Work Text:
Territorial Pissing
Gaetan knows that he has made a mistake the minute he sets foot on campus.
It was a stupid idea, coming here. And if anyone sees him, or knows why he has come, he'll be the laughing stock of the crew for months. He can already hear Lambert's cutting remarks and Letho's commentary, and he can see Aiden shaking his head at him.
Well, fuck that. This is important after all.
He follows the signs that lead to the big lecture halls; quite a lot of people pass him, darting him curious looks which he ignores. Let them think that he's here on a contract. He is, in a way. A personal one, at least. His steps are swift and light, and he is glad that he left the swords back at the headquarters. They'd draw too much attention, and he doesn't mean to cause a panic. Not a general one anyway. He knows people still recognise him as a Witcher – his eyes are reflecting the sun, and his medallion gleams in the light. Everyone takes care to give him enough space. He's glad that he took some time this morning to study the map of the campus again – it's easy to get lost and he doesn't want to ask for directions. Passing a small café, he can finally see the entrance to the lecture halls. Almost there.
His thoughts drift back to the night before, when he watched her studying from his place on the floor while going over some data for a case that Eskel had sent him earlier. The scarred Wolf is getting better and better at handling Gaetan's programs. Maybe, in a few weeks, he will be ready to learn some simple coding, too. Then they can both work on the database. It would be welcome help – none of the others has ever taken the time to properly learn the ropes, to appreciate all of his work.
His mind replays the surprised sound she had made as she had turned a page and a small piece of paper had fallen to the floor.
At least she had sounded surprised …
But no. It had been genuine. She hadn't been nervous at all and had looked him straight in his eyes as always after she had picked up the paper and read it. She had let him read the note, too, and had answered all of his questions about the guy who had put the paper in her book. That fucking bastard, asking her out for drinks through – not even a proper letter or a text, but a small piece of paper which he had torn from his writing pad, not man enough to ask her out face to face.
He had watched her closely for the rest of the night, but she had kissed him just like before, melting into his touch. And when he had fucked her later (he had wanted to in the first place, but it was even more important now), she had made no objection to him leaving his mark on her again, even though the little bruise should still be visible today, for everyone to see. He flares his nostrils remembering it.
Aiden is worried about this habit of his, he knows, but as long as she likes it, as long as she has nothing against him leaving love bites on her thighs, her torso, and upper arms and shoulders (he makes sure to stay clear of her neck and throat), he will continue to do it. And damn, she loves when he's doing it. Just thinking about it makes his cock stir in his pants. She's his . She's said so herself.
All the more important that he puts this asshole in his place.
He googled the guy last night, and knows what he looks like after finding some recent pictures from somebody's instagram account. He might stand taller than Gaetan, but judging from the photos, he's got slumped shoulders, a little problem with being overweight, and is probably unable to stand up straight to save his life. His hair was unkempt in the photograph and he hadn't even bothered to trim what looked like a shaggy three- or four-day beard, despite being out for drinks with a mixed group of friends. Gaetan huffs. He makes sure to look good whenever he's out in public. Every respectable Witcher does, provided they're not on a contract. Craft's got a reputation, after all.
He enters the building and walks down the steps to the two doors. He knows that the auditorium has two entrances, one that brings him close to the professor, to the front of the class, and one at the top of the hall, which is the one he plans entering through. This should be it. He takes a deep breath to collect himself.
Alright. He's got some territorial pissing to do.
Carefully opening the door, he enters a little dark corridor which opens to either side of the auditorium. He takes the right path and manages to slip into the lecture hall unnoticed. He is indeed at the top of the hall – almost all of the seats are taken, and he decides against descending the stairs on the side to sit in one of the rare free seats at the sides. Crossing his arms against his chest, he leans against the wall, his eyes scanning the room.
Dammit. He didn't think that there would be so many people here – it's harder than he expected to notice her among the sea of heads and computer screens and hoods and caps. Carefully, he takes two, three steps closer to the last row – the student in front of him turns around and stares at him, mouth open and eyes wide. He makes a soothing gesture and shakes his head, giving the young man a lopsided grin. The student nods, turns around again, but whispers with the young woman sitting next to him, who shoots him a startled look.
He turns his attention to the front. He knows that this is a linguistics lecture and that the general topic is “Language and Thought” - she talks about it a lot, it's one of her favourite classes this semester.
The professor has just asked a question, and is letting her eyes wander over the filled seats, clearly looking for a show of hands. Someone in the middle of the room has raised theirs, and the professor calls on them.
Her voice sends a jolt through his stomach. It's her. She's here. Loud and clear, her voice rings through the auditorium – she answers correctly, apparently, because the professor smiles and nods approvingly, and then she asks a question of her own, and her professor beams at her, nodding again, and then turns her attention to the class.
“That's a very good question, well done!”, she says, “and one that brings us directly to the main problem of this session-”
The pride blooms in his chest like a sunflower. He knows that she is smart, he sees how much she is studying, how diligent she is in her preparations for class and her other tasks. It's one of the reasons he lov- values her so much. But now they all know. She answered the question correctly. And her professor praised her. In front of what must be about one hundred, one hundred and fifty people. Now they all know that she's smart. And she is his.
A glance at the clock mounted on the wall of the auditorium tells him that he still has another fifteen minutes before the lecture is over. He steps back into the corner again, leans against the wall and listens. She doesn't speak up again, but the idea her professor presents is interesting enough to keep his attention. Can you think about something that you have no words for? And can you talk about something that you cannot imagine?
A few minutes before the end of the lecture, he takes two steps forward again. There are too many people here for him to smell her scent, but he is prepared to look for her, now that he knows where she's sitting. If she decides to leave through the lower door, he'll be quick enough to exit the hall and greet her downstairs – if she decides to take the upper doors on the left, he can switch places in seconds.
As soon as the class is dismissed, people are jumping up, grabbing their things and head out of the lecture hall. He cannot see her in the crowd and feels a small drop of panic drip into his stomach – if he loses her now, he will have to text her, and then the element of surprise is gone. To his relief, he spots her seconds later, patiently waiting for another group of students to leave the row, before exiting to his side and heading upstairs with her friends. He gives them a quick look over.
Her black hair is styled as usual, except for the small braid on the side, into which she has woven a red strand of leather today. She is wearing a folkpunk tank top and a ripped pair of jeans. He can see his mark on her shoulder and his cock twitches once again at the sight. She is chatting with a young man with brown hair and a checkered shirt who is making puppy eyes at her, and a young blonde woman whom he doesn't recognise. He looks at the guy once more to be certain. Yes. That's the one.
He squares his shoulders and steps away from the wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest, standing as tall as he can.
When she looks up and sees him, he can feel the left side of his lip curl into a smirk. Her eyes lit up when she spotted him, he saw that clearly, and she hastens to meet him and he puts his hands on her waist and lets their foreheads brush together, before he gently lifts her chin up and pulls her into a slow, oh-so-soft kiss which he knows will make her go weak in the knees. He can feel triumph roaring through his veins as she melts into him.
She's his.
He ends the kiss and looks into her eyes, his face deliberately harmless and relaxed. He knows his eyes are shining bright.
»Hey«, he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
»Hey!«, she answers, her voice a little breathless, her eyes shining and her cheeks and ears flushed red, »It's nice to see you here.«
He follows the curve of her jaw with the tip of his index finger. »It's nice to see you, too«, he almost purrs. »Thought I could pick you up.«
»Wow, Mirza!«, he hears the blonde say, »so … that's your Witcher, huh?«
She turns around in his arms, and he makes sure to leave his left hand on her waist.
»Yes«, she says, and he can hear the happiness in her voice, »yes, this is Gaetan.« She looks at him again and he revels in the awe in her gaze. He gives her his friendliest smile, makes a point of making it soft, no smirk this time, and then turns his attention to her friends.
The blonde girl is looking at him with a mix of disbelief and admiration, and he can smell the curiosity on her. The young man is biting on the insides of his cheeks, shoulders hanging, and casts a disappointed look at Gaetan's hand.
»Hi«, he mumbles, glancing at Gaetan's face and trying a weak smile, »nice to finally meet you.«
Gaetan flares his nostrils, taking in his scent. Fear. And, most of all, discomfort. Good. He smirks at the young man and extends his right. »Nice to meet you, too«, he says, »She told me you two are great study buddies.«
The young man's shoulders sink a little further. He nods as he takes Gaetan's hand and gives him a half-hearted handshake. »Yes, I guess we are«, he says, the weak smile still plastered on his stupid, stupid face.
Gaetan turns to the blonde.
»I'm Tina«, she says, a little breathless, and he raises an eyebrow as he catches a whiff of lust and excitement in her scent, »and I've been dying to meet you, she always looks so happy when she talks about you!«, and another surge of pride rushes through him.
She talks about him. In front of that stupid asshole.
»It's nice meeting you«, he says, keeping his tone light and conversational before he tightens his grip around Mirza's waist, only a little, and presses his lips on her shoulder, directly on the bruise he left last night. He looks up to make sure that the young guy is watching this, and, sure as shit, he is. Gaetan glowers at him.
»So – do you want to get lunch?«, he asks, looking deep into her eyes, »I have to be at the headquarters in two hours, but we'd still have a bit of time.«
She nods and beams at him, her ears still red. He is already looking forward to telling her how proud he is of her performance in class.
»Erm … usually, the three of us go and have lunch«, the young guy pipes up, and Gaetan doesn't even bother to say anything to that. He just looks the boy up and down and the other one falters immediately. »See you tomorrow then«, he mumbles, and shuffles past Gaetan.
»See you then«, Gaetan says, »it's been really nice meeting you.«
He nods a goodbye to the blonde girl and leads Mirza out of the hall, taking her bag off her shoulder and carrying it for her.
»So … you were in the area, I suppose?«, she asks as soon as they are outside and strolling through the sunshine. They are holding hands, their fingers interlocked.
»Yes«, he simply answers, »exactly that.«
»And it is just a coincidence that you're in the area after the note last night?«, she asks, and he can hear the amusement in her voice.
He turns around and kisses her full on the mouth, cupping her face in his hands. »Yes«, he says when he finally breaks the kiss, »just a coincidence.«
So what if anyone sees him. She's his, and his alone.