Robin sighs as she watches Professor Jones enter through the side door at the bottom of the lecture theatre. She’s not the only one. Jones –Joe - is a real favourite in the Art History faculty because well:
a) He’s hot; all broad chested, beautiful curls and kind, laughing eyes with wonderful hands, long artistic fingers
Robin thinks a lot about his hands and what they can do. All the things they can do.
Where was she…oh, yeah
b) He’s incredibly well read, just generally talented and smart. A real Renaissance man. Carlo looked up a really obscure, fucking ends of the Earth, the campus library had to request an inter-library loan of a loan of a loan that wasn’t even really anything to do with his dissertation just to see if he could impress Jones with previously un-discussed sources and depth of research but Jones had indeed already read it
“And I swear, Robin, like no-one had checked that article out since the twenties as far as the records said, I thought I was in with a winner for the winner, ugh”
And c) his laugh has no right to be that sexy. No part of any person breathing has any right to be that sexy, let alone have all the parts being sexy together.
Robin doesn’t know anyone who doesn’t want to well and truly jump his bones.
The man is unfairly attractive okay? All over. What with the whole, tall, dark and handsome thing he’s got going on; the lopsided grin when a student makes a particularly brilliant point, the way his intellect is as sharp as his cheekbones or how the adorable way he gestures when he talks which is doubly distracting given the flex of his muscles underneath his shirts. The fact that according to his staff profile, he’s roughly late twenties to early thirties has not helped matters in the utterly jumpable department.
He is, in a word, a snack.
It’s a whole Indiana Jones’ archaeology class fluttering their eyelashes at him gig. For fuck’s sake the guy’s name is even Jones.
So yeah, Jones is pretty much desired on all quarters but like, no one knows if he’s available or even attainable, because he’s mentioned such a string of people in the three months that he’s been teaching here. He talks about Nicky the most, but there’s also Andy and Quynh and Nile, even a Booker. But that might be an ex because every time he comes up in an anecdote the lightness in Joe’s eyes die and his smile withers after a second and he winds up the story pretty quickly after that.
But even then, there’s such a love and obvious affection there for all of those people that Robin knows they haven’t gotten a hope in hell of becoming even a notch on the bedpost.
So they all just pine from afar and interrogate his research assistant Aqua Waters - and she’s equally as beautiful and all the beautiful people in the world are clearly destined to find each other, it’s a conspiracy, Robin knows it is- as much as possible but she always shrugs and says she knows as much as the rest of them.
It’s a drizzly Thursday, which might explain the hoodie Professor Jones is wearing under his leather jacket, although Aqua is carrying a dripping umbrella in one hand. They’re laughing and then Jones’ eyebrows furrow and he twists round to his back before dismissing it and clicking on the lectern’s microphone “-I think this might actually be Nicky’s hoodie. Oh well,” and he winks at Aqua, gesturing for her to take her typical seat in the front row. “right, good morning everyone, I hope you’ve all had a good weekend.”
He certainly has, a good morning too, from the look of him, standing there bold as brass, looking delicious and well fucked in his fuck buddy’s clothes no less. It must have been good and oh God, now Robin has to go home to her lonely ass bed knowing what Professor Jones sex hair looks like.
“So, today we’re going to be talking about Jerusalem Delivered, it’s popularity with artists and the representation of Muslims and Christians.” Jones loads up the screen, and clicks the remote to the first slide which is a whole screen of two people in full medieval armour on horseback. Sitting in the front, Aqua chokes and it sounds like she’s trying not to laugh, which weird, but she settles herself under Jones’ raised eyebrow and he carries on talking.
“So these are two of the main characters of the poem. It's called Clorinda attacks Tancredi, which he didn't really deserve, but honestly I'm not sure he thought chivalry and a banner was going to work, I mean they were sacking a city, there was hardly a code of honour from those pillaging bastards, anyway –“
Robin settles into her seat between Eve and Bea, ready for two hours of concentrating on art and not the rich baritone of Professor Jones’ voice, when the door to the lecture hall bangs behind someone obviously, horrifyingly late.
Of course, everyone immediately turns to look, especially given how Jones’ has fallen silent. Standing by the doorway is a man, tall and slim and gorgeous, longish light brown hair tucked behind his ears, tanned skin and strong featured. He’s wearing jeans and slightly clunky boots with a soft blue t-shirt that doesn’t look like it fits properly.
The effect is a little undone by the way he’s balancing several books under one arm with two Starbucks coffee tumblers and a lunch box (shit seriously, talk about the cliché) somehow miraculously upright.
The guy’s face cracks, surprisingly, into a full bodied grin and he dashes down the steps that run alongside the hall’s seats to come to a graceful stop right in front of Jones, not giving a fuck that he’s interrupted the lecture and stopped Jones mid-sentence. Leans across. Presses a kiss, to Jones' jaw, like he owns the place. Jones smiles, Robin can fucking see it from this distance, which means it’s a full on megawatt grin, as the other man shoves the Starbucks and tupperware into Jones’ hands.
“Hi” he murmurs, the syllables caught by the microphone, voice lilting and accented. He sounds Italian. Oh god, beautiful people really are destined to find one another. “You forgot your lunch when you dashed out this morning”
Jones was almost late! The idea of him, dark eyes heavy with sleep, stumbling out of bedsheets, pulling a shirt over his muscled chest -
“So I thought I’d bring it in and embarrass you in the process” he smiles, a wry, barely there twist of the lips.
“More like tease me” Jones murmurs, fingers reaching out to catch at the hem of the man’s t-shirt, “Hayati, we both know I’m the embarrassing one in this relationship.”
“Incurable romantic” the man corrects.
Off to the side, Aqua coughs pointedly and the two of them jump. Bubble popped.
Evidently realising about a hundred odd people are watching them, they step apart, soft smiles and are they – they’re blushing!
“Everyone this is my husband, Nicolò”
Nicolò grins sweetly in acknowledgement, not the least perturbed. He looks to be enjoying himself. “Hello everyone. I’m Nicky” he waves at the class enthusiastically, and some people, Robin included, wave back because how are they supposed to hate his guts now?!
Jones knows it too, eyes fixed on his husband, husband, beautiful Italian husband, not fuck buddy, which means all the other regular names are probably family. Or they have a very open relationship but that’s probably wishful thinking. Because Jones is radiant, eyes crinkling and he looks impossibly young, focus entirely on Nicky. Even from this short distance Robin can see the way he’s looking at Nicky like…like he’s everything.
Meanwhile, Nicky’s caught sight of the screen and he obviously recognises the picture of Clorinda and Tancred because he snorts and throws his head back, exposing the elegant column of his neck as he laughs.
“Oh habibi, no. Joe, you are a holy terror.” He looks back at Jones, and they don’t say anything else, don’t touch but they don’t have to. It’s a look filled with such love and understanding and there’s a story there that Jones has never mentioned and it feels wrong to be gawking at them. Robin’s eyes drop to the table top.
“Go back to teaching these bright young minds. I’ve distracted you long enough, I think.” When Robin looks back up, Aqua's secured one of the coffee cups and Jones has obviously directed Nicky out the other way. Nicky's now standing by the door at the bottom of the theatre that Jones had entered through. It’s a more direct route off campus, towards the car park.
There’s another long look and Nicky disappears through the door. Jones waits until the door closes behind the other man before he turns back round, his gaze flicking back up to the students and he smiles dreamily.
“That was Nicky. Now, where were we? Ah, Tancred and Clorinda, yes so –“
Robin feels Bea swatting furiously at her arm.
“I know, I know, hang on, I’m googling what ‘Hayati’ means”