Chapter Text
Joseph Liebgott sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair in his advisor’s office while he watched the man clicking and scrolling at his computer. He was surprised when Lipton had emailed him, asking for this meeting about his upcoming class schedule. Normally program advisor’s didn’t spend so much time with students, but Joe and Lip had developed a fairly close relationship over the last three years. It didn’t hurt that Lipton was the type to go above and beyond the call of duty and had a bit of a ‘mother-hen’ quality to his approach to advising students under his care. “I don’t know how you managed it this long Joe but you can’t avoid it anymore.” He said at last, turning to look at the bedraggled looking young man sitting in front of him. Joe groaned and shook his head but before he could voice whatever complaint was on his tongue Lipton spoke up. “Joe, you are as good as accepted into the Master’s program, we both know it, but without this credit you won’t get your degree.” He said calmly before his brow furrowed in frustration. “Jesus Joe, it’s an English credit. Just pick a class that has E-N-G in it and do it already.” He said with exasperation.
Joe groaned again. “Fine. What are my options again?” Lip passed the list over the desk to Joe with an apologetic look. Joe scanned the list and frowned. “These are all first year classes.” He said flatly.
Lipton nodded. “Well, ideally you would have taken this in your first year.”
Liebgott turned back to the list of classes in front of him. His eyes fell on Romantic Period Literature. He didn’t really know what that meant but he was picturing those bodice rippers and erotic poetry, some novel with a muscle bound Fabio look-alike and a generic big titted girl with long flowing hair adorning the cover. The idea made him smirk. He could use it as inspiration, do a whole series of pin-up slash ‘Romantic Period Literature’ inspired work. If he had to suffer through a class with kids fresh out of highschool that was fine. He could make this sacrifice. For his degree. He slammed his finger down on the class. “This one.” He said with finality.
Lip raised his eyebrow at him but didn’t try to dissuade him. “Alright then.” He said, just glad to be done with it. Joe would get his degree, get into the Master’s program and Carwood Lipton could rest easy, knowing he’d done the best for one of his charges. Even if Joseph Liebgott tended to be more work than most. That was just Joe’s nature, and it was one that tended to grow on you.
****
Joe was already in a bad mood when he opened the door to an empty lecture hall. He stood at the front of the class and cursed loudly, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. It was five minutes to one. He growled and dug in the bag slung over his shoulder to double check his schedule. “Fucking shit fuck.” He muttered under his breath. He had the wrong time and now was facing waiting around for a half an hour for the class to start. He hadn’t wanted to take this class in the first place but his degree was practically being held hostage in exchange for some shitty English credit. On top of that, he’d skipped the first class, well aware that only Freshmen went to the first class. Everyone knew that the only thing that happened at the first class was some general “welcome to my class, it’ll change your life” speech by the professor and the traditional ‘bestowing of the syllabus’. Which was a waste of time considering every professor posted the syllabus on the students portal. Well, every professor except for one David K. Webster, Professor of English. Joe rolled his eyes. ‘Probably doesn’t even know how to use a computer.’ Joe thought bitterly. Liebgott had been having increasingly unfavourable thoughts to a certain Professor Webster since he picked up his reading list. He wasn’t sure who the fuck Wordsworth, Keats or Byron were - though he was well enough acquainted with Frankenstein, he suspected he would be underwhelmed by Mary Shelley’s original work - but he got the general idea that he’d been wildly wrong about what Romantic Period Literature meant. He’d picked up the required books - not at the student bookstore of course, (that was a Freshmen money pit) used was where it was at - and skimmed through them. His imaginings of silly trashy romance novels and erotic poetry were quickly replaced by images of stuffy old men with stiffly starched suits and greying moustaches. This class was going to be a nightmare and he could only imagine what the professor teaching it would be like. Probably some rotund little man, on the wrong side of fifty and in complete denial about his growing bald spot. He would wear bulky cardigans the colour of baby poop with worn out elbows and a yellowing button up shirt, stretched tight over a belly that would be toppling over his old man pants. Pants that would, of course, be hiked up to just below his nipples and cinched with the ugliest, most utilitarian belt known to mankind. Joe could practically hear his nasally voice, droning on about the themes and metaphors of some dead poets no one gave a shit about. Joe physically cringed at the image. He was just debating with himself about whether he should just leave and see if he could get wait listed in some other english credit course, preferably something less boring, when the door behind him opened with a squeal. Joe whipped around, startled out of his inner debate only to be smacked in the face with the overwhelming sense of blue. He blinked a few times and stared at the man who had just walked into the theatre, laptop bag slung over his shoulder and book tucked under his arm. His thick hair was a dark brown, almost black, and a little unruly, as if he had a tendency to run his hands through it when he was concentrating on something. He had a strong, square jaw covered in what was more than stubble but less than a beard. That overwhelming sense of blue Joe had first noticed was the man’s eyes. Joe wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone with such clear blue eyes before. The man was wearing well-fitted, dark grey slacks with a slim-fit dress shirt in a deep maroon colour tucked into them. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up his forearms, showing off his nicely muscled arms and Joe admired the way the fabric stretched across his broad chest. He had the very sudden and very strong desire to press his body flush against that broad chest and those clearly well muscled arms and legs and bury his hands in that hair. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked. He could almost feel that thick facial hair scrape across his jaw, could almost taste the sharp tang of salt on skin bursting on his tongue. He shook his head and huffed out a surprised noise.
The stranger was halfway from the door to Joe when he looked up and saw Joe standing there. “Oh, hi!” He said cheerily, flashing him a warm grin. Joe groaned internally. He was even prettier when he smiled. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.” He said sheepishly.
Joe crossed his arms over his chest lightly and smirked, cocking his hip to lean against one of the desks at the front. “Well, for now it’s just you and me.” His smirk widened, turning a little predatory. “Lucky for me.” He said, winking. The other man blushed noticeably and shuffled on his feet, sending a little thrill down Liebgott’s spine. He dropped his arms and leaned back on the desk. “Though I understand there’s going to be a class filing in here soon enough.” He said with resignation and tipped forward at the waist slightly, smiling genuinely.
The man dropped his book on the desk at the front of the room, right across from Joe, and leaned against it, matching Joe’s posture. “You know, I did hear about that class, so I think your luck may be running out soon.” He said teasingly.
Joe laughed and took a moment to rake his eyes over the other man. Joe clocked him at maybe a few years older than him - early thirties? Probably another student who just happened to show up early. Joe tilted his head to the side appraisingly. Maybe not, he was probably too old to be a student. Maybe a TA? “That’s too bad, here I was thinking I was going to spend the next hour or so talking to a handsome stranger with the prettiest baby blues I’ve ever seen.”
The stranger blushed again and ducked his head, shrugging lightly. “I guess we’re both out of luck then.” He said, raising his eyes to meet Joe’s. Then his brow creased slightly in confusion. “What are you doing here though?” He asked.
Joe shrugged. “I’m actually in that class, got the time wrong.” He said somewhat bitterly.
The stranger frowned. “You’re…” he paused and blinked at Joe. “You’re in the next class?” He asked hesitantly.
Joe wasn’t sure why the other guy seemed so confused about him being in the next class. Sure, it was a freshman course and Joe was clearly not a freshman but it wasn’t that unusual. He wasn’t the only fourth year university student who’d shirked getting a necessary credit. “Yea,” he said resignedly. “I need an English credit before I can get my degree, which is bullshit honestly.” He huffed and shook his head. “Plus, I pretty much randomly picked this class off a list and man am I regretting it.” He dropped his voice like he was letting the other man in on a secret. “The books this guy picked as required reading? I mean come on!” He scoffed. “So fucking boring. Plus, dude has to be some middle aged asshole who hasn’t figured out computers.” Joe cocked his eyebrows at the other man. “Did you notice he didn’t put the syllabus on the student portal? What the fuck is that about?” As he was talking he noticed the other guy getting visibly uncomfortable. He’d stuffed his hands in his pockets and his mouth had drawn down in a thin line. “I mean, sorry if you’re like, excited about taking this class. Or…” he shrugged. “Are like the TA or something.” He laughed. “Shit I’m really sorry if you’re the TA.” He smiled at the guy, hoping his joke would land. It very obviously did not. He was still leaning against the desk but now he was clearly eyeing up Joe, and not in the good way. Joe suddenly felt a little self-conscious. He was wearing some ripped up skinny jeans with paint splatters on them - hazard of being an art student - and an X-Men t-shirt that was probably a size or two too big, the neck line stretched out and sitting askew off his shoulder. Compared to the other man’s composed outfit Joe looked all the part of university student, and this man certainly did not. “Shit. You’re the fucking TA aren’t you?” He finally asked.
The other man dragged his eyes from the jut of collarbone peeking out from Joe’s too large shirt and met Joe’s eyes. He shook his head. “No. I’m not the TA.” He replied.
Joe furrowed his brow and was about to speak when the door at the back of the theatre opened and students started filing in. The other man looked at his watch and pushed off the desk. Joe stepped forward and put his hand out in a placating gesture. “Hey man, I don’t know what I said that has you playing this whole ‘dark and brooding’ thing but I gotta tell you. It is not making you any less hot.” He tried again for light and flirtatious, hoping to somewhat salvage the situation. When the other man didn’t reply, just stared at Joe blandly, Joe nodded. “Well, whatever man.” He stuck out his hand. “Joe Liebgott, nice to meet you.”
The other man looked at Joe’s proffered hand before finally extending his own and taking it in a firm grip. “David Webster.” He intoned dryly.
Joe’s face fell. “Well shit.” He exclaimed, dropping Webster’s hand. He stepped back slightly, feeling his face grow hot. Webster didn’t say anything, just blinked at him. Joe decided that it would be better to just shut his mouth and take a seat instead of further embarrassing himself. He quirked his eyebrows in some awkward acknowledgement of his own fuck up and turned to grab a seat. When he slid into his seat, more students filing in around him, he looked back up and noticed Webster still staring at him with a dark expression on his face. Dark and, something else, something almost hungry. Joe smirked at him before turning his attention to unpacking his bag. Before they’d known who the other was they’d been flirting. David Webster had definitely - albeit awkwardly - flirted with him. Maybe with Professor Hottie McDaddy teaching this class, and there being a definite attraction towards Joe, this whole english credit nightmare wouldn’t be such a nightmare. Joe grabbed his pen off the desk and brought it to his mouth, chewing on the end idly and noting how Webster was still watching him. Specifically noting how Webster’s eyes tracked the pen from hand to mouth. Joe grinned around the pen in his mouth. Yea, he was definitely seeing the upside to this whole situation. He could definitely work with this.
****
Webster tried not to take pride in being one of the youngest professors at UC Berkeley. Honestly, he didn’t have time or security enough to be proud. He was just starting his second year and although he had spent time as a TA and had some experience, he was still finding his stride as a professor. Finding his voice so to speak (though Leckie had ribbed him mercilessly about that when he’d spoken that thought aloud “Christ David could you be more pretentious?”) and a reason for kids to want to take his classes. He’d spent a good portion of his summer refining his lesson plans, carefully selecting every book he’d require students to read, thoughtfully crafting assignments that would have the students really interact with the work. By the time the first classes of the semester came around he was at least halfway satisfied with his work. He remembered last year he’d been an absolute wreck, obsessing over every test and assignment, terrified that he wasn’t teaching these kids anything. He still had some of those fears, hovering at the back of his mind, sniping at him in weak moments but going into his second year, he was much more confident. That was, of course, before he met Joseph Liebgott.
When he walked into his second Romantic Period Literature class to set up he was surprised to find the young man standing there. Especially since that man looked like everything David Webster had a weakness for and was currently flirting with him. He’d tried, he really had, to be unaffected by that cocky grin, that soft brown hair (that was styled in what could only be called a bouffant) and those warm brown eyes. After all, David knew it was unwise to reciprocate the flirting but he was obviously too old to be a student. The previous class had only let out half an hour ago, he was probably hanging around after that for some unknown reason. Or at least, so David had thought. When the man said he actually was in David’s class, David felt his breath catch in his throat and his stomach drop. When he then went on to insult David personally (although entirely unknowingly), well, that was just good for killing whatever crush David had started forming. The kid (and at this point Joe had firmly been relegated from man to kid) was a complete ass. Blathering on about how the required reading was boring! Byron, Shelley and Emily Dickinson were anything but boring. He even had a whole unit on Poe for christ’s sake! How anyone could think that would be boring was beyond him. Nonetheless, David was certain: Joe’s rambling about what an incompetent idiot David himself must be was nothing but a good thing. How he’d even momentarily entertained the idea that this man (kid dammit) was attractive was a mystery. Sure he had to literally drag his eyes away from those delicious (no, not delicious. Terrible. Horrible.) collarbones poking out of his t-shirt, and yes, maybe his hand was still tingling from when he’d shook Joe’s hand, but he was not going down that road. So what if he maybe made more eye contact with Joe than anyone else during his lecture? It was no big deal that every time Liebgott smirked around that pen in his mouth (looking for all the world like the seductive twink from some straight to gay porn goddammit Webster no) that Webster’s breath hitched just that little bit. That knowing smirk and teasing wink that Joe kept leveling at him didn’t mean anything.
No, Joseph Liebgott was not going to be a problem for David Webster.