Work Text:
Hello, Dr. Blake
Murphy had always believed that he was, metaphorically, a wolf in sheep's clothing. He knew he was smart, the way his brain was constantly working, analyzing, training itself to become better. He had a photographic memory. And while Murphy knew he was smart, he also knew he was shy, at least when he was a child and vulnerable to his mother’s fists and fits of rage and hurled glass bottles that shattered against the wall behind his head (if he was lucky). So, on the first day of eighth grade, in his new town and new high school, when he was called up to write a sentence that they would apply the rules of grammar to, he was so anxious he had written, ‘The first son is always the first to dye.’, resulting in tumultuous laughter from his entire class. By the end of the day he was officially the dumb kid, and when he lunged at the kid who had both thrown the first punch and had started the rumors, Murphy was the one who got in trouble for it. He decided he officially didn’t care.
He sat in the back of every class he’d been in until he graduated, soaking up the lessons from the teacher and choosing not to let them know that he had a brain, because what was the point? They’d already made up their minds and had their opinions of him, and had determined that he was a thuggish dumbass with no future. Jokes on them, though, Murphy thinks to himself, his hands clasped on his lap as he sits through his graduation ceremony. He thinks about how he had managed to graduate with just the right grade point average to get exactly where he wanted, and could afford, to be – the university a couple blocks over from the apartment he’s been renting since he was legally allowed to live on his own.
He knows it’s not much, but it’s better than he ever thought he’d get, especially since he decided that he doesn’t particularly care about school, and just needs it in order to get where he wants to be in life. A job. Maybe a family. And definitely not becoming an unemployed abusive drunk like his newly dead mother. He stared ahead into the crowd of strangers watching his perfect peers prance across the stage, knowing that no one was here just for him and he allows the touch of a tight smile to grace his lips. Good. I don’t need anyone else anyway, he thought.
_____________________________________
Murphy hated school, that much he couldn’t deny, but he just couldn’t stop himself when it came to his English courses and was shocked when he discovered he’d somehow ended up with a B in his first-year creative writing class. He’d decided that English would be his major after that and decided he wanted to be a writer, since he’d always been good at making some pretty good, if unbelievable stories up in order to get out of detention. This decision, he decided, made it even dumber that he was still in university, trying to get a degree he deemed completely pointless, but he sucked it up solely for the thought that his mother had never gotten one and look what had become of her.
To his surprise, Murphy even made friends in the first week that he still had now as he entered his final year at the university – Miller, who was getting his undergrad in science so he could become a high school PE teacher, which Murphy found insane but accepted since Miller is his best friend and his parents have been pretending he was their white son since they found out about his (dead) family; Monty, who was studying biochemical engineering and way too smart to be Murphy’s friend, but they’d somehow dated for three months and had slept together for five months during their second year; Raven who had been a physics major for all of a month before dropping out of university in order to enroll in the heavy-duty mechanic course at the college; Octavia, who was a psych major taking way too many medieval warfare courses to be normal (but really, are any of them actually normal?); and finally Jasper, who goes wherever Monty goes and does a lot of pot and Murphy doesn’t think even he knows what he’s doing at the university.
All in all, things were going great -- he had a decent job, he was getting an apartment with Miller and Raven when he graduated, and he was almost finished with the bullshit he called school – until the day he realized that he had yet to fulfill all of his requirements in order to graduate and that, in order to get his ENGLISH degree, he needed to have at least three credit hours of HISTORY in some idiotic scheme created by the school to make sure each student had the chance to (be forced to) explore other opportunities to make sure they were really in the major they wanted to be in.
Now, usually this sort of thing was no big deal for Murphy – he’d already done similar things with fulfilling his academic breadth requirements and he’d actually enjoyed the mini-tour into the other degrees available – but there was just… something about history that just absolutely maddened Murphy. He couldn’t stand it because, yeah, great, some stuff happened in the past, and yeah, we’re supposed to learn from it to make a better future, but come on, this stuff already happened and he didn’t see what was so great about looking back at the past when the future was unwritten yet and thus so much more interesting (to him, no shade, Lexa).
_________________________________________
It was this turn of events, then, that lead to John Murphy sprawled out across his portion of the lecture hall table at 8am in the back row of Bellamy Blake’s first-year art history course. Bellamy Blake was the sole reason Murphy decided to take this class. He was hot, single, young, intelligent, and the elder sibling of one of his best friends. The last time he had seen Bellamy was two years ago when he and the gang had been at the Blake apartment and he was making fun of their academic breadth intro to psych professor Clarke Griffin, by cleverly pointing out that it seemed like she needed a psychologist’s help, not to be teaching the course. Bellamy had scolded Murphy for insulting “Doctor Griffin” and Murphy had maturely told Bellamy to just admit that he was sleeping with that monstrous woman already and let them continue, to which Bellamy had glared at Murphy and told him to stop making fun of his friend and get out. Murphy only heeded the warning because he saw the red creeping up the back of the elder Blake’s neck and the tight whiteness in his fingers as his hands clenched into fists, and Murphy had seen that look on his mother’s face enough times to know when he was about to cross the line between being generally unwelcome and getting a punch in the face.
He’d excused himself shakily, unable to get the sound of fist meeting flesh out of his mind, too occupied to realize that his face had gone pale and slightly green as he told his friends that he’d see them later. He was too occupied with getting himself to stand without collapsing and making a quick exit to see the look of shocked confusion colouring the elder Blake’s face and the furious look Octavia was giving her brother.
He was out the door in minutes, and his ears felt so stuffed with cotton that he only vaguely heard his name called, and to this day he had no idea who said it, because he just kept walking. It wasn’t until he was two blocks away that he realized that it was snowing again and he’d forgotten his jacket in the Blake’s apartment. He’d shrugged, tugged his arms tightly around his body and continued his half hour walk back to his apartment and didn’t stop moving until his door was closed and locked. He’d slid down the door and cradled his head in his arms, feeling smaller than he had in a long time. It was an hour before he realized he was crying, and it was two before he felt himself stop shaking. He hadn’t had an attack that bad since the day he found his mom’s body.
Whenever he went to the Blake’s house in the few years after the incident, Octavia made sure he and Bellamy never had to come across each other in the house. Now, though, it was two years later and Murphy was over it, and he’s spent plenty of afternoons together with both Blakes. He’d seen Bellamy around multiple times over the last while and made sure to wink at Bellamy or blow him kisses whenever he saw him in the halls, only because he liked the way Bellamy’s cheeks would flush and his dark brows would furrow, which is what they were doing now because he’d just noticed Murphy sitting in the back of his class. Murphy threw him a lazy grin, waggling his fingers in greeting at Bellamy’s frozen figure, catapulting him back into action and rushing to get his lecture materials set up before – Murphy glanced at his watch and felt his eyebrow quirk in surprise, he’d apparently been reminiscing for longer than he’d thought – 8:30.
Murphy watched hungrily as Bellamy stood up, adjusting his dark-rimmed glasses, and addressed the class. “Good morning everyone, my name is Bellamy Blake, and you can call me Bellamy, Dr. Blake, Professor Blake, or whatever else you are comfortable calling me.”
“Hellooo Dr. Blake.” Murphy groans appreciatively, and loudly, from his seat at the back of the lecture hall, resulting in chuckles from surrounding students. He leans back in his chair, one foot pressed lazily against the side of the table and suspending himself on the back legs, a pen dangling from his long, lean fingers.
Murphy smirks as Bellamy pauses, losing track of where his speech is going as he stares up at Murphy incredulously. Bellamy clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Welcome to History 119, Intro to Art History. If there is anyone in here that is not supposed to be in this first-year art history class, you can take this time to head out and find your correct classroom, no judgement.” The class chuckles at the last bit, and Murphy can feel Bellamy’s eyes on him as he sets his chair back on all 4 legs, smirks, tucks his pen behind his ear, leans over towards his bag… and pulls out a textbook before leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. In Bellamy’s defense, he only gapes for a few seconds before he snaps his mouth shut and turns to begin the first lecture of the semester. Murphy smirks at the back of his head as Bellamy pauses for an awkward moment after he flips to his first slide – a picture of the first piece of art they will be studying, Michelangelo’s David (or as Murphy has dubbed it, Hot Naked Guy 1).
“Cool, I didn’t know this class doubled as a porno.” Murphy quips. The class laughs.
Bellamy’s responding “Shut up, Murphy,” becomes the first of many, and it was rare for any of the classes Murphy actually attended (sporadic as his attendance may be, he only showed up slightly more often for the enjoyment of torturing the elder Blake) to not include at least one utterance of the phrase. It became so popular among the rest of the students that whenever anyone make a sarcastic or otherwise strange comment someone else would end up piping up with a “Shut up, Murphy,” that drove the rest of the class to laughter that Murphy realized was driving Bellamy closer and closer to insanity. He’d only been to five classes, and it was the first month.
“Mr. Murphy, could you please come see me after lecture? There’s something we need to discuss.” Bellamy’s voice cut through Murphy’s daydreaming about the sex god before him. Murphy wanted to scoff at the overly professional tone Bellamy had begun to take with him and decided to protest the professionalism in the only way he knew how.
“Are you going to punish me, sir?” Murphy gives his voice an innocent lilt as he looks wide-eyed at the man blushes at the front of the lecture hall. Murphy doesn’t think it’s his imagination when he sees Bellamy’s eyes darken in lust from his vantage point in the front row. Murphy had been late to the lecture, and the only free spot was directly in front of Bellamy. He thinks the class might have done it on purpose since their banter seems to be a source of enjoyment for the majority of the spectators (students).
Bellamy sighs. “Shu—”
“Shut up, Murphy.” Chimes half the class in near perfect unison, sparking an eruption of chuckles from around the room.
Murphy smirks at Bellamy and Bellamy glares back. The class has gone quiet and Murphy's smirk grows, realizing that Bellamy hasn’t continued the lecture and is just staring at Murphy.
“Paging Dr. Bellamy.” Murphy calls and the class chuckles again as their professor’s cheeks begin to flush again at having been caught glaring at one of his students by his entire class.
“Focus, Murphy.”
“Seems to me like you need to focus.” Murphy winks and Bellamy rolls his eyes, throwing his hands up in exasperation and going back to the lecture.
______________________________________
“Murphy, you’re about to fail my class.” Bellamy’s hands are folded, staring at him intensely from across the wooden desk in his office.
“Yeah. And? I’m not failing yet am I?”
“No, but—”
“But what? I’m passing and I’m only here because I need the credits.”
“I’m going to sign you up for tutoring.”
Murphy groans, thumping his head against the desk. “No. I don’t need fucking tutoring. I don’t need some rando showing up and making me do the work I choose not to do. I show up enough. I participate enough. I hand in enough assignments. What do you want from me?”
“Murphy, I know you’re smart. And you can’t hide it from me because Octavia has told me about how smart you are and how well you do in the classes you care about and actually attend. It pains me to see that you’re not putting yourself out there. You could graduate at the top of your class if you really put the time and care I know you have into your coursework.”
“Thanks for the life lesson, Boy Meets World.” Murphy smirks.
“This is serious. Please, think about it. I can even be the one to work with you if it will help you get stuff done. You won’t have to deal with a stranger. I know how uncomfortable that makes you.”
“What makes you think that? Has Octavia been telling you my whole life story? Because if so remind me to kill her the next time I see her.”
“She doesn’t need to tell me. I notice you, Murphy. I always have. Especially after—”
“Yeah. Okay. Fine. Sure. Whatever. Where do you want to do this useless tutoring thing?” Murphy feels his heartrate pick up speed as he cuts Bellamy off, fighting the blush that is attempting to flush his cheeks. He feels a small pit of excitement grow in his chest as he thinks about spending time alone with Bellamy. Even if it is just to study. Murphy sighs internally as he realizes his pathetic crush is leading him down dangerous paths of actually looking forward to studying.
“We can meet at O and I’s place. Does this Wednesday work for you?”
“Yeah. I have no class after one.”
“Good. I’ll see you then, Murphy. And I’m glad you decided to do this.”
“I can tell. Don’t cream yourself over your problem student finally agreeing to do work.”
“Shut u—”
“See ya, Dr. Blake.” Murphy flounces out of the room before Bellamy is even finished his eye roll.
_______________________________________________
Murphy shows up to the Blake Residence at promptly 12:15 because he is 100% that bitch and decided that his class wasn’t worth going to. Well, he would have made that decision, but in reality it was cancelled and Murphy was bored so he made his way over early. Which is another excuse because he was way too excited to wait around, looking forward to teasing the elder Blake and making him blush.
Murphy uses the key Octavia gave him years ago to unlock the door to the apartment and let himself in. He is immediately greeted with the sight of Bellamy Blake, the subject of his fantasies for the past however many years he’s known Octavia, frozen in the hallway with a towel slung low around his lean hips. Murphy rakes his eyes appreciatively over the man before him and smirks up into the man’s shocked eyes. “Lookin’ good, Professor.” Murphy moans as he admires the toned muscle. Don’t get him wrong, Bellamy is always a sight, especially shirtless, which it often seems like he is, especially around Murphy, and he has started to think that he’s allergic to them. Murphy has even seen him wet and glistening and shirtless before, but never in this particular toweled outfit that does so very much and so very little to keep Bellamy modest.
“Where’s Octavia?” Murphy asks, still dragging his eyes very obviously over the elder Blake’s rockin’ bod. Bellamy stares back at Murphy, eyes shifting between him and the door as though he can’t figure out how to process the situation. “Blake?” Murphy questions in a teasing lilt at Bellamy’s lack of response as he just stares back blankly.
As his mouth finally seems to catch up with his mind, Bellamy blinks twice, clears his throat, and says, “She left ten minutes ago. She has an appointment at one and decided to walk.”
“Oh.” Murphy hesitates. He hasn’t been alone in an unprofessional environment with Bellamy in what feels like years. At least, not since the incident. He feels a stubborn rush of nerves. “Should I come back later?”
Bellamy’s shoulders lose their tension before his eyes and Murphy watches as his eyes begin to travel his body, reading him in ways that no one should ever be able to. “I don’t mind. As long as you’re comfortable.”
Murphy’s heartrate slows and his posture relaxes. Something about the way Bellamy says things, the way he considers him and takes him in lulls him back to his snarky self. Murphy smiles. “Nah, man. We’re good. Besides, without her here, I can say whatever I want without her vomiting down my back.” His smile grows devilish, and he sees Bellamy roll his eyes with a snort, but not before catching a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous lips.
“Shut up, Murphy.” Bellamy sighs, and Murphy hates that he feels butterflies at the smile that Bellamy stops fighting back. Murphy almost moans at the rippling muscles of his back as he turns to make his way back to his bedroom to change.
_________________________________________________
“There. Happy now? I’m unteachable. Can we please go get food now?” Murphy grins at Bellamy, watching the man remove his glasses and rub at the indents it leaves behind with a passive-aggressive sigh. Murphy has decidedly grown more comfortable with his presence and had moved from the opposite side of the room to inhabiting the other end of the couch Bellamy had set himself up on in the two hours of studying that have taken place. His foot was steadily sliding dangerously close to Bellamy’s fantastic thigh and he was honestly more focussed on how close he could get to the man without being scolded than the history of the Mona fucking Lisa and her, while beautiful, frankly boring ass smirk.
“No. We’re not getting food until you focus. Even if we die from starvation.” Bellamy glares at Murphy, and then down at his offending foot as Murphy stabs him in the thigh with his toe.
“Maybe you need to try harder to get me to focus.” Murphy’s voice is flirty and he grins at the offended look he receives.
“And what, pray tell, would help you to focus.” It’s not a question, but a statement and it makes Murphy’s grin grow because it means he’s getting under Bellamy’s skin.
“Food would be nice.”
“No food.”
“Fine. Then strip.” Murphy smirks.
Murphy swears he means it as a joke in the moment but the second Bellamy’s face recovers from its mini heart attack, he sees his eyes darken. He stays quiet, keeping eye-contact with Bellamy as his pupils dilate with what Murphy finds himself hoping is lust as the man appraises him. Murphy finds himself blushing with the attention as the lack of response grows into a deafening silence and he’s just about to take back the statement when Bellamy says, “Okay.”
“What?” Murphy can’t believe his ears, his mouth not caught up enough with his brain to quip back something snarky.
“Okay. We’ll go back to the flashcards, and this time when you get an answer right, I’ll remove an article of clothing. If you get the answer wrong, you remove a piece of clothing. If you still want to, that is.” The older Blake is smirking at him, sprawling himself out cockily on his half of the couch, even though Murphy can see through the act to the part of Bellamy that is making sure that Murphy is comfortable. The part that somehow seems to care for him.
“Okay.” Murphy nods slowly, finding himself flushing slightly as he gets himself more comfortable on the couch again, directing his full attention to Bellamy. “Let’s do it.”
______________________________________________
Murphy does it. Half an hour later Bellamy is left in his boxers and Murphy is crowned the winner with his left sock, his pants and boxers, and his favourite leather jacket/flannel/black undershirt combo still intact, along with the bracelet Octavia gave him. “I win.” Murphy smirks, poking again at Bellamy’s thigh with his socked foot. This time, Bellamy laughs and grabs at his foot, pulling his leg gently onto his thigh.
“You did. And I’m very proud of you.” Murphy can’t keep his eyes off Bellamy, his eyes looking so bright as he grins at him, and his smile about to split his face.
Murphy smiles back before pausing. “Why?” He asks Bellamy, leaning closer to the man.
“Because you did well?” Bellamy’s face is adorable scrunched up in confusion and Murphy thinks he needs a picture of it at some point.
“Well of course I did.” Murphy smirks for a moment before growing serious again. “I mean… why would you do this? For me? I mean, I openly hate your class, and I know you only put up with me because I’m Octavia’s friend, so why would you help me? Why do you put up with me flirting and snarking and all of the things that should make you hate me?”
“Because I don’t see you as just O’s friend. I’ve liked you for a long time, Murphy. I felt so guilty that day when Octavia explained to me what I did, especially since you never really came around after that that much, and I was afraid to push you. But I think, and I hope I’m right, that maybe you like me too?”
“You can read me too well.”
“Huh?”
“I can always tell when you’re trying to figure me out and I hate that you do such a good job of it. It might be why I… do… like you too.”
Murphy knows he made the right choice in telling Bellamy when the man’s face breaks out into a red blushing grinning mess and slowly reaches out for Murphy. Murphy allows him to pull him in closer until he is snuggled against Bellamy’s side.
“Fuck.” Bellamy curses and Murphy feels him tense against his side.
“What? What is it?”
“I’m still your professor. I can’t do this with you—”
“It’s fine. I get it. I’ll go.” Murphy’s already hauling himself off the couch before Bellamy can finish, but he’s unceremoniously pulled back down next to the man.
“No. That’s not what I mean.” Murphy glances up into Bellamy’s eyes, seeing his conviction, and knowing that he somehow managed to tell what Murphy was thinking. That he was stupid for thinking Bellamy would like him, would want to date him.
“What do you mean, then?” Murphy’s voice is brittle.
“I mean that I can’t date you right now. But when you’re out of my class we’re free to be open and public about us, but I don’t want to risk either of us by doing this now.” Bellamy’s voice is forceful in all the right ways and Murphy is soothed despite the cliché douchey sounding words because he understands Bellamy’s reasoning and can tell from the way Bellamy leans toward him, flapping his hands around desperately that he means every word he says. Because Murphy knows that he can read Bellamy about as well as Bellamy can read him.
Murphy sighs, flopping backwards into the couch. “Fiiine. But can you at least fuck me once so that I can fantasize about what’s to come when I get out of your godawful class?”
Bellamy smirks. “How about you pass my class and we’ll see about the sex then.”
“Fucker.” Murphy glares at the laughing Bellamy. “I won’t make this easy on you.”
“Trust me, I know. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t try everything in your power to make me regret my words.”
“Hell yeah. So, if I pass I get sex?”
Bellamy grins and Murphy gets a chill at the glee in his eyes as he says, “If you merely pass, you’ll get to wait a week. But if you get an A I will make it happen as soon as possible.”
“I hate you.”
“Deal?”
“…Deal.”
“What deal?” Octavia’s voice breaks into the silent glaring contest between he two men. Murphy smirks evilly and he sees Bellamy already begin to regret his life’s choices.
“Nothing—” Bellamy starts before he’s cut off by Murphy.
“Your brother’s going to sex me if I pass his class. And once I pass his class we can sex all the time since we can be together when he’s not my professor.”
“Dear God what have I done. I shouldn’t have left you alone. All Murphy’s going to do is torment me with details about my brother’s sex life. Why did I choose to listen to my brother?” Octavia’s voice is dramatic, and she looks so horrified Murphy starts laughing. Then stops.
“Wait. What do you mean listen to your brother? He said you had an appointment.” Murphy turns to look at Bellamy only to discover that the man’s face has gone beet red and has planted his face in his palms.
“That’s what he told you? Heck no. He gave me twenty bucks to make myself scarce for the next three hours.”
“Awwww. You really do like me.” Murphy teases, chortling at the mortified man beside him.
“Shut up, Murphy.”
“I can’t wait until you take me up the ass.” Murphy grins and Bellamy chokes on air as Octavia makes retching noises behind him.
______________________________________
“So, Murphy, did you pass?” Octavia asks Murphy as they hang out at her place after finally receiving their final grades for their semesters.
“Yep.” He grins at her and she gives him a disgusted face in response.
“When am I going to have to make myself scarce so I don’t hear any more about my brother’s sex life than I’m already going to hear being friends with the one he’s sexing?”
Murphy’s about to answer but stops as the both look down at his phone that’s started buzzing between then. Octavia frowns, confused. “WHAT? Murphy, I thought you told me that your parents are DEAD and now you’re getting a phone call from your DAD?! How could you lie to me like….. No. No. No no no no nononono. No, God please no.” Her eyes grow wide with horror as she stares down at “DADDY” displayed across Murphy’s phone screen.
Murphy grins evilly at her, picking up his phone, pressing it to his ear, and answering the call. “Hey Bellamy. Yeah I saw it. Tonight’s good for me. Love you too. Buh bye!”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I… I need to go bleach my brain.”