Archive of Our Own

The first William knew about his new office mate was when two janitors barged into his office and started measuring the walls and moving furniture.

"Is there something I should know?" he asked, steadying his mug as it wobbled dangerously.

"Got to fit another desk in here," one guy said. "You don't have any spare network points in here, do you?"

"No," William said, frowning as the second guy started marking lines on the wall, "because it's a single person office."

"Not any more it's not," Anna said, appearing at his desk like a ghost. "The new Creative Writing professor's starting on Monday, and he needs an office."

"But I like my office," William said. He could close the door and nap once office hours were through, and it was closest to the common room, should he feel the need for company.

"You'll like it even more with your new office mate," Anna said, brightly. William had long had the suspicion that she saw staff and students as unnecessary messes clogging up her nice empty corridors.

"I need an office to myself," William tried. "For research. And reflection."

"Everyone else in the department shares," Anna said. "It was really only a matter of time."

"The engineers don't share. Nor does Pete."

"You're an English professor, not someone who needs $50 000 worth of heavy machinery. Nor are you the Dean of Humanities. Once you're as senior as Professor Wentz, I'm sure you'll get your own office too," she said, then, "Barney, George, you can collect the desk and chair from stores once you're done here."

She looked at the piles of books surrounding William's desk.

"Do you really need all those? They're in the way," she said.

"Strangely yes," William said. "Since I am, as you pointed out, an English Professor, I do need all the books. Perhaps you should have thought of that before you gave me a room mate against my will."

She just shook her head at him and followed the janitors out of the room.

William finished his tea and spent fifteen minutes composing an annoyed email to Pete, just because. Then he gathered his books, and went to teach his class, half expecting to find Anna had snuck in and fitted in two more desks when he returned.

William flirted briefly with the idea of making it very clear to the new professor that they'd stolen his precious book space but, he realised, it wasn't the new guy's fault Anna had the sensibilities of a slum lord and probably thought the population density of Mexico City was just comfortably snug. He was prepared to be welcoming. Magnanimous even. Especially when Pete stopped by with apology doughnuts, and told him just who the new guy was.

"Bit of a coup," Pete said, sitting on his desk and swinging his legs. William edged a first year essay out from under his ass and put it on the pile. "Ryan Ross. Thought we were going to lose him to Durham at one point, but I managed to convince him." He licked the sugar off his doughnut. "You know his stuff. Fever and that great experimental novel-"

"With the wolves," William nodded. "It was... astonishing." He bit into the custard doughnut. "I didn't know he was looking to move."

"I can be convincing." Pete raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sure you can," William said, smiling up at him.

"He's doing first year Creative Writing, the Novel in Transition, and something on addiction in literature," Pete said. "Be nice to him."

"I'm always nice," William protested.

"You look at Anna like she stole your lunch money," Pete said.

"She stole half my office!" William said, waving his arm. His precious books were stacked two deep on the remaining bookcase, the new desk squashed up against the opposite wall. "Couldn't you put him somewhere else?"

"Look at it as an opportunity to practice collegiality and collaboration." Pete dusted the powdered sugar off his hands. "And speaking of which, I'm off to the music department to see Patrick."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" William asked.

"See you later," Pete grinned.

**

"Oh, I guess this is my office?"

William looked up from the screen to see someone standing in the doorway, leather jacket slung round his shoulders.

"It doesn't have my name on the door," the guy continued.

"Because it's my office," William said, automatically. The guy frowned, drawing his fine eyebrows together.

"I thought- someone was showing me round but, they kind of got lost? I'm Ryan Ross. You're William Beckett, I expect."

"My name is on the door, so yes," William said. Ryan didn't move from his spot in the door, and William felt bad. The building was confusing at the best of times. "I'm sorry," he said. "Come in. This is your office too, I guess. How did you manage to lose your babysitter?"

Ryan stood in the middle of the room, looking around.

"I went to the bathroom and took a wrong turn?" he said. "This is kind of small."

"It's fine for one person," William said, biting the inside of his cheek. "I tried to clear part of the bookcase for you."

"Did I steal your office?" Ryan asked. He put his bag on the spare desk and hung his leather jacket over the chair. William approved of his pants.

"Technically you stole half of it," William said. He got to his feet and held out his hand. "William Beckett. Poetry, mostly."

Ryan's fingers were as long as his, warm as they shook hands.

"I know," Ryan said. "I'm apparently sharing an office with this generation's Walt Whitman." He smiled when he said it, mouth curving. Not with the sting that often came with that, with the comparison William had never courted, and didn't really believe.

"You write one volume of erotic poetry..." William said. "I don't think I'd suit the beard."

"More than one volume," Ryan said, looking at his bookcases, running his fingers over the spines. "And no, the beard would not be a good look."

William rubbed his hand along his jaw. "I toyed with the idea," he said. "But it was kind of ridiculous. Pete said I looked like a kid playing dress up."

"Like he can talk," Ryan said.

"You know him?" William asked.

"We go way back," Ryan said. "When he said this post was open, it wasn't really a tough decision. And I'm looking forward to teaching my new classes."

"Most people act like teaching just gets in the way," William said. He found a spare mug and switched the kettle on, still full from the morning cup of tea.

"I know," Ryan said. "I don't. I'm a writer. We have to have contact with the world. Academics who are too concerned with hiding away in their ivory towers and not reaching people make me fucking sick."

The words were vehement, an edge to Ryan's soft voice. He stared at William like he was daring him to disagree.

William held up his hand."No arguments from me," he said. "Tea?"

"Thank you," Ryan said. "Should I get used to this?"

"It's your first day," William said. "I can make an exception for that."

"Even if I did steal your office."

"Half my office," William said, handing him the mug, string looped around the handle.

"Half your office." Ryan's face was wreathed in steam, and he smiled over the rim of the mug.

It took Anna 40 minutes to get around to checking William's office.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "I looked everywhere for you, I should have checked here first."

"It's ok," Ryan said, scooting his chair back across the room to put the empty mug on the desk. "I'm meant to be here anyway, right? And William made me right at home."

"I'll bet he did," Anna said, with what William thought was an unnecessarily knowing look. "Ryan, We need to get your ID and parking permit sorted out, if you'll come with me?"

"I'm sure I can tear myself away," Ryan said, "Better be quick in case I come back and find a third desk in here."

As William struggled not to laugh at the deadpan delivery, he thought having an office mate might not be as bad as he'd feared.

**

Pete slipped into the room and sat on William's desk as he was losing his fifth set of office hours in a row. Ryan pocketed the slip of paper and chuckled.

"I can't believe I thought this was a good idea," William said.

"Hard at work, I see," Pete said, swinging his legs.

"Office hours." Ryan shuffled the cards and William idly admired his hands. "We can't both have them in here at the same time, so we had to come up with a system."

"And you thought, poker?" Pete reached over William's should and stole some of his M&Ms.

"I did," William said. "How was I to know he has the world's greatest poker face?" He flapped a hand in Ryan's direction. “He's impossible to read."

"And he grew up in Vegas." Pete hopped down and ruffled Ryan's hair. "Sorry Bill, but I've never known him to lose a game."

"Strip poker, that one time." Ryan's smile was a sly secret.

"Pretty sure you lost that one on purpose," Pete said.

"You'll never prove a thing." Ryan took the last of the M&Ms.

"I actually came to ask if one of you could cover Greta's classes while she's in Lucerne," Pete said. "Enjoyable as the reminiscing is."

"I can," Ryan said, before William could explain why he couldn't. "Our classes overlap, I know some of her kids."

"What would I do without you?" Pete kissed the top of Ryan's head. Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Don't want to leave you out," Pete kissed William's cheek and William swatted at him. Pete skipped out of the way and closed the door behind him.

"So, you and Pete, huh?" William asked.

Ryan smiled serenely. "Everyone has their youthful indiscretions," he said, and cut the deck for the next hand.

**

 

The new year blew in with ice and snow. William was used to it, couldn't imagine a January without it. He got used to dodging snowballs as he walked across campus, and had a running competition with Pete about the number of animal hats in his lectures. Ryan, it was fair to say, was less than sanguine about the winter.

"Fingerless gloves?" William asked, as he pushed the door closed. He took his coat off, then thought better of it.

Ryan's breath hung in the air as he said, "Something's fucked with the heating. It's supposed to be fixed later today but I'm not holding out much hope." He wrapped his gloved hands round the mug on his desk. William's spare mug had never quite made it back to his side of the office.

William put his coat back on. "Classes?"

"I cancelled my Novel lecture," Ryan said. He was wearing two scarves and his curling hair stuck out from under his beanie. "The lecture hall might as well be a chest freezer. I put the notes online and they can catch up next week."

"Good call," William said. He opened his email to see message after message on the state of the heating, with Pete's email at the top exhorting them all to "stay warm!"

"That's fine for Pete to say," William said, reading the email aloud.

"The music department has heat," Ryan said. "Three guesses as to who he's staying warm with."

"Maybe we should follow his example," William stuck his hands under his armpits. "Snuggle up with Patrick."

"Can't see Pete going for that," Ryan smiled. "Jesus fucking Christ, is it always this cold?"

"It's Chicago in January," William said. "This is normal."

"I grew up in the desert," Ryan said. He tugged his camel coat more closely around himself. "Seriously, it's not going to be this cold all winter is it?"

"I'd like to tell you otherwise," William said. "But I'd be lying."

"I can't work in this office," Ryan said "I can barely type." He hit a few keys listlessly and tucked his head down into the collar of his coat, scarf around his ears. All William could see was the tip of his nose and his amber eyes. He pulled open his desk drawer and grabbed the emergency whiskey. "Nip to warm you up?" he asked.

"It's a misnomer," Ryan said. "Alcohol doesn't really make you any warmer. By opening the blood vessels you actually cool down."

William shrugged and poured a nip into his coffee. "Not all of us have that many scarves," he said.

Ryan got up stiffly from his desk and unwound the purple and green scarf from round his neck.

"You only had to ask." he said. He crossed the small space between the desks, stepping over the pile of marked essays, and looped the scarf around William's neck, keeping hold of the ends. The scarf was just tight enough to make William's breath catch, and by the glitter in Ryan's eyes, he knew it. "Warmer?"

William looked up into his face. "Getting there," he said.

Ryan's mouth twitched up at the corner. “Guess we can work some more on that,” he said, voice full of amused promise.

William lasted another hour before he lost feeling in his fingers.

“This is ridiculous,” he said. His breath misted in front of him in white clouds. Across the office, Ryan was hunkered down inside his coat, shoulders up around his ears. “Come on,” William said, turning off his computer. “I'm going to find someplace warm. You should come too before you turn into an attractive block of ice.”

“You don't have to ask me twice.” Ryan shuffled his pile of marking into his bag. “Let's have a snow day.”

“A snow day?” William stuffed his hands into his coat pocket.

“There has to be some upside to this, if you all haven't moved somewhere with more sensible weather,” Ryan said.

Ryan's nose was pretty much the only thing William could see between hat brim and wrapped scarf. It was pink with cold. “Hot chocolate, snowball fights, skating, cuddling for warmth,” William said. “And it's kind of pretty, out there.”

“I'll take one or all of the above,” Ryan said grumpily as he locked the office door.

“Whimsicalitea does great hot chocolate.” William put his arm around Ryan's shoulder to steer him in the right direction. “As for the rest, we'll see...”

The café was pretty full, students and faculty alike having the same idea. Wet coats steamed in the heat and puddles of melting ice made slippery patches on the floor. William briefly flirted with the idea of pulling rank on a bunch of students and grabbing a nearby table, but the way Ryan tucked his hand into the crook of his elbow and ushered him outside changed his mind.

The hot cup warmed his hands through the gloves as they wandered slowly across campus.

“It is pretty,” Ryan said, looking at the swirling flakes. “I've never seen so much snow in real life.” He sipped his cup. “And this is good, too.”

“They'll put Baileys in it, if you ask,” William said. He skirted a frozen puddle. “And campus is beautiful in the snow. It doesn't make up for winter, but I grew up here. No snow would feel wrong.”

“You mentioned skating,” Ryan said. “Does that mean you play hockey?” he linked his arm through William's. The snow crunched under their boots.

“I skate,” William said, “but my legs- kind of get in the way? My sister plays hockey. I mostly still fall over a lot.”

Ryan stepped over a patch of ice “I played in a rec league back in California,” he said “It's where I got my crooked ring finger.” he waved the hand holding his cup to demonstrate. William had noticed the broken finger, but hadn't wanted to ask.

“So is there a rink nearby, if you grew up here?” Ryan asked.

“Sure,” William said. “But she mostly plays pond hockey. Just grabs whoever's around, you know? Like a pick up basketball game. Grab your skates and go. Put the car's headlights on the ice when it gets too dark to see.”

“It sounds-poetic,” Ryan said.

“It has a certain visual drama,” William said. “Freezing cold, though, if you're not skating to keep warm.”

Ryan opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the snowball to the side of his face.

“Pfffft.” Ryan wiped the snow out of his eyes. They'd wandered into the middle of a pretty epic battle, William realised. Clearly they weren't the only ones to cancel classes.

A girl in a bright striped beanie jogged over, raising her hands in apology “Sorry!” she said. “I didn't mean to hit you! Free throw for you, if you want to join in.”

Ryan pulled his beanie off to shake the snow out and she faltered, eyes widening.

“Professor Ross!” she said “I didn't mean to- I'm sorry!” She looked like she was worried Ryan would fail her on the spot.

“It's ok Toni,” Ryan said. “Just, try not to injure anyone else.” He smiled at her, and she spluttered again, ducking her head before running back to the game. William thought Ryan's student's should have been used to the effect of his smile by now, but then again, he wasn't.

“Come on,” William jerked his head, “let's get out of range.”

“This an occupational hazard?” Ryan asked as they ducked under the arch of the Chemistry building. Drifts of snow had built up around the walls but in the archway it was warm, out of the wind.

“Only with the first big snow,” William said. He tossed the empty cup in the trash. “People tend to get a bit overexcited.”

Ryan laughed. “I can see that,” he said. He set his cup on the ledge. “Hot chocolate, skating, snowball fights.” He ticked the points off on gloved fingers. “What was the last thing you said?”

“Cuddling for warmth,” William didn't even try to stop the smile.

“Oh yes,” Ryan said. “I remember. That goes something like this, right?”

William closed his eyes as he felt Ryan's fingers on his jaw, the soft touch of lips to the corner of his mouth, then a proper kiss, cocoa-edged and hot enough to melt snow.

“See,” William said, rubbing their noses together. “You'll get the hang of winter yet.”

**

A week after Ryan's spare toothbrush took up permanent residence in William's bathroom, Pete crashed into their office without knocking. Ryan tutted, and carried on examining the bruise on William's forehead.

“Ow,” William said, as he pressed on it. “That hurt.”

“Least you didn't lose any teeth,” Ryan said.

“Man, reviewers get really brutal these days,” Pete said. He leaned down to look at the bruise and William felt his eyes cross as he tried to keep Pete in focus. He reached out to poke at the bruise and William, expecting it, slapped his hand away.

“What happened?” Pete asked.

“Hockey fight,” Ryan said. “You'll live.” He kissed the bruise. William hooked his finger into Ryan's shirt-collar and tugged him in for a real kiss.

“Ryan's team needed an extra guy,” William said. “Never again.”

Pete laughed, but his eyes were calculating, and William knew he'd be getting a flurry of lurid emails.

“Well, I'd say I don't know how he persuaded you, but I think I can guess.” Pete grinned.

“I have no idea what you mean.” Ryan scooted his chair back across the room.

“I made him promise to play in the Arts vs Science baseball match this summer,” William said. “One good turn, and all that.”

“I have 'til June to get out of it,” Ryan said placidly. “I'm sure we can work something out.”

“Do I need to start knocking now?” Pete asked. “In case I interrupt anything?”

“You should always knock,” William said, sorting through a stack of mail. “If I'd known that's what it took I'd have hooked up with my officemate years ago.”

“You've never had an officemate before,” Ryan said.

“Another thing you should be thankful for,” Pete said.

“It's a pretty unique approach to staff retention,” William said blandly.

“I like to see my people happy,” Pete said. “As you were.” He closed the door carefully behind him and William heard him writing on the whiteboard outside with the squeaky marker.

When they checked it later, he'd written “do not disturb.”

 

**

William slipped into the back of the hall just as Ryan was setting up the slides. The undergrads filed in around him, staking out seats and opening laptops and notebooks. A few of them did a double-take when they saw him, overlaps from his classes, but he just waved at them and carried on with his reading as the lecture started.

Ryan had been uncharacteristically shy when he'd asked William the favour. Like, after everything, he'd thought he'd say no.

"But, at it's heart, poetry is performative," Ryan said, stepping the the edge of the podium and looking out at the ranks of students. "That's something we can forget, when what we study is the written word. How many of you, when you're reading a poem, read it aloud? Anyone?" A few sheepish hands went up around the room, a couple William recognised from the Poetry Slammers, one girl who he thought might be one of Patrick's music performance majors.

"Try it sometime," Ryan said, smiling, "it can reveal things you might have missed. It's - transformative. The author has chosen those words for a reason, but your performance of them changes their meaning. The rhythm off the page. The weight of the words on your tongue, the shape of them in your mouth." His voice was soft and somehow intimate even in the draughty room. The woman next to William looked starry-eyed. William felt pretty starry-eyed himself.

"But don't take my word for it," Ryan continued. "I've asked a colleague and friend of mine to give a demonstration. We poets like to perform but some are better at it than others. Professor Beckett?"

William stood up and trotted down the shallow steps to the front of the hall.

"Professor Ross didn't ask me to perform a specific poem," he said, looking across to Ryan. "I imagine he wanted me to pick something from your syllabus. Or maybe he thought I'd do something from my own collection." Ryan's eyes widened slightly in warning, but William just smiled at him. "That would be rather self-indulgent, though, wouldn't it? So I decided to do something from a favourite poet, and a very dear friend of mine. Some of you might recognise it."

He cleared his throat, pitched his voice right to the back of the room, and began. “Is it still me that makes you sweat? Am I who you think about in bed?"

He heard Ryan's surprised little gasp, a couple of chuckles from the kids, and carried on.

"I can't believe you picked one of mine," Ryan said later. William turned his head on the pillow to look at him.

"You're not mad, are you?" he asked. Ryan certainly hadn't seemed annoyed. Quite the contrary. They'd barely made it through the door.

"No," Ryan shook his head, smile tugging at his mouth "Fuck, I had no idea. That it could sound like that. You made it sound so different."

"Isn't that what your lecture was about?" William asked. "How speaking it aloud changes the poem? The transformative nature of performance?" He ran his fingers down Ryan's bare arm to watch him shiver.

"That's dirty talk," Ryan leaned over and kissed him. "That's cheating."

William spread his legs to allow Ryan to settle between them, and kissed him back. "Words are hot," he said, "you know this." They made out lazily, Ryan slipping one hand up to circle his wrist, grinding slowly against each other.

"Hey," Ryan propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at him. His mouth was wet, pink and shiny. "Hey I want to try something? Can I?" He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the pen.

William watched him twirl it between his fingers.

"Depends," he said, pushing Ryan's hair off his face "You going to go write and leave me hanging?"

"Would I do that?" Ryan said. He uncapped the pen. "Words are hot. The shape of them. The sound. How you make them do what you want, how i can read yours, and it's like the first time I've seen them. Even it it's words I see every day." The pen was wet and cool as Ryan traced letters along William's ribs.

"What are you writing?" William asked, trying to squint to see.

"My favourite words," Ryan said. "Sussuration. Surreptitious."

"Oh," William breathed out slowly as the pen moved lower, loopy black letters standing out on his skin. It was not a tickle, more a slow, slow tease, Ryan's absolute focus on him, his wicked fingers on the pen, writing slowly, deliberately, needing William to be good, be still. So still, even though each touch of the pen was a tiny spark of arousal. Even though Ryan's bottom lip, caught between his teeth, looked begging to be kissed. William stretched his arms out when Ryan asked, watched Ryan write petrichor along the inside of his forearm and liminal around the curl of his biceps. Ryan kissed the crook of his elbow, lips gentle and William let out a shuddery breath and pushed his hips up to try and get some friction. Ryan arched higher, not giving him what he needed

"Shh," Ryan said. "I'm nearly finished. I've got you, I promise."

"Please,"William said "please."

"Hmmm." Ryan cocked his head to the side and rapidly wrote a string of words down William's other arm. William squinted, saw poise and assignation and luminescent.

"There." Ryan said, sitting back on his heels. He was flushed, hard again, smudges of ink on his fingers. William smiled and stretched his arms out.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Like poetry," Ryan said, and finally, finally kissed him.

**

The end of year all-staff poetry slam was the stuff of whispered legend, students and faculty celebrating the end of term with poems, karaoke, far too much pizza, and an open bar.

“I can't believe they put you in charge of the bar,” Ryan said, pressing his chin into William's shoulder.

“Neither can I,” William said. “Don't worry, I've already put the one good bottle aside.” He handed a glass to a waiting student. “I'll get someone else to take over, I want to see Pete read and he always goes last.”

“Not going to read one of yours for me?” Ryan said, kissing his neck.

“What, and cause a riot?” William said. “And what about you?”

“You have my words,” Ryan said, tracing his finger up under William's cuff, over tattooed words on his wrist, a permanent kiss of ink on skin.

“And fine ones they are too,” William said, just managing not to shiver.

He abandoned the mostly empty bar when Pete's name was announced over the PA, interrupting the music, and found Ryan saving him a patch of grass.

“I remember the first time he did the whole slam shirtless,” William said by way of greeting. “Not sure what people made of a Dean with nipple rings.”

“For my favourite human,” Pete said, gesturing to where Patrick sat in the front row.

William rested his head on top of Ryan's, and listened.

“Still a talented bastard,” Ryan said as the words washed over them.

“Annoying, isn't it?” William said, joining in with the applause.

“That's being in love for you,” Ryan said. He nodded to where Patrick was kissing Pete, oblivious to the hoots, hand pressed to Pete's sweaty, bare back.

“Come on,” William said, making a decision. “Follow me.” He picked up the bottle from the hiding place and took Ryan's hand. The sounds of karaoke faded away as they climbed the steps to the roof.

“Are you kidnapping me?” Ryan said.

“The sun's setting soon,” William said, “it's something of a tradition.” Ryan tightened his grip, and didn't ask any more questions.

Up on the flat roof the distant sounds of the party mixed with the hum of traffic and the wind in the trees. William opened the storage cupboard and rummaged around. “I knew it was still here,” he said, pulling out the mat and unrolling it. Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Brendon used to do sunrise yoga up here before modern dance got their studio refurbished.” He stretched out and pulled Ryan down next to him.

“And what are we doing up here?” Ryan asked.

William uncapped the whiskey and sipped. “Waiting for the sun to go down,” he said. “Look.” He pointed to where the sun was sinking down, making the trees sharp black shadows, a blur of orange and red behind them. “It's only like this a few nights a year. You only get the view from up high. I've watched it from here for years.”

Ryan leaned back on his elbows. “And just how many people have you bought up here to seduce with the sunset?” he asked.

“You're the first,” William said.

Ryan linked their fingers together “I am? I'm honoured.”

“You asked for poetry, earlier,” William said after a few minutes silence. “I don't think I could do any better than this sunset.”

“Sweet talker.” Ryan said.

“Only the best for you,” William said.

“So I'm forgiven for stealing your office then?” Ryan asked.

“Best thing that ever happened,” William said, and kissed him as the sun turned the sky to molten gold.