Work Text:
Dakan had been sitting at his desk for hours, surrounded by piles of scattered papers, a red pen in hand. Fatigue weighed heavily on his shoulders, and each new paper seemed worse than the last. His eyes scanned the lines of text with growing weariness. He had hoped this cohort of second-year international law students would be better than the previous ones, but reality was quite different.
Each sentence he read plunged him further into discouragement. The errors were endless, revealing not only a lack of revision but also a blatant absence from classes. Basic concepts were often misunderstood or grotesquely distorted. Dakan shook his head as he read a particularly aberrant response about the Geneva Convention. The student seemed to have confused this convention with a simple informal diplomatic meeting.
"Where was he during the lectures?" he muttered to himself before letting out a deep sigh. He scribbled a harsh note in the margin of the paper, lamenting the glaring ignorance displayed before his eyes.
He picked up the next paper with some apprehension, hoping for an improvement that never came. On the contrary, this paper was even worse. Entire paragraphs seemed to have been copied from dubious sources, with no real understanding of the subject. Dakan felt his anger rising. How could these students hope to succeed in international law with such carelessness?
His mind wandered as he corrected mechanically, surrounded by the dim light of his desk lamp. He recalled the hours spent preparing his lectures, trying to instill essential concepts in his students and spark their passion for this complex subject. Yet, these papers were a stinging proof of his failure, and it demoralized him deeply.
Another sigh escaped his lips as he read a response that, at first glance, seemed promising. But as he progressed through the reading, he realized the student had abandoned all logic halfway, plunging into a series of contradictions and unfounded arguments.
"Another one who must never have set foot in class," he grumbled, placing the paper on the pile of resounding failures, a pile that was growing inexorably to Dakan's great despair.
Fatigue weighed heavily on his eyelids. Dakan allowed himself a break, closing his eyes for a few moments. He knew he had to finish this pile by tomorrow, but the magnitude of the task discouraged him. He thought of Tristan, his dear companion, who must also be correcting papers in his own office a few doors away. The idea of a short break with him crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. He had to finish this work; the results had to be entered into the databases by the next day.
He picked up another paper, hoping against all odds to find some comfort in it. Unfortunately, it began with an incorrect quote from the United Nations Charter, followed by an analysis completely disconnected from reality. Dakan felt a lump of frustration form in his throat. He noted the errors once more, marking the problematic passages with a vivid red line.
"This is hopeless," he murmured, his voice tinged with infinite weariness.
The hours passed slowly, and Dakan felt his strength waning. He knew he had to hold on, but the mountain of papers still to be corrected seemed insurmountable. He massaged his temples, trying to dispel the headache that was starting in response to his students' foolishness. He picked up his pen and decided to tackle another paper, which was no better than the previous ones but in the same vein.
As he sighed in exasperation for approximately the twentieth time since the beginning of his correction session, which felt as long as listening to the director Lizbeth’s boring speech, Dakan suddenly felt firm but gentle hands rest on his tense shoulders. The contrast between the hardness of his tired muscles and the softness of the touch was soothing. These expert hands began to massage slowly, relaxing each knot of tension accumulated by hours of reading nonsense and erroneous answers.
He closed his eyes, letting this moment of respite wash over him. A smile appeared on his lips when a tender kiss was placed on the top of his head. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Tristan. The warmth of his lips and the familiarity of his gestures were unmistakable.
"Hello, my love," murmured Dakan in a voice hoarse with fatigue and gratitude.
He raised a hand and placed it on Tristan's, gently squeezing his fingers. This simple contact had the power to dispel some of his stress. Dakan opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to see Tristan, who was smiling gently, his eyes full of understanding and support.
"I knew I’d find you still correcting and fed up with these papers," said Tristan, continuing to massage his lover’s shoulders. "Are they really that terrible?"
Dakan nodded, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Terrible isn’t even the word. It’s like they’ve never opened a book in their lives. Some, I’m sure, have never even set foot in a class."
Tristan ran a hand through Dakan’s short brown hair, ruffling it affectionately. "You should take a break," he suggested. "You need to relax a bit, my love."
Dakan sighed again, but this time it was a sigh of relief. "I know you’re right, but I have to finish grading this stack by tomorrow."
Tristan leaned in, his warm breath brushing Dakan’s ear. "I can help you. Let me grade a few papers. You know I can do it."
The temptation was great. Dakan knew that Tristan, a criminal law professor and his study partner when they were students, had the knowledge to grade these papers accurately. But he felt guilty about delegating his work to his partner. "I shouldn’t ask you that. You have papers to grade too."
"I don’t mind, really," insisted Tristan, his voice soft and persuasive. He gently hugged Dakan, kissing him tenderly on the cheek. "Go rest a bit. You need it."
Dakan closed his eyes, savoring the comfort and warmth of Tristan’s embrace. "Just a short nap," he finally conceded. "But I’m not letting you do everything."
"We’ll see," replied Tristan with a sly smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Dakan got up slowly, feeling his stiff muscles protest slightly after hours spent at his desk. He turned to Tristan, who looked at him with a reassuring smile. The fatigue seemed to fade, replaced by a wave of gratitude and affection. Dakan approached him, his eyes shining with appreciation.
"Thank you, Tristan," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. He leaned in and placed a tender kiss on his partner’s lips, savoring the sweetness of the moment. Tristan responded with equal tenderness, his hands gently sliding along Dakan’s sides.
"Go rest, my love," Tristan said, pulling away gently, his eyes full of concern. "I’ll take care of everything."
Dakan nodded, his tired features softened by a grateful smile. He headed to the couch in the corner of the office, a welcoming piece of furniture he often used for short naps and cuddles with his partner during long work hours. He lay down, stretching to find a comfortable position among the cushions.
From his spot, he could see his lover taking his place at the desk. The contrast between Tristan’s calm and focused silhouette and the chaos of scattered papers was striking. Tristan picked up a paper delicately and began to read, his brows furrowing slightly as he analyzed the first answer.
Dakan watched his partner with silent admiration. Tristan, with his unwavering patience and attention to detail, embodied everything Dakan loved about him. He recalled the countless times Tristan had been his pillar of support, whether during long workdays or moments of doubt. The way Tristan graded the papers, methodically and without judgment, reflected his understanding and kind nature. He was always there, even when the director was insufferable, which happened most of the time according to Dakan. She wanted only children from the best families to be admitted to the university. Dakan often fought with her to open the courses to students who truly deserved it, not just because of their parents' wealth. Tristan supported his partner, even suggesting to Dakan the idea of having all the professors sign a petition to broaden the admission criteria. Dakan thought it was a great idea and implemented it successfully. Together, they would manage to sway the director.
A feeling of warmth and gratitude enveloped Dakan. He felt incredibly lucky to have such an amazing man in his life. Tristan’s calming presence, his focused silhouette, and his precise movements all contributed to dissipating the accumulated fatigue.
Dakan’s eyelids grew heavy as he continued to watch his partner. Tristan’s regular movements, the soft sound of the pen on paper, created a serene and comforting atmosphere. Slowly, Dakan’s thoughts grew more blurred, his eyelids fluttering before closing completely. The world around him faded as he drifted into a deep and restorative sleep.
When Dakan woke up, he immediately felt a strange disorientation. His heavy eyelids lifted with difficulty, and he blinked several times, trying to dispel the fog that clouded his mind. The familiarity of the surroundings reassured him slightly. He recognized his office, the shelves overflowing with various books, the piles of documents, and the dim light that bathed the room. Yet, everything seemed slightly off, as if he were still half-immersed in a dream.
He sat up slowly, his body protesting after this long immobility. As he moved, he felt a jacket slip off his shoulders and fall to the floor. It was Tristan's jacket, which he had gently draped over him while he slept. Dakan picked it up with a tender smile before glancing at the wall clock.
His heart skipped a beat. To his horror, he realized he had slept for three hours. It felt like he had only closed his eyes for a moment. Panic began to rise within him. He had so much work to do and had left Tristan to take on his responsibilities.
Dakan jumped up, still numb from sleep. He had to take a moment to steady himself as he felt dizzy from the sudden change in position. Once his vision was clear, his gaze immediately fell on the desk. Tristan was no longer there. The chair was empty, and the papers, once scattered in chaotic disarray, were now neatly stacked in two piles. Dakan approached, his heart pounding, and observed the piles of graded papers.
Each sheet bore the red marks of Tristan’s meticulous corrections. Dakan quickly flipped through them, noting with admiration the precision and care given to each annotation. Tristan had outdone himself, handling each paper with a rigor and attention that went far beyond what he could have hoped for.
A mix of gratitude and guilt filled Dakan. He was infinitely grateful to his partner for this supportive gesture, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty for leaving all this work to Tristan. He too had so many papers to grade, yet he had taken the time to relieve Dakan of this burden.
He clutched Tristan's jacket to himself, seeking to calm down. His mind was still foggy from sleep, struggling to get back into gear after the long nap. He decided to call Tristan’s office, thinking his partner must have returned there to catch up on his own work.
Just as Dakan was about to reach for the phone, a slight agitation gripped his mind. He wondered where Tristan could be at that moment. Maybe he had gone to get coffee? Or perhaps he had returned to his own office to catch up on his work. Dakan had almost lifted the receiver when the door to his office opened softly, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He turned quickly, and his heart leapt with joy at the sight of his man entering with two cups of coffee, a radiant smile lighting up his face. Tristan’s presence brought a soothing warmth to the room, instantly dispelling all of Dakan’s worries.
"Tristan!" Dakan exclaimed, his face breaking into a beaming smile.
Tristan returned his smile, moving slowly towards him, and placed the cups on a corner of the desk. "Hello, my love," he said in a soft, warm voice. "How are you? Did you sleep well?"
Dakan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rushed to Tristan, his heart pounding with excitement. He gently grasped the collar of his lover’s shirt and pushed him delicately against the wall, his gaze filled with burning passion. The two men looked at each other with much love, neither making a move, playing a game to see who would succumb to the tension first.
Without a word, Dakan leaned in and captured Tristan’s lips in a tender and passionate kiss. It was a kiss filled with gratitude, love, and desire, expressing everything Dakan felt at that precise moment. His hands tangled in his partner’s hair.
Tristan responded with equal intensity, his arms sliding around Dakan’s waist to pull him closer. They were wrapped in each other, lost in the whirlwind of their emotions and love.
When they finally parted, their breaths were synchronized, their gazes seeking each other tenderly. Dakan felt fulfilled, his heart overflowing with happiness.
"Thank you for the papers, my dear," murmured Dakan, his voice full of gratitude.
"I’m glad to help, my love," replied Tristan, placing a soft kiss on his lips.
Dakan was moved by Tristan’s words. He wanted to reciprocate, to express his gratitude in a tangible way. He lifted his chin with determination. "I’ll grade yours to thank you," Dakan declared determinedly, "it’s the least I can do."
Tristan shook his head, laughing softly. He gently took Dakan’s hand in his. "No, let’s share them. That way, we’ll be done faster."
Dakan smiled, delighted to be able to thank his partner this way. "Deal," he said, hugging Tristan again. "Deal."
They stayed like that for a moment, savoring the warmth and comfort of their embrace. Dakan knew that with Tristan by his side, he could face any mountain of work, any pile of papers filled with nonsense. Together, they formed an unshakable team, capable of overcoming any difficulty.