the masterful guitar solos of Alex. He never saw them playing live. Never had the courage to go alone. What would he even wear? His button-down and soft baby-blue jumper? He would stick like a sad gay-maypole. He settled for purchasing a limited edition vinyl copies of all their albums.
In second truth, they weren’t too hard on the eyes either. The definition of exactly his guilty-pleasure type. Wild. Untamed. Sexy.
Yes, please. Guaranteed to give him exactly what he needed after the day he’d had. It was a well known truth that Rafel, Alex, Liam and Spencer were queer. Raf and Alex bisexual, Liam gay and Spencer pansexual. It was Jace (the newest addition to the band that he had no idea about).
Abandoning his plan to hide in his room, Henry skirted the low wall that separated the lounge area from the corridor. He paused in front of Alex, who was struggling to crawl to his hands and knees. He set his lumpy laptop case on the floor and bent to help him to his feet. The instant he touched his arm, his heart skipped a bear and then began to race.
Animal magnetism. He had it. Hello, Mr Welcome Diversion.
Alex’s gaze drifted up his legs and body, his face slowly titling into view. He had features a sculptor would love: strong jaw, a narrow nose, high cheekbones… and his fucking eyelashes . Golly gosh, his sinful eyes surrounded by the thick, long lashes really did it for him. Would it be presumptuous of him to examine the contours of his face with his fingertips. His lips? Henry forced his attention to his hand, which gripped his well-muscled upper arm.
“Be careful with this arm” Henry said, “So few guitarists have your skill.”
Alex used Henry’s support to stagger to his feet. When he stumbled against him, Henry caught his scent and inhaled deeply, Santal 33, coffee and something so unique to Alex. Henry’s eyes drifting closed. Primal desire bombarded his senses. Did he just whimper aloud?
His strong hands gripped his shoulder as he steadied himself. Every never ending in Henry's body shifted into high alert. Henry couldn’t remember the last time he’s been instantaneously attracted to a man.
Alex released him and leaned against the back of the booth for support. He blinked hard, as if trying to focus on his intense, brown eyes on his face. “You know who I am?” He asked, his voice slurred.
Henry smiled and nodded eagerly. “Who doesn’t”
He waved a hand theatrically, which set him further off balance. “Every stuffed-shift geek in this fucking place, that’s who”
He snarled at a gray-haired woman in a heavy cardigan who sat openly gaping at him. Aaahh Doctor Shelly Winderberg, a professor at UPenn specialist in history of English Lit, Restoration Age. Not a tough calibre to offend. Shelly gasped and turned her attention to her red wine, huffing something under her nose.
“Alex, don’t start shit,” Rafael, the group’s lead singer said.
The acidic look Alex shot at Rafael could peel paint. “What? I’m not starting anything These people all have fucking staring problems.”
True. They were staring. Most of them at Henry now. Probably wondering how he manage to find himself in the enemy territory.
“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?” Henry asked, hoping to become less noticeable by sitting. He tucked a lock of his hair that swept over his forehand, the blond hair fitting into place. He smiled at Alex hopefully. This confidence was a welcoming touch. Something that was hidden within him. Silent.
No. Not silent. Silenced.
Why would a stuffy-looking professor sit with five rock stars?
Alex stroked his eyebrow with his index finger as he contemplated his request.
Rafael scooted over in a semi-circular booth and patted the empty exams of forest green vinyl beside him.
Henry tugged his gaze from Alex to look at Rafael. Rafael’s dark eyes paired with boy-next-door good looks contrasted with bad-boy reputation. Henry didn’t follow the personal lives of the band he admired, but even he knew of Raf’s rep, especially with innocent looking men and women. His smile, complete with dimples, could ice a cake, which was likely why he covered it so rapidly with a scowl. A quick veil of indifference returned his cool status. Those darling dimples didn’t fit his image.
Alex slid into the booth next to Raf, wiping his sweaty palms down his tailored pants as he settled beside him.
Okay, I’m in. Now what?
“Are you some kind of businessman or something? Raf leaned back to examine his professional attire.
Henry didn’t mind his twice over. “Or something. Actually, I am a stuffed-shirt geek. A college professor here at the conference.”
“No shit?” Henry recognised the speaker, who sat across from her, as Liam Sticks, the band’s drummer. “If I’d known college professors were hot, I might have considered an education.
Henry laughed. It was comforting to be around such an inclusive bunch. It was nice to be complemented. Henry glanced up at Alex who still leaned against the booth next to Liam’s shoulder. His heart gave a painful throb. God, he was gorgeous. “Would you like to sit down, Alex?”
Henry scooted closer to Raf, his knee settling against him beneath the table. Alex collapsed on the seat beside him, loading him between two of the sexiest and most talented musicians in the business. He’d died and gone to heaven. Play it cool, Hen. If you start fan-girling, they’ll tell you to get lost. And he certainly didn’t want that.
Alex leaned forward and rested his forehead on the table with a groan. It took all of Henry’s concentration not to offer a soothing touch. To caress his curls, stroke the nape of his neck. Under his shirt, where you could almost notice a shadow of a back tattoo, the intricate pattern weaving across his shoulder. Hot. He wanted to follow it with his tongue. Feeling that hot skin under him. Jesus H, how is he going to manage having a conversation with Alex, let alone invite him for more, if a mere sight of the nape of his bloody neck almost put him in a cardiac arrest.
Henry took a deep breath to collect his scattered thoughts and forced his attention to Liam. He could not stop himself from feeling giddy, the famous drummer just poured warmth and charm. Behind his ear, a crimson, finger thick lock curled around the side of his neck. Rock star hair. Henry smiled at him.
“So what do you teach, England?” Liam took a sip of his beer, his green yes never leaving his face.
Henry winced at his question and lowered his eyes. Any chance of him earning their respect would evaporate the moment he revealed what subject he taught. “Do I have to say?”
“Come on”.
He sighed heavily. “Human Sexuality”
Liam sputtered his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fuck me.”
“Well, yeah, I guess that is my subject matter.” Henry said, with a crooked grin.
The guys laughed. Except for Alex. Unmoving, his head still rested on the table in front of him. Had he lost consciousness? Wasted didn’t come close to describing his current condition.
“Is he okay?” Henry asked.
“Yeah, he’s just a little fucked up.” Liam said.
“He’s a lot of fucked up.” Said Spencer Mills, the band’s rhythm guitarist, who lounged in the booth next to Liam.
“Shut up,” Alex murmured. He turned his head to look up at Henry. He held one eye closed as he tried to focus on him. Henry had an inexplicable urge to strained his tousled curls. They invited him with their softness. Skin under his fingers twinged. “What’s your name, Professor British Sex?”
He smiled. Maybe he was interested. “Henry”
He chuckled. “That’s an old man name…” or maybe he wasn’t. He hoped he hid his disappointment well. “… but it suits you, Professor”
Raf reached behind Henry and slapped Alex on the back for his insult. Alex didn't even flinch. “What, I said it suits him, it complements your sexy accent Professor.
Henry shrugged. “Thanks, but you are right. I was named after my great-grandparents. They qualify as old men.”
Alex turned to him, something spiking his interest for a mili-second. Henry definitely noticed the cheeky gleam in his eye. Quickly, however Alex turned his head so his forehand rested against the table again. He swallowed several times. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Liam, take him to the bathrooms,” Raf said. “The last thing we need is a table covered in ACD puke.”
Liam groaned. “I want to stay and talk to the hot guy. Nothing but the same boring dudes at this table all night.” Despite his protests, Liam slid from his end the booth and hauled Alex to his feet.
“I’ll still be here when you get back, I am quite free tonight” Henry promised, so unlike himself. His confidence in himself growing. Pez would be so proud of him right now. Gone the repressed professor, welcome Confident Professor Sex - that’s what Alex called him.
“Buy him a drink Raf. Or since they are all on you tonight, buy him two.” Liam looped Alex’s arm around his shoulders and walked his staggering friend toward the bathroom.
Henry watched them go, his appreciative eyes on Alex’s perfect, black-demon-encased ass.
“Don’t hold it against him, Hen. He’s not usually like this. He just…uh…got out of a relationship.” Raf said.
Spencer rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Yeah, you might say that.”
“Not sure why this keeps happening to him.” Jace Seymour, the bassist, massaged the silver hoop earring in his earlobe. He was the only Asian guy in their group. Coming from a promising solo-K-pop career, Jace did a complete 360, joining Sinners last year. He had bleached blond hair, a stark difference to his dark eyes and eyebrows. The smallest member of the band, he had the tough guy thing going on. Probably to understate his natural cuteness.
“Dude gets dumped more than any guy I know.” Spencer just looked damned sexy. Whenever his sultry bedroom eyes met Henry’s, a tingle settled at the base of his spine. Damn he really needed to get laid. However, his eyes were set directly on Alex. No one else would do.
“That’s because he’s a fucking idiot when it comes to women…or men” Raf ran a hand over his short, black hair. “He falls from these bimbos one right after another. He’ll never learn.”
“Or maybe his problem is that someone keeps fucking things up form him,” Spencer said. “Just a thought.”
“That chick wasn’t worth his time. Alex’s way too good for her.” Raf growled.
Henry looked from one man to the next. There was something more to this story than they were saying aloud. Or maybe “Alex’s a hopeless romantic, isn’t he?”
Raf leaned close to his ear. “Shhh. That’s a secret.”
A thrill raced up the side of his neck. He turned his head and found Raf’s nose less than an inch from his. He could see the fringes of his lashes. His gaze made his heart go pitter patter. He grinned, undoubtedly aware of the affect he had on people, men or women. Must. Avoid. Hot. Vocalist.
Raf lifted his arm in the air to signal the cocktail waitress. “What’s your poison, Henry?”
“Just water for me.”
“Don't you need something stronger to loosen up a little?” cocking an eyebrow at him, his eyes scanning his button-down.
“Totally unnecessary, I am loose enough” Henry cringed at the double-entendre, not exactly a smooth move.
“You don’t look loose.” Raf fingered Henry’s his collar. This guy was trouble with a capital T.
Must. Avoid. Hot.
“Looks can be deceiving.” He twisted away to look up at the waitress and break the contact between their bodies.
Raf chuckled. “Somehow, I believe that in your case.” To the waitress, he said, “Two waters, please”
“Oh, I just need one.”
“The other one is for Alex.”
Henry flushed. “Of course.”
The waitress set a glass of water before him. Henry gazed towards the men’s restroom and hope Alex would be ok. He hadn’t looked well at all. Henry had to concentrate on Mr. Player who was currently rubbing his knuckles against the side of Henry’s knee. When his hand moves higher. Henry chokes and reaches beneath the table to remove said hand.
Raf leaned closer. Henry had a feeling this guy wasn’t used to being rejected. He didn’t feel unsafe, but he knew he had to make a strong case. Make his Alex-minded intentions clear.
“Would you like to go upstairs with me?” Raf asked, his nose brushing against his ear.
“Uh…”
Must. Avoid.