Work Header


Chapter Text

Eliott’s dreaming in class.

It’s not the first time this has happened. Usually, the dreams would consist of something really innocuous, like starring as an extra in a Harry Potter movie or riding on a giant Godzilla-sized Brian, his childhood pet, through the campus and having Brian “accidentally” stomp on obnoxious frat guys who all thought ‘desperate catcaller’ counted as a personality trait.

Today’s dream is particularly interesting: it features luluhateslemons - Lulu, for short - sitting two rows down from Eliott in his Philosophy lecture.  

The guy looks about the right height and body type; the first knob of his spine visible when he pushes his arms inward to adjust his hoodie; the narrow slope of his shoulders matches the one Eliott’s seen about a hundred times now online. Lulu has a mole on his right collarbone; Eliott catches a glimpse of a mole on the same spot when he swivels halfway around to put his backpack on the floor and the hoodie hangs loose on his slim frame. He has bouncy brown hair that bobs up and down as he walks; it catches the light in a way that makes him seem like a literal angel with a halo coming to grace the plebes with his presence. Eliott has always imagined Lulu to be a natural brunette - especially if the carpets matched the drapes - and he’s said in one of his shows that he’s never dyed his hair.

And of course, most obviously, he’s always pictured Lulu to be handsome. Beautiful, even. And the guy his imagination conjured up for him is the very picture of beauty: glasses couldn’t conceal thick lashes framing bright blue eyes; the sloping curve of cheekbones carved by the Lord himself; his lips growing increasingly redder as he worries at them between his teeth, glancing around the room with apparent nerves.

If he could congratulate the part of his brain responsible for coming up with that face for a job well done, he would. Exceeds expectations, really.

He’s had this exact scenario play out before. Except in that one, he’s alone in the classroom and Lulu goes straight up to him shirtless and in boxer shorts that cut off mid-thigh, the usual strategically placed snapback covering his eyes. He proceeds to sink down on his lap apropos of nothing, rolling his hips slowly in a way that captures how he’d move on toys and pillows in his shows. There’s that little beautiful mole, of course, and Eliott imagines licking it as Lulu grinds deliciously on his lap.

It’s just like that scene two nights ago when luluhateslemons, with his back to the camera, kissed the tip of a neon purple dildo and proceeded to fuck himself on it with gusto, body arching as he braced his palms against his boring striped blue sheets. Now it’s the same picture, and all in glorious high-resolution generously provided by Eliott’s horny imagination.

Eliott,” he’d whisper in that breathy voice that travels straight to Eliott’s cock without pause or fail, “I want you to wreck me. You know how I like it. You know I like it when it hurts a little bit. You know I love it when I finger myself open and edge myself after. But I know about you, too. I know you watch me. I know you think about me when you want to come so hard you see the fucking galaxy up your ceiling. I know you haven’t wanted anyone else in two months because of me.”

He’s not popping a boner in class. He’s twenty-two, not a thirteen year-old jerking off into his GI Joe bedsheets and trying to wipe them off with a dirty sock before it crusts and his mom tsks him at him come laundry day. Whatever sexy monologue dream Lulu’s prepared should wait after Eliott’s conquered six gruelling hours of class, please and thank you.

Lucky for Eliott, the universe seems to be listening. Sometimes, it really works in not-so-mysterious ways to bring him back to this particular plane of reality. And today, it just so happens to be in the form of his seatmate.

“Mind telling me what the fuck you’re staring at?”

Sander’s many things to Eliott: aforementioned seatmate, roommate since freshman year, fellow starving artist of the amateur photographer-cum-graffiti connoisseur kind, and Eliott’s human glowstick at parties (the bleached white hair basically equated to Eliott’s roommate GPS). And now, unapologetic piercer of Eliott’s dreamy bubble.

“You look like you’re about to simultaneously pass out and orgasm. Not really something I’m sure I’d like to see. Don’t get me wrong, though. You’re a good-looking dude. It would just totally ruin the good thing we have going on right now, y’know? And Robbe would probably murder me.”

If this is a dream, Sander definitely wouldn’t be in it, except maybe to provide the soundtrack to him and Lulu making out via an off-key rendition of David Bowie’s Love Song.

His pulse quickens enough to break speed limits. If he isn't dreaming nor is he in some sort of stress-induced hallucination - the full reality hits Eliott like a sledgehammer to the face. It’s the real fucking thing. It’s him.

“Fuck. No fucking way.”

“Thing is, Eli. Robbe may look all soft but I’m pretty sure he packs a mean right hook when provoked.”

“Not that.”

He knows he sounds way too calm for how he’s actually feeling. Hell, he’s surprised he isn’t freaking out like a headless chicken right now, though perhaps the fact that he’s actually in class and just waiting for the Professor to show on the first day of the new semester helps.

He ducks his head so only Sander hears. “He’s here.”

Sander’s expression shifts from teasing to confused. “Who?”

“Lulu.” At Sander’s blank stare, he makes vague gestures to his phone. “You know, the guy. The one I spent almost a week’s worth of allowance on in… tips. The reason why I had to start doing Instagram commissions that one time because the advance for the boutique modelling gig hadn't come in yet and I’d already maxed out my account.”

He shudders at the memory. Drawing watercolor furries and digital fanart of kpop boyband members engaging in NSFW shenanigans for two weeks straight isn’t really the highlight of Eliott’s art career.

“Lu - oh. Shit. The love of your life.” And the wicked knowing smile is back with a vengeance, the one that makes Sander look like a demented Jack Frost. Eliott twitches in response. “The cam—“

“Fuck, don’t say it loud!” Eliott shoves harder than necessary at Sander’s shoulder, an extremely unfortunate flush creeping up his neck at Sander’s stupid smirk.

He’s suddenly overcome with complete and sudden regret at allowing himself to get stoned with Sander way too many times than was probably advisable given his roommate’s tendency to tell Robbe everything. Granted, Robbe isn’t some tattle. But Eliott’s seen him in his less than dignified moments, too, and he’s definitely not above out of the blue ramblings given the opportunity. And when Robbe knows, then his best friend Noor wouldn’t be far behind. Next thing he knows, the entire campus is egging him on at the next party and telling him to get that sweet ass, bro!

He sighs. “No one knows what he looks like, okay?”

Sander raises a brow. “Then how come you do? Wait, no. Don’t answer that. I don’t think I wanna know.”

He’s going to attempt to save his dignity with an appropriately timed comeback, but the professor entering the room beats him to it. All good, Eliott thinks, as he slumps in his seat. He takes a quick glance at Lulu and his posture looks serious, back straight and a notebook neatly positioned in front of him. His fingers, delicate-looking digits, grip a ballpoint pen with effortless grace and precision.

Like the time those same fingers circled around a bullet vibrator as he stretched himself. “I get so needy when I touch myself and there’s nothing inside me," he’d said then, a small moan tumbling from his lips. Eliott had sucked in air that didn’t seem to be reaching his lungs as he shoved a hand down his boxers. 

Maybe he feels Eliott staring holes into his head. As though he feels the figurative scrunched up ball hit the back of his neck, Lulu twists around quickly as the Professor drones on facing the whiteboard. His brows furrow together when he glances around the room. Eliott looks down his notes in a hurry, because fuck. Those cheeks curving inwards as he sucked around the end of his pen are just… Doing Things to Eliott.

Since it's the first day of a new semester, the universe takes pity on Eliott and class ends twenty minutes in. Eliott wordlessly accepts Sander passing him photocopies of the syllabus and the first few readings. He looks out in front and sees Lulu quietly gathering his things, smiling shyly at his seatmates when they wave goodbye.

“Oh no.” Sander does the double-duty of shoving his arms into his leather jacket faster than Eliott can say Robbe’s outside the room already, isn’t he and annoying Eliott like the total asshat he could be. “I’d dare you to go up and actually talk to the guy, but knowing you’re probably thinking with your dick at this point, I’d say I don’t even have to.”

Eliott’s just sitting there minding his own business. But then Sander plants the idea and it takes root. So really, when asked, Sander’s all to blame for this one.

“Say I actually go for that dare,” Eliott says slowly. “What’s in it for me?”

Sander grins, eyes narrow with glee. “Eli, don’t play. I know you’d do it for half a joint. Hell, for a quarter of a joint even. You’re already thinking it.”

Lulu’s taken by surprise when a classmate claps him on the shoulder. His pen falls to the ground, the sound of clattering hard plastic echoing around the walls. 

Eliott sees the opportunity before Sander even mentions it, his feet almost having a mind of its own as it pulls his entire body down the steps. He stands in front of Lulu, not even daring to look at the other’s face before hurriedly crouching down. When he stands upright with the pen between his fingers, Lulu is staring at him, eyes a little wide behind his glasses. Shit.

“Hi, you dropped this.” Inwardly he’s cheering for sounding smooth. For one, he’s managed not to sound like there's a frog trying to escape from his throat. Point for Eliott!

“Oh, uh, thanks.” That voice. Soft and a bit bashful, but clear and firm. Yep, it’s definitely Lulu.

He clears his throat. “I’m Eliott.”

He never thought he’d see the day when Lulu directs a dazzling smile up at him. Fuck, it’s a smile worth waiting his whole life for.

“Lucas. Nice to meet you.” Noticing Eliott not exactly moving or holding a hand out for him to shake, Lucas looks up, tilting his head in confusion. Up close, his face is luminescent, even magnetic; the name fits him to a tee. Lucas now looks adorably expectant and Eliott suppresses a squeal. “Uh, did you need something?”

The next few seconds literally go down as the worst few seconds in Eliott’s life. Is it mercury retrograde? Is it his planets and stars misaligning? Is it Sander standing a few feet away, exhaling a truly terrible-sounding mix of hearty guffaw and wheezing cough into his fist? No one will ever know. All Eliott knows is he immediately wants to get dragged away to another continent when he says—

“I - I love you!” The words spill before his dumbass brain catches up. He scrambles to clarify as luluhateslemons’s - Lucas’s - smile falters. Eliott suddenly longs for the sweet reprieve of the afterlife. “I mean, not you specifically. Your shows. I’m a big fan. Uh.”

Lucas's mouth opens into a soft circle of surprise, the look dangerously close to the image that started the mess in the first place.

They met only two minutes ago, but those lips have claimed top billing in Eliott’s daydreams for about two months, maybe more. And saying he's a big fan is sort of an understatement. He even stays through the arguably mundane parts, like Lulu chatting up his audience about his day or answering questions like what's your favourite food or would you say you're a size queen or are you all about performance. Nothing out of the ordinary. The questions are par for the course, judging by other camboy feeds.

What makes Lulu a little different is his 'Naked Feelings' portion at the start of his shows where he'd nonchalantly answer a semi-serious question, usually about love or dating or sex problems, while stripping. And his advice always made sense or even tugged at heartstrings, his chat box popping off with comments along the lines of you're like a 52yo wise aunt in a 20yo sexy camboy body. It should be corny or eyeroll-inducing. Instead, it's made him enormously popular, jumping to a #5 rank in less than a year on the site. Instead, Eliott finds it fascinating and so, so fucking hot.

Lucas's camboy persona is whip-smart, sassy, and sexy as hell. But no one knows who he actually is. 

He expects Lucas to stutter and flail about in embarrassment as blood floods his cheeks. It fits the picture he makes in front of him, the timid stance and rapidly blinking eyes, like he’s struggling to process what just happened. Eliott’s honestly not thinking when he said it. He has to grudgingly concede Sander's on to something when he says Eliott’s brain has migrated to his dick.

He’s ready to blurt out his apologies and never show his face again, when Lucas does something entirely out of left field to the picture Eliott’s been nursing in his mind for the last few minutes.

He cocks his hip to the side and honest-to-god smirks up at Eliott. He leans forward into Eliott's space until they're almost chest to chest, dark lashes fanning ocean blue eyes. He pushes himself up on his heels, tipping his head back and moving close to Eliott's ear.

How is Eliott still breathing? 

“Thanks. Always great to meet a fan. I have to say, though. I’ve never met one in person since, well, no one's been able to guess before. And I bet none of them are as hot as you, anyway. Congrats on claiming one of my firsts,” Lucas whispers, and Eliott just about explodes on the spot. He winks - fucking winks! - when he pulls back and smiles at Eliott’s dumbstruck, idiotic face like he knows exactly what he’s done to him.

“See you around, Eliott.”

Before Eliott has the luxury (or brainpower) to reply, Lucas is already walking away, a slight sway in his step. Eliott tries not to think of anything lame like I think my heart just left in a backpack or Is it possible to meet your soulmate on because he's totally cool and articulate and stuff, being a former L student and all.

So. Maybe not the worst moment of Eliott's life, after all.