Work Text:
i.
The thing is, Riddle doesn't mean to get distracted.
No one would accuse him of it, he's sure. In his tenure as housewarden, he's had a wide array of insults flung at him, but not dedicated enough has never been one. It's just an unfortunate side effect, in the same way that knowing the most secluded parts of the library is an unfortunate side effect of studying there so often. And getting distracted is an unfortunate side effect of studying with Azul.
They haven't really been studying for the past half hour. Riddle's flipping through one of his textbooks halfheartedly, and Azul's already given up on reading. Every time Riddle looks up from his book, Azul tries to engage him in pointless conversation, and then Riddle's eyes flicker down to his lips and his face heats and it's back to the textbook. It's an inefficient system. Unfortunately, it's a natural consequence of their relationship — the fact that they're dating, that is. Study dates seemed like the best way to balance dating with their mutually busy schedules, but Riddle isn't sure he believes that anymore.
"Riddle," Azul starts, the next time Riddle looks up from his textbook. He lets the name hang in the air, as if he'd just wanted to taste the syllables. "What do you-"
"Come with me," Riddle interrupts. Azul shoots him a look of genuine concern.
"Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," he insists. For good measure, he sets down the textbook and stands up. "Are you coming?"
Azul stays seated, raising one eyebrow. "Am I coming where?"
"Just follow me," Riddle says. For a moment, he thinks Azul might actually refuse. But then he sighs and pushes his chair out.
"This had better be good," Azul says, as if he was even pretending to study.
Riddle just turns on his heel. He leads Azul past the Potionology section, then History of Magic, and finally stops in front of a shelf so remote it's starting to collect dust. It's a shame, really. History of Potionology — intuitively placed behind the two subjects that compose it — is actually quite interesting. Riddle's read a few of the tomes that sit untouched on the shelves, and he'd like to read more.
"History of Potionology?" Azul reads, squinting at the placard. He pushes his glasses up, and Riddle could swear he hears a teasing lilt in his voice as he continues, "What could you possibly want back here?"
"Comparative Analysis of Maritime Potion-Making Techniques," Riddle reads from a random book's spine. "It looks interesting, doesn't it?"
Riddle can almost hear the eyeroll in Azul's voice as he says, "Do you think you could reach it?"
"Wh- of course I can."
"I'm sure," Azul replies. Before Riddle can protest, he remembers that he isn't actually here for Comparative Analysis of Maritime Potion-Making Techniques, no matter how tempting it is to argue about his height.
"I thought you might enjoy this section," he says instead. Azul gives him an unreadable look. "In fact, last year I checked out a book about the Sea Witch's innovations in potion-making from-"
"Riddle," Azul says, fond exasperation seeping into his voice. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you brought me here to talk about the books."
Riddle pauses, glancing up at Azul. "Not only the books."
Azul makes a strangled noise that's quickly cut off as Riddle pulls him down by the lapel to press their lips together. It's a brief kiss, barely a brush, but Azul blushes blue and Riddle feels his face flush. When Azul leans in again, he tips Riddle's chin up. The momentary contact sends a shiver down Riddle's spine. He leans closer on instinct, propelled by the way his heart seems to pound a steady drumbeat in his ears. For a second, their lips don't quite touch. They both freeze, close enough that their noses nearly bump into each other and the warmth of Azul's breath ghosts over Riddle's skin.
"So," Azul starts, and Riddle wonders if he knows he can feel his voice from this close. "History of Potionology could be worse, I suppose."
"Could be worse?"
"Well, you know. I haven't fully considered it yet." Before Riddle can ask what exactly he means by that, Azul closes the distance between them. He places one hand under Riddle's chin and the other nestles into his hair so gently it feels like a question.
It's strange, this uncertainty that Azul only seems to have around him. Not always, of course, but in times like this. Times when Riddle has to keep leaning forward until he uncovers the version of Azul that still thinks he can beat him, against all odds. In this case, he's outmatched. Riddle has full confidence in his ability to outlast him. And sure enough, Azul pulls away in a matter of moments, outwitted by his own poor lung capacity. Riddle can't stop himself from laughing in response.
"It's not that funny," Azul protests. His cheeks are tinged a charming shade of blue and his breath is still flowing unsteadily. "I'd like to see you try that under the sea."
That's an excellent idea if Riddle's ever heard one. Not that either of them has the time for an excursion like that, but maybe someday. He knows it's ridiculous to daydream about the future, but surely it can't be any more ridiculous than standing here, his back pressed to the bookshelf and Azul leaning over him.
"I think I'd still win," Riddle says. "Maybe you ought to run laps."
"As if you've ever ran a lap in your life."
"Or fly them."
"I'll leave you here," Azul threatens, but the smile that creeps onto his face says otherwise. "You're rather quick to judge, anyway."
With a smirk, Riddle counters, "I haven't seen anything that would prove me wrong." And, as he expects, Azul gives him a skeptical look and sets out to do exactly that.
He's clever about it, Riddle has to admit. His teeth graze Riddle's lower lip for an instant. Before he can think to let his lips part, Azul inches down, leaving a trail of heat across his neck.
"Wait," Riddle says, and Azul pauses to meet his eyes. He must be bright red by now. With the remains of his composure that Azul hasn't melted away, he steels himself and continues, "I- I have to be presentable."
"… Of course," Azul says, after a moment.
Honestly, Riddle expects Azul to go back to kissing him, or something like that. He certainly doesn't expect him to deftly pull his tie out of its knot. One of Azul's hands skims across his collarbone, gentle but steady. He thinks Azul might say something — it's too soft to hear beneath the sound of his own heartbeat. With a look that borders on mischievous, he pulls back the fabric of Riddle's shirt collar and presses his lips to the skin beneath. Azul hardly even bites down. He just lets the tips of his teeth make the barest hint of contact. It's ridiculous. Less ridiculous than Riddle's reaction, though. He almost shivers, his nerves feeling entirely scorched at every single spot Azul's lips have touched. Really, he thinks, all this for the sake of-
"Ow," Riddle hisses as Azul's teeth sink down. Not hard enough to draw blood, thankfully, but enough that it'll probably bruise. How completely juvenile. "You really can't admit when you've lost."
"When I've lost?" Azul asks, incredulous. "I'd say you can't admit that I've won."
"That was entirely against the rules," Riddle protests.
"The rules? There aren't-"
"But," he interrupts, "I suppose I'll allow it." Then, quieter, "It wasn't… unpleasant."
"What a relief," Azul says dryly. "Though I'd be fascinated to hear your explanation if I left the library wearing a collar, and you left looking like that."
"That's- well- I wouldn't go out there looking this disheveled," Riddle says. "And could I have my tie back?"
In a single motion, Azul drapes the strip of fabric around Riddle's neck, though he doesn't let go of the ends. He pauses for a moment. It's just long enough for Riddle to hear footsteps.
Footsteps?
Unfortunately, the sound only grows louder, accompanied by a pair of all-too-familiar voices.
"I'm telling you," the first voice says, "it's not fair at all. I wasn't even the one who started the explosion. And Crewel assigns us both work? This isn't even his subject. History of Potionology, really? I bet no one's been to this section in years."
"Ace," the second voice chastises. "The housewarden's stuff was out there. If he finds out we got in trouble…" he trails off.
Riddle feels his blood run cold. He and Azul both freeze in place, their eyes darting to the bookshelves.
"You might be right," Ace replies. "If there's anyone who's actually going to this part of the library, it would probably be-"
"Housewarden," Deuce interrupts, walking into view. Riddle thinks he might die of embarrassment. "Wait. Housewardens?"
"Holy shit," Ace breathes. Before he can make any more comments, Riddle snatches his tie from Azul's hands and adjusts his collar to a reasonable height. He is still their housewarden and upperclassman. And Azul is… also there.
"What are you two doing back here?" he demands, as imperiously as he can manage. Ace is struggling not to laugh, and Deuce is struggling to form a coherent sentence, so he continues, "I hope you haven't landed yourselves in trouble again."
"O-of course not, housewarden," Deuce finally says. "We were just… exploring. The library."
"Hey, Azul," Ace adds. "I think this is worth a study guide."
"… That… could be arranged," Azul says weakly, at the same time Riddle says, "Absolutely not."
Ace frowns. "So he can have his tongue down your throat, but I can't use his study guides?"
"He didn't- that's-" Riddle blurts, before he takes a deep breath and fixes Ace with his harshest glare. "Those are two entirely separate issues."
"Really? It seems like-"
Before Ace can finish whatever ridiculous assumption he was about to make, Riddle turns on his heel and cuts him off. "If I hear another word from you, it's off with your head. Azul, we'll discuss this later." Ace chokes out a laugh, and Deuce glares at him. "I expect you both to behave like reasonable card soldiers. Which means you will get your work done, and you will not enter any contracts. Understood?"
"Yes, Housewarden!" Deuce says. Ace repeats after him, with significantly less energy.
"Good. Now, if you two are done acting foolish, I have… things. To attend to." With that unconvincing dismissal, Riddle stalks off, putting his tie back into place as he walks. Really, Ace and Deuce of all people. At least the situation couldn't possibly get worse.
ii.
Clearly, Riddle hasn't attended Night Raven College for long enough.
Or perhaps his card soldiers — by which he means Ace, mostly — are just so dedicated to making his life worse that it exceeds probability. Either way, the situation gets worse. Nothing spreads out of Heartslabyul, but somehow Cater and Trey learn about the library issue. Riddle can't even blame Ace and Deuce for that. It's Azul's fault that he wakes up and spends about ten minutes trying to readjust his collar to cover the hints of bruising beneath, then finally gives up. Riddle doesn't have concealer, so he has to go to Cater, who gives him an uncomfortably knowing grin along with the tube of makeup. Trey finds out too, if the glances he shoots Riddle when he sees him at lunch are anything to go by.
Lunch the next day is a thoroughly uncomfortable affair. Riddle's taken to sitting with his card soldiers — he's never regretted it more than he does when Ace gives him a look as he sits down. Deuce seems to be avoiding his gaze, all while holding an argument with Ace about their extra Potionology work.
"I'm telling you," Ace insists, "You didn't measure the ingredients right."
"I did."
Ace snorts. "Last time I checked, the explosion started at your cauldron. Do you really think I'd- why is he here again?"
The rest of the table looks up to find Azul standing in front of them, one of his hands propped on the table. Riddle tries not to groan. Now, of all times? Azul could've settled for meeting him in the hallway, or after classes, or any moment when he isn't surrounded by the rest of his dorm.
"Do you need something?" Riddle finally asks. Azul raises an eyebrow, and Riddle suddenly feels the weight of his dorm members' stares on him.
"I thought you wanted to talk," Azul says, pushing his glasses up.
Riddle presses one hand to his forehead and sighs. "Not now." Unfortunately, that seems to be just what Azul wanted to hear.
"I happen to be free this evening," Azul replies, his voice soft enough that it has to be intentional. "If you'd care to come to the Mostro Lounge, that is." It's an obvious ploy, Riddle knows. That doesn't stop his face from heating.
"I… suppose I'm free too," he concludes. "But don't expect me to buy anything. Or sign any contracts."
"You wound me," Azul says, far too dramatically. "I would never." Then, leaning a bit closer, he adds, "I should be in the VIP room. I'll tell Jade and Floyd to leave."
Riddle thinks he might need to get his blood pressure checked. There's no way Azul doesn't know what this conversation looks like to the rest of his dorm. Never mind that Ace and Deuce saw them in the library yesterday — somehow, this is worse. At least Azul doesn't try to do something absurd like press a kiss to his hand before he walks away. He simply offers the table a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes and returns to wherever he had come from.
Cater's the first to break the silence. "So…" he starts, "Congrats, Rids?"
"Don't," Riddle snaps. "He's being ridiculous."
"I don't know," Ace says. "It doesn't seem that ridiculous" — and why is he saying that in an awful approximation of Riddle's voice — "when you think about what happened yesterday."
"What happened yesterday?" Cater demands, loud enough to draw a few looks from the ring of tables around them.
"Nothing," Riddle insists.
"That was nothing? What else are you two-"
"Do you want to lose your head?"
Before Riddle's hand can reach his magic pen, Cater holds up his hands in a placating gesture. Riddle glances to his side to find Trey and Deuce staring at the table with equal intensity. At least Deuce isn't backing Ace up.
"So…" Cater starts, before he seems to reconsider whatever he was going to say. "The dorm could totally use some new decor, don't you think?"
"Our current decorations are traditional," Riddle says. "I don't see the point in changing them, but…" he trails off. Cater is doing him a favor. He might as well listen to his suggestions. "What did you have in mind?" he asks, a bit strained.
Ace shoots him an incredulous look, but leans over to Cater to see the inspiration photos he's scrolling through anyway. Riddle joins him. The decor Cater's looking at is… unique, certainly. It's probably trending on Magicam. If trending on Magicam means decorations that would clash horribly with the rest of the dorm, that is.
"It's…" Riddle starts.
"… Really ugly," Ace completes. At least they can agree on that. "Anyway, Cater. About yesterday," he continues, and Riddle feels any sympathy he might've had evaporate in a second.
Thankfully, before Ace can launch into an explanation, Trey interrupts with, "I think lunch is about to end. We… should clear off our dishes." Riddle shoots him a grateful glance, which he waves away. Really, if he knew yesterday would cause this many issues, he would've stuck to studying. He should've stuck to studying regardless. He'll have to discuss that with Azul: no more study dates if they can't stay focused. With a sigh, he stands and picks up his tray.
The evening arrives faster than Riddle expects. Not that he's particularly dreading it. Or looking forward to it, for that matter. He's just going to have a discussion with Azul. He needs to lay down some ground rules about what they can and can't do on dates, anyway. Riddle reminds himself of that as he walks towards the doors of the Mostro Lounge. As far as he's thought about it, their options are limited. If study dates are off the table, he can't imagine what they can do. For once, he hopes that Azul has some plot up his sleeve.
"Ah, um," the student at the host stand greets him, suddenly doing anything but making eye contact. "The- the housewarden said that if you want to- well, the VIP room is that way," he says in a single exhale.
Riddle doesn't want to think about why — instead, he nods at the server and walks past the rows of tables. He refuses to glance at the students sitting at them. It's bad enough that they probably all know about his and Azul's relationship, never mind that they'll all be speculating about why he's visiting the VIP room. Does no one at Night Raven College have a sense of discretion?
With a sigh, Riddle turns down the hallway to the VIP room. He knocks three times on the door before it opens. Azul ushers him inside with an alarmingly placid smile. The lounge's VIP room is well-decorated, he supposes. The polished vault on the back wall seems a bit ostentatious. At least the couches are comfortable.
"I'm glad you like them," Azul says as Riddle takes a seat, before he's even commented on the couch. "We had them reupholstered a few weeks ago."
"Azul," Riddle says. "I didn't come here to talk about the couches."
Azul smiles in that almost-genuine way that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Riddle can't help a smile from spreading across his face, too.
"What did you want to discuss?" Azul asks.
Suddenly, Riddle feels a bit too warm. "Well," he starts, shifting on the couch. "I don't think we should keep going on study dates." Azul's expression falls into something carefully neutral. He takes a seat on the couch across from Riddle, lacing his fingers together and setting them beneath his chin.
"Really? Why not?"
"I got distracted," Riddle says, fully aware of Azul's gaze boring through him. "The point of a study date is to study, isn't it?"
"Of course not," Azul says simply. "In fact, I think we did an excellent job of going on a study date."
"You can't possibly believe that," Riddle protests. "You- I- that behavior was unbecoming of us both. As housewardens, we should strive to- what?" he snaps as Azul lets out a muffled laugh.
"As housewardens, it was unbecoming," he agrees. "But surely you haven't forgotten that we're also a couple?" As Azul speaks, he leans forward, until he's about as close to Riddle as he can get with the table between them. He looks a bit ridiculous, but Riddle can't deny that he's telling the truth.
Riddle frowns. "Still, that's hardly the example we should be setting."
"Are you talking about your underclassmen?" Azul asks. "I doubt they're more likely to follow your example then than they are at any other time."
"They obey my orders. Most of the time."
"Under threat of losing their heads, I'm sure," Azul says with a smirk, and Riddle glares at him.
"That's beside the point," Riddle says. "We still shouldn't do things like that in public."
"Perhaps you're right," Azul muses.
"Of course I am. Now, if you'll excuse me." Pushing himself up from the couch, Riddle turns to leave the room. But before he can walk away, Azul clears his throat.
"But we're not in public now, are we?"
Riddle's eyebrows shoot up at a speed he didn't think possible. He flops back on the couch — out of instinct or shock, he's not sure.
"And what do you mean by that?" he asks, after a moment.
"Just that if you wanted to… pick up where we were so rudely interrupted, I wouldn't be opposed to it."
Riddle blinks. "You could stand to sound a bit more enthusiastic," he says. When Azul gives him a sly smile in return, he realizes that he's fallen for yet another one of his ploys. Begrudgingly, he continues, "I wouldn't be opposed to it either."
"Such a romantic," Azul says flatly, but he's already left his couch to sit next to Riddle.
"Wait," Riddle interrupts, before Azul can lean closer. "You're sure no one's going to come in?"
"They won't. As long as the door's closed, that is." When Riddle turns to double check that the door's really closed, he sighs. "I closed it behind you. I have to say, I'm a bit insulted that you'd think me that careless."
"I don't," Riddle says. "But with what happened at the library…" he trails off, shuddering at the thought.
Instead of responding, Azul clasps one of Riddle's hands between his. His glove is surprisingly soft to the touch. He raises Riddle's hand to meet his lips slowly, without breaking eye contact. It certainly has the intended effect. Though he tries his best to keep his composure, Riddle can't help the flush that paints his cheeks.
"If only you'd been this polished yesterday," he huffs, without much venom behind his words. "I'm fairly sure half my dorm thinks we're getting up to far worse than anything we've actually done."
Azul gives him a pleasant smile, and says, "If that's a request…"
"It isn't."
"Understood," Azul says quickly.
He still hasn't dropped Riddle's hand; his thumb rubs absentminded circles over it every few seconds. Without pulling his hand away, Riddle leans in until their foreheads are almost touching. Azul startles at the movement — his earlier confidence seems to leave him, replaced by a flustered look that Riddle finds terribly endearing. While Azul's still recovering, he presses a brief kiss to the beauty mark on his chin. That would normally earn him a pointed question about whether he can reach the rest of Azul's face. Now, Azul's eyes widen and he makes a startled noise.
"… That's hardly fair," he says, after a moment.
"I didn't realize you were so worried about fairness."
With his free hand, Azul pushes up his glasses. "I simply thought you'd be more concerned with it. Though, I suppose it's Octavinelle policy to repay… favors in kind."
Riddle doesn't get a chance to ask what he means by that. Azul's already dropped his hand, looping his arms around Riddle's neck and leaning forward just a bit. The movement catches Riddle off guard — he feels his back collide with the couch as Azul's lips meet his. Azul tastes like peppermint and smells like cologne, the scent subtle enough to not be cloying. Riddle's double-checked those observations a few times over, but it's still nice to have them confirmed.
It's considerably less nice to learn that Azul's balance needs some work. They pull apart as he nearly sends them both tumbling off the couch, only stopping himself with one leg.
One leg that's all but wrapped around Riddle.
Riddle can almost feel his brain short-circuiting. Azul freezes, then manages to prop himself up. Still, they've landed in a terribly awkward position: Azul's knees bracketing Riddle's legs, and his arms on either side of Riddle's neck. It almost looks indecent. Riddle might suspect him of getting them into this situation on purpose if he didn't look about ready to die of embarrassment. For a second, Azul opens his mouth, but it falls into a tight-lipped line just as quickly. It could be an eternity or an instant before either of them says a word.
"Um," Azul starts, his usual eloquence gone. As he speaks, his glasses slip off his face and collide with Riddle's nose. "Ah. My… apologies."
Somehow, they both reach for the glasses at the same time. Riddle reaches them first. He doesn't get the chance to prop them back on Azul's nose, though. In his rush to retrieve his glasses, Azul must've miscalculated his stability. His chest collides with Riddle's. Another inch of movement, and they'd fall off the couch altogether. It's not as uncomfortable as it could be, though — Azul is pleasantly warm, if only from the sheer amount he's blushing.
"… Could I have those back?" he asks, after a moment.
Riddle doesn't let his gaze linger on the slightest movements of Azul's lips. He certainly doesn't think that he'd like to kiss the taste of peppermint off them, either. He just places the glasses back onto the tip of Azul's nose gingerly.
Then, because his better judgment seems to have left him, he pushes himself onto his elbows and kisses Azul. Azul's lips part for a moment. Guided more by enthusiasm than experience, Riddle lets his tongue slip between them. Azul tenses in response. His arms fall back around Riddle's neck, and one of his hands pulls gently on the back of his hair. Honestly, Riddle thinks he might be overheating. He… can't really think much else. Around him, the entire world is peppermint and cologne and the sensation of Azul's lips pressing insistently against his.
And, unfortunately: "Azuuuul, we need more swordfish platters."
Azul jolts up first, leaving Riddle lying on the couch, his head beginning to spin.
"Floyd," he hisses, though Riddle's sure his disheveled hair and kiss-swollen lips make him look less intimidating. "I thought I told you to leave the door closed."
"It's closed," Floyd says. From his spot on the couch, Riddle can't see his expression. He considers sitting up, but if he can keep Floyd from realizing that he's here— "Hey, 's that Goldfishie?"
"The swordfish," Azul grits out, "are in the freezer on the left. Offer anyone who ordered them a five percent discount for the wait. No more than five percent, understood?"
"Yeah, yeah," Floyd says. Riddle hears the door open. Before it shuts, he adds, "See ya, Goldfishie!"
Riddle groans, and Azul falls back onto the couch with a sigh. "I apologize for that," he says, after a moment. "I thought no one would open the door."
"And I thought you said the VIP room was private," Riddle says, unable to keep a hint of annoyance from his voice. He sits up and brushes his hair back into place. "I suppose I should've expected it wasn't, with your… employees."
"At least it wasn't Jade," Azul replies. "I'm sure he'd be reminding me of this for the next decade."
"Jade would've come in too? So when you said no one would enter the room-"
Azul waves away his questions with one hand, adjusting his glasses with the other. He sounds genuinely regretful when he speaks: "I really didn't think they would. It wasn't my intention to-" he pauses, clasping Riddle's hands in his. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I'm sorry."
Riddle blinks. It's rare for Azul to look this apologetic, and even rarer for Riddle to think he's being genuine. So, against all odds, he barely has to consider his response.
"It's… alright," he says, painfully aware of how stilted he sounds. "I didn't expect us to be interrupted in the library, either. Besides, it's always nice to spend time with you." He's not quite sure where that came from — it's the truth, but it still sounds like something straight out of a romance book. Has being in a relationship really changed him that much? Thankfully, Azul seems too taken aback by the comment to notice Riddle's current state.
"Well," Azul starts, before he cuts himself off with a poorly-timed cough. He seems to be dusting imaginary specks from his jacket, and his eyes flit around the room, never quite meeting Riddle's. "I feel the same, I suppose." His face is almost the same shade of blue as it was on the couch, so Riddle can't help but press the issue.
"You suppose?"
"Well- it's- I agree, but-" Azul starts, then pauses to adjust his glasses. It's probably as much of an answer as Riddle's going to get for now.
Still, he can't keep the barest hint of a laugh out of his voice as he continues, "It's settled, then. We'll just have to find a more private spot next time."