He was pretty sure it would be funny when he was a fair bit older than he was now. "In the study," he heard Harry call, and followed the voice into the room. Sean had no idea why they insisted on calling a study – the only studying that went on was when they both got drunk and had sex on the sofa, which absolutely counted as studying, since Harry tended to take quite a lot of time moving over Sean's body when he'd had a few. Not that Sean minded in the slightest, of course. Harry was seated cross-legged on the carpet in front of the coffee table, already in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, papers scattered everywhere. He glanced up and smiled when Sean entered, pushing his ever-present wire frames up his nose. "I was hoping you'd be along soon to rescue me." "My armor's a bit tarnished, but I'll see what I can do," Sean replied, and set his briefcase down on a nearby chair. "Would alcohol count as a rescue?" "My hero." Harry tilted his head back for the requisite kiss when Sean pressed a tumbler full of scotch into his hand and sat beside him. "What's this, then?" Sean asked, gesturing at the papers with his own glass. "Pop quiz on Economic Ethics of the late 18th century," Harry replied, and saluted Sean before taking a sip of his drink. "Little buggers were being absolute monsters today." "I'd hardly call a room full of seniors in college little." "Today, they were acting like 6th graders." "Ouch." Sean could sympathize. His own classes today were filled with distracted students. "You've got to expect a little disruption this time of year, love. It is football season." Harry harrumphed. "Don't know what they're getting so excited about, we're going to get slaughtered by Auburn come Saturday." "Hope springs eternal, or so I'm told," Sean smiled, and brushed an errant strand of hair out of Harry's eyes. Harry's hair was more salt than pepper these days, but Sean thought it made him look rather distinguished. Which was worlds away from Harry's personality, mind, and thank God for it. Harry turned his head to press a kiss to Sean's palm. "Ah, well, maybe Urban and his boyfriend will have a good game and surprise us and the rest of the SEC." Sean got up to top off their glasses. "The boyfriend does have a name, you know." Harry's grin was lightning-quick. "Yes, but Orlando blushes ever-so-delightfully when I refer to him as Karl's boyfriend. I'm sure you've noticed." He had, but that wasn't the point. "You're an evil man," Sean laughed. Poor Orlando. Harry was an excellent teacher, but he also loved to flummox his students as much as possible. Not in the same way as Professor Mortensen with his non-sequiter rambling lectures that had little to do with the subject at hand, but then, not everyone grew their own pot and spent most of the time completely stoned, either. (Not that Sean was supposed to know about that, but, well, he was a curious sort and the plant was rather unmistakable, especially to someone who liked to garden as much as Sean did.) "I prefer the term wicked," Harry said, and bent back to his papers. Break time was, apparently, at an end. "Take out again or are you still attempting to cook?" Sean set Harry's glass next to his hand and straightened. "I've gotten better." He'd started trying his hand at expanding his and Harry's pitiful forays into the culinary arts a few years ago. So far, the results had been hit or miss. Harry glanced up, mirth shining from his eyes. "If by better you mean edible, then yes." "You said my curry's not so bad." "Your curry's downright delicious. It's your chicken marsala that's a disaster." "Lucky for you I'd decided to make chili instead," Sean replied lightly, and bent to press a quick kiss to Harry's forehead. "No getting scotch on the papers now. Half the school already thinks you're a lush, no need for more ammunition." "Yes, mother," Harry absently replied, already re-engrossed in his work. Sean just smiled fondly down at him for another moment before heading to the kitchen to see about dinner. Onto Clark Kent
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