Archive of Our Own ^beta

Shagging his professor is a complete accident, Q swears. It isn’t like Q would want to risk his so far fairly normal academic career, in which he has managed to avoid anything that would bring him more attention. It isn’t like he wants to jeopardize anyone else’s career either.

Set the scene: a shoddy campus bar full of depressed university students and groups full of young adults that lost the already small amount of brain capacity they had when they were drunk. The alcohol is cheap and not very good, and this place isn’t Q’s usual scene, but he had been dragged here by Eve, who had finally managed to wear down his resolve for a night out. Usually Q would have at least some dignity, hitting the few decent gay bars in the city, when he felt the urge to go out.

The new semester would start in a few days and most people around Q seemed to take the most of the few days of peace. It’s barely eleven and Q could already spot multiple people who would benefit from going home. Eve looks decently buzzed, in the way she keeps laughing and yelling, even though the music isn’t loud enough to warrant it. Q knows the people around him only by faces, they are mostly Eve’s friends or acquaintances, a list that seems neverending.

Q’s beer is disgusting, but he drinks it anyways since paid for it. He passes on a shot, not wanting to get really drunk. He isn’t feeling it today, and he had only promised to stay for a few hours anyways. He’s already thinking of going back home, to his own bed, maybe working on one of his projects for the rest of the night. 

Eve has somehow managed to make her way to sit next to him. 

“Q! Are you having a good time? You need to take me to one of your usual places next time!” she almost yells. Q is thankful she at least didn’t outright yell out the word “gay bar”, considering the crowd they are in. 

Q gives her half a smile, raising his glass a little towards her. 

“Sure”, he answers.

Eve jumps into a rant about some guy she had been on a date with, who from her rambling explanation sounds like an absolute moron, and Q is nodding along to her. They spend another half an hour like this, until Eve excuses herself to the bathroom.

Q is left alone to his seat, looking at the room around him. It has gotten slightly more crowded, loud conversations, laughs and yells filling the space. A few tables over, Q notices someone unusual. He sticks out from the crowd distinctly. The man looks to be at least over thirty, probably even over forty. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and a dark blazer, something belonging to a men's fashion magazine, not to a college campus bar. 

The man notices Q looking and Q quickly turns his gaze away, trying to find something else to focus on, but there really isn’t anything, he’s still sitting alone. He turns to briefly look at the man, and he’s still being stared back at. He turns his gaze away again, deciding to drown the rest of his drink instead. He’s thinking of getting another, but he’s not fast enough, because in the next moment there’s someone next to him. 

“A good night?” asks the man. From closer Q can see the man better, and notices the piercing blue eyes staring at him. There’s a small smile on the man’s face. Q’s trying his best not to focus on the man’s shoulders which seem wider and more muscular than they have any right to be.

“As good as it can in a place like this”, answers Q. That earns a full smile from the man.

“Not a fan?” 

Q just shrugs, looking at the man. “You don’t really seem like the usual crowd either.”

“Well, you got me. Thought to catch a beer after work, but it seems like there’s a bit more action than usual.”

“Yeah, seems like that”, says Q. They are quiet for a few moments. The man is still looking at Q, somewhat intensely, and Q is wondering how possibly shagging this man would result in his murder being in the morning paper.

“So, if this is not your scene, what has gotten you in here?” asks the man. 

“Was dragged in with friends”, says Q truthfully. At least there would be someone to look for him, he supposes. 

“Partner?” the man asks. Q knows clearly what he means. He shakes his head. 

“Good”, says the man, and it’s only now that Q realizes the man is so close that he can almost whisper it into his ear. Why does Q find this attractive? There must be something deeply wrong with him. He can see arm muscles tensing under the blazer sleeves when the man leans on the table. Q wants.

“Probably not here”, says Q with a low voice. As much as he is confident in his sexual orientation, he would rather keep it private in a place full of college students. The man nods. 

“Where do you want-” the man starts, but Q stops him. He makes a decision, everything else be damned. He might as well get fucked today if nothing else.

“Staff corridor, last door on the right”, Q half whispers, so no one else can hear. Then Q picks up his glass, walking into the crowd. He doesn’t look back. 

Three minutes later Q finds himself in a half lit room with white tiles on the walls, furnishing somewhere between a bathroom and a forgotten cleaning closet. There are things written on the walls that Q can barely make out in the low lighting. It takes less than a minute for a familiar figure to appear in the doorway. The man closes the door, locking it.

“You sure no-one will use this?” asks the man. Q nods. “Yeah. Nobody uses this space anymore.”

That’s all it takes for Q to be crowded against a tiled wall. There’s nothing to grab, so instead he holds onto the man’s shoulders, which do feel as sturdy as they look. The man doesn’t waste time, instead kissing him deep and hard, almost taking the breath out of him. Q takes as much as he gives, and soon he’s panting for air.

“What should I call you?” asks the man between kisses. He moves to bite Q’s ear.

“Q”, he says, “like the letter.” The man just hums, not questioning it, instead kissing him again. 

“What- what name should I scream then?” asks Q. The man levels Q with an unimpressed stare. 

“James”, he says eventually. “You can call me James.”

This is essentially most of the conversation, before James manages to open Q’s shirt, pressing kisses down his neck. Q is already whining for more, his dick straining in his jeans. Q manages to rid James of his blazer, having the sense to set it to a shelf instead of the floor that probably hasn’t been cleaned since the bar has opened. James’ arms feel even better like this, strongly setting around Q.

It takes a while, but Q also manages to get James’ trousers open. Setting himself to the probably dirty floor, he forgets all thoughts of unhygienic spaces or the probabilities of being murdered.

-----

Three days later, he wishes he hadn’t, when walking into his lecture hall he’s met with a familiar set of icy eyes from the other side of the room.