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Pete’s eyes were tired. It was another late night, burning the midnight oil, as he read predominately sub-par creative writing submissions from his dozens of students. Some were quaint, some were even quite enjoyable, but most of them felt reductive and derivative. That was why they were in his class, though. They were still learning.
Quickly thumbing through the small stack of the remaining stories he needed to review and grade, Pete stood up to take a quick stretch. He listened to the sounds of traffic down below, the city still bustling below his apartment. He let his mind wander to his own writing for just a moment.
Of course Pete was a writer.
He was even published.
But that wasn’t what Pete was thinking about.
He was thinking about the stories that the general public couldn’t trace back to him. The stories he posted under a username online.
His…fanfiction.
Pete would never admit to his colleagues that he wrote fanfic. Really, only his friend Porsche was aware of it, although Pete still hadn’t been brave enough to actually show Porsche any of it.
His fanfic was personal.
He used it as an outlet to write about a professional chef who had recently gotten some public recognition and had blown up on social media. He oozed charm, so he was an instant hit. Pete thought he was gorgeous, obviously, but he really liked watching him work. He was creative with a recipe, and never compromised on quality. It was also quite exhilarating to watch him handle a sharp blade.
(That detail might have inspired a serial killer AU.)
The biggest part of the secret, and the real reason Pete was so reluctant to share his fic with Porsche, was because the type of fanfic Pete wrote about Vegas Theerapanyakul was self-insert fanfic.
He imagined himself showing up at a restaurant to find him working there. Pete would catch Vegas’s eye, and Vegas would give his signature smirk and whip him up something special. After taking Pete’s tastebuds on a journey to the stars, the man himself would appear, to take Pete on another journey that he would never recover from.
Pete shook himself. Glancing at the clock, he decided to grade one more paper, then he would have to go to bed and try to finish the rest in the morning before class.
Pete got comfortable, adjusting his reading glasses on his face, and began reading.
Right away, he noticed the difference between this story and what Macau usually wrote about. The kid was funny, although a bit disruptive. He liked to write about violence, and sometimes delved into the fantastical. He didn’t usually write in a contemporary lens.
Two paragraphs in, Pete went stiff. He was fully alert again, shifting in his seat.
By the third paragraph, Pete was yanking his laptop closer to open up his fanfiction page. He found the story he wanted. It was one he had recently posted. His eyes darted between the screen and the submitted story, his blood going cold.
The names had been changed, but the stories were nearly identical.
Macau had found his fanfiction, somehow, and copied it.
But that was surely too risky. It was much more likely that Macau had randomly pulled a story, not knowing that Pete was the author, and had used it to submit his assignment at the last minute.
Plagiarism was a serious accusation. Pete had been pretty lucky so far with his students, but this was obviously copied from his posted work.
It was a shame. He liked Macau. But if he cheated, Pete would have to bring this up with the Honor Council. It might be grounds for dismissal from the university. It would shift his plans for the future.
Before elevating the issue, Pete decided he would speak with Macau and his guardian. Maybe he could give him the option to redo the assignment, since he was pretty sure Macau had a clean record, otherwise.
Pete knew that people pushed into desperate situations could easily make mistakes.
Perhaps there was something going on at home, and Macau panicked about missing his assignment.
With a sigh, Pete typed up an email and sent it to Macau, asking him to meet with Pete during his office hours before class and to bring his guardian.
After that, Pete could hardly sleep, so he finished grading his assignments and managed to have what amounted to a nap before his alarm went off.
His mind was swirling as he made his way to campus.
Pete was worried that he wasn’t doing the right thing. Was he showing Macau preference? He believed he would give any of his students the same chance to explain themselves, though.
As he stepped into his office, he decided to call Porsche.
“Yeah?” Porsche groaned. Clearly, Pete had woken up his friend, who also stayed up late, as he was a bartender.
“Sorry,” Pete began. “I need to have a quick chat.”
Porsche hummed, so Pete quickly gave him the rundown.
“Am I being too lenient?” Pete asked finally.
Porsche made a noise to indicate he was thinking, so Pete chewed his bottom lip as he paced his office, waiting as patiently as he could.
“No,” Porsche finally said. “If Chay made a mistake like that, I would certainly prefer his professor speak to him first and try to offer him a chance to explain himself. I know cheating is bad, but I think this kid might learn a better life lesson if you discuss it with him.”
Pete exhaled. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. I mean, he’s still technically a teenager. I don’t want to ruin his life over something that’s not actually causing someone harm. It’s a dumb mistake, and he’s not usually the type to do something like this.”
“Yeah. You got this. And if he ever does it again, you can always report him then.”
“Yeah,” Pete agreed. “Okay, I gotta go. Sorry for waking you up.”
Porsche hummed grumpily, and Pete smiled.
Ending the call, Pete stared at the time on his phone. It was time for Macau’s meeting, so Pete needed to collect himself.
*****
Macau should have been sweating.
He was, technically, but that was only because of the heat.
He knew immediately why his (favorite) professor emailed him for a last-minute meeting. He knew that he was risking getting expelled, but Macau was desperate.
“Ready?” his brother asked, giving him a stern look that somehow still managed to be fond.
“Let’s get this over with,” Macau replied, pretending to be penitent as he stared at his shoes.
Vegas sighed, lifting his fist to knock on Pete’s office door.
“Come in,” Pete called, and Macau turned the doorknob.
Pete was sitting at his desk, his reading glasses on the end of his button nose as he looked up.
“Macau,” Pete said, “Have a seat.”
Macau knew the exact instant that Vegas appeared in the doorway, because Pete’s eyes went comically wide. His breath caught in his throat, and he visibly tensed in his seat.
“Good morning, Professor,” Vegas said. “I’m Macau’s older brother, Vegas. I’m his guardian.”
Vegas held out his hand, and Macau glanced between the two with a barely concealed smile on his face as Pete shot to his feet after much too long of a pause. He wiped his hands on his shirt and leaned over his desk to shake Vegas’s hand as he squeaked, “P-Pete. I’m, uh, Pete. Pete is my name.”
Vegas smiled, and Macau was happy to see it was his real smile, not the one he used for the cameras.
“Do you mind if I call you Pete?” Vegas teased, and Pete’s ears turned magenta.
“Please,” Pete whispered. “You’re Vegas.”
“That’s what I said,” Vegas replied gently.
“No.” Pete shook his head. “I mean, you’re real. Oh my god, please forgive me. I’m usually much more normal than this.”
Vegas actually laughed at that, and Macau gave himself a mental high five. This was going even better than he imagined.
“I take it you’re a fan?”
Pete let out a sound that resembled a whimper, and Macau had to cover his face to hide his snort of amusement.
Realizing he was still holding Vegas’s hand, Pete released him as if electrocuted, jumping back.
Turning to Macau, Pete collected himself a little and said, “Shall we get started?”
Macau nodded, forcing a pout as he pulled his chair a little closer to Pete’s desk. He wanted a clear view of the two of them, since this was what he had done all of this for.
He half-listened as Pete assumed the demeanor he usually had in class and pulled out Macau’s paper to show it to Vegas.
He seemed disinclined to call it plagiarism, but Vegas had no such qualms.
“Are you saying my brother plagiarized something? What?”
Vegas turned to give Macau a look that indicated they would absolutely be talking about this again at home. Macau would have been shitting his pants, but he knew Vegas would always hear him out.
Pete swallowed, glancing at Macau before pulling out a laptop.
He turned the screen around, and Vegas squinted as he glanced between that and Macau’s story.
“It’s a fanfiction,” Pete explained. “It’s not something formally published, but it’s still the work of another person.”
Vegas leaned back in his seat, exhaling heavily as he stared a hole into Macau’s face.
Macau knew this was his moment to shine.
“P’Pete,” he began.
Vegas hissed, “Ajarn,” but Macau ignored him. He knew Pete didn’t mind him calling him phi.
“How did you possibly know about that fanfic? We only submitted the assignment yesterday, so did you use AI to check, or were you already familiar with that author?”
Pete blinked, his mouth dropping open.
Vegas narrowed his eyes, turning his attention back to Pete.
“I, uh,” Pete stammered.
Vegas leaned forward again to scroll down as he read more of the story on the laptop.
“Wait,” Vegas said. “This story is about…me.”
“About that,” Pete blurted, waving his hand as he tried to take his laptop back. Vegas was faster, though, pulling it out of his reach so he could skim the fanfic as fast as he could.
Macau felt a little bad, so he explained, “Fanfic is for writing whatever you want. You can be as creative as you want, you just use characters that already exist or sometimes celebrities. Most people write about people they really admire.”
Vegas snorted a little, and Macau could assume which scene he had gotten to.
“That’s, uh, apparent. Whoever wrote this seems to have a really big crush on me.”
Pete was pale, and Macau was starting to think maybe he should have tried a different way to introduce the two of them.
*****
Vegas found himself getting immersed in the fanfiction about himself as he cradled Pete’s laptop close. It was strange to see his name on the screen, but the writing absorbed him straightaway. The more he read, the more he felt strangely seen. Whichever fan wrote this, they obviously paid attention to Vegas’s quirks. Some of them he didn’t even realize he had until he reflected. They also clearly admired his skills as a chef, since it wasn’t just about how attractive he was.
There was a little of that, though, too.
When he finished the story, the ending of which made him blush a little, he looked up to see Pete looking a little green around the gills.
Macau’s knee was bouncing, his thumbnail between his teeth like it was when he was anxious.
“There’s something I need to admit,” Pete said, his palms spread out on his desk as he braced himself.
“Phi,” Macau whined, shifting in his seat. “I’m sorry I cheated. I actually did the assignment, and I brought it with me. I just wanted to get your attention. I was just trying to-”
Pete silenced him with a raised hand, and Vegas was impressed. He had already known that Macau really liked this professor. He usually got in trouble in school, and seemed to resent most authority figures. But Pete was a professor he talked about quite a bit at home, and always with a smile on his face. He enjoyed his lectures, and seemed to find the class both fun and challenging.
Truthfully, Vegas had been quite curious about this young professor for a while.
Now that he had met him, he was certainly even more intrigued. To call Pete beautiful was much too rudimentary. He was stunning. Cute and handsome at the same time, and exactly Vegas’s type. Vegas had quite enjoyed the way Pete appeared flustered at meeting him, clearly thrown off guard. Macau had enrolled under their mother’s maiden name, wanting to have a little distance between himself and attention from being related to not only his brother but his well known musician cousin.
Even so, Vegas was a little surprised that Pete really knew who he was. He felt like he was getting public attention, but it was still a niche enough group of fans that Vegas didn’t assume it would include a busy professor.
“Is there something we can do?” Vegas interrupted his brother. “I know this is a serious accusation, and Macau has admitted to cheating, but can we handle this between us? Maybe just give him a zero for this assignment?”
Pete swallowed. He gave Macau a fond frown, and Vegas considered trying to bribe this professor with an autograph or something. He knew that wouldn’t really help Macau, though, so he held his tongue.
He found the idea of bribing the teacher with a date, instead, much more appealing.
“Macau has been an exemplary student,” Pete said. “Even if he’s sometimes a little…overexcited in class.”
“He means sometimes I talk too much,” Macau translated.
“He’s obviously enjoying engaging with the lessons,” Pete said kindly. “And I don’t want to report this to the Honor Council, because that will put an end to his education here altogether. And another institute won’t want to welcome him in with plagiarism on his record, even if you throw money at them.”
Vegas winced. That was exactly how his uncle or father would have handled the situation, but Vegas was trying to be a better role model for his brother.
“His actions should have consequences,” Vegas agreed. “But I would very much appreciate this not going on his permanent record.”
Pursing his lips, Pete tilted his head to the side as he steepled his long fingers under his chin.
Vegas blinked as he realized he very much wanted to know what those fingers would feel like on his skin. He wanted to bite at Pete’s bow-shaped lips.
For the past few years, Vegas had been solely focused on raising Macau and on making a name for himself, apart from the family business. He hadn’t had the time to entertain such thoughts about another person for so long that the robustness with which he wanted to get to know Pete better was staggering.
As Pete parted his lips to speak again, Vegas licked his own.
“I appreciate that Macau admitted to copying another’s work, and I will accept his apology for doing so. As for the assignment, I can agree to giving him a zero on this one. Even if he submitted another story, it’s still past the deadline.”
Vegas nodded. This all seemed fair to him.
“His grade will be impacted, but his other grades are high enough that it shouldn’t be too bad. And as long as he promises to never do this again, in any of his classes, I’m willing to keep this between us.”
Vegas exhaled with relief.
“Believe me, I’ll also do my part at home to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“It won’t happen again,” Macau promised.
Pete nodded, taking in a slow breath.
“Cau? Can you give your brother and I a moment in private?” Pete asked.
Macau grinned before remembering to look chastised, and nodded. The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly Pete seemed to look everywhere but at Vegas.
“There is something I need to tell you,” Pete murmured. “In the policy of honesty.”
Vegas nodded, leaning a little closer. He could smell Pete’s cologne, and Vegas wanted to get closer. He wanted to press his face into Pete’s long neck and inhale deeply.
“I…I knew about the fanfiction because…” Pete swallowed, finally meeting Vegas’s eyes. “Because I’m the author.”
Vegas blinked slowly, his mind taking a second to catch up to what he had just heard.
“You…you wrote this?”
Pete nodded crisply.
“It’s an account not easily traced back to me. I’m not even sure how Macau found out about it. But it’s true. I deeply apologize. This must make this whole situation even more uncomfortable for you. I never expected to meet you, you see. It was just…fantasy. But now that I have, I don’t feel it’s proper to continue writing about you.”
That was a shame, Vegas thought, because he had quite enjoyed the story. Knowing the gorgeous man in front of him had been the author just made him like it more.
“I think it’s quite flattering.”
With a smirk, Vegas got up and joined his brother in the hallway.
*****
Pete was too stunned to respond as he watched Vegas strut out of his office. He had expected the man to yell, or threaten legal action. Perhaps Vegas would try to get him fired. It certainly felt inappropriate, even if Pete hadn’t been aware of the connection his student had to the famous chef.
With nothing else to do about the situation, Pete collected his things and headed to teach his first class.
Pete stopped mid-step as he entered the classroom. The chairs were already halfway filled, but Pete immediately noticed the man who didn’t belong in one of them.
In the back of the room, sitting next to his brother, was Vegas Theerapanyakul. He gave Pete a little wave, which Pete was helpless against. He gave a curt nod in response, then Vegas went back to looking at something on Macau’s laptop, which he appeared to have commandeered.
He didn’t mind having occasional visitors to his classroom, he just never had one that he had written fucking fanfiction about.
Taking a deep breath, Pete shut the door to his room right on time and began his lecture about the unreliable narrator. He had given the lecture a dozen times before, so he wasn’t too distracted even when he glanced up to sometimes see Vegas looking at him. He looked interested in what Pete had to say, though he kept going back to the laptop.
That was better, since it let Pete turn his attention back to his lecture more easily.
The class ended after ninety minutes, and the room erupted in a flurry of activity as the students packed up to rush off to their next lecture. When Pete looked up from his podium, he saw that Macau was slowly packing his things up while Vegas closed the laptop and handed it back over to his brother.
They gave each other a look, then Macau brushed past Pete, leaving him alone in the room with Vegas.
Vegas stood, shoving his hands casually into his pockets as he strode up the aisle toward Pete.
Pete had to pinch his thigh through his slacks to remind himself that he wasn’t dreaming or living out one of his fanfics.
“I liked the lecture.”
“I didn’t think you were paying attention. You were pretty occupied.”
“So you noticed. I saw you looking at me.”
Pete blushed, taking a half-step back as Vegas advanced on him. His silk shirt was partway unbuttoned, even more than Pete had noticed in his office. Not that he was noticing.
Vegas tilted his head to the side, pressing his face close to Pete’s as their eyes met and held.
“I was doing a little reading,” Vegas explained.
Pete gasped as he understood what Vegas meant.
“That’s-”
“You’re good. I especially liked the one where I was secretly a vampire, and you couldn’t pay your tab for the food, so you let me bite you. It was creative.”
Vegas reached up to touch Pete’s pulse point in his neck with his fingertips.
“How often do you think about me biting you?”
Pete licked his lips, angling his head to give Vegas more access, even as he knew he should be stepping away.
“Maybe a little too often,” Pete heard himself admit.
Vegas smiled, all teeth, and Pete felt his knees go weak.
“Vegas-”
“Are you free on Saturday? I’d like to cook for you. At my place.”
“Your place?” Pete needed to pinch himself again, because surely he was dreaming.
“Yeah. Macau always speaks fondly of you, and I’m 99% sure he got himself in trouble to get me on campus so I could meet you.”
Pete narrowed his eyes, testing the waters by reaching out to lightly hold Vegas’s waist. When Vegas didn’t so much as flinch, Pete tightened his grip, earning a pleased hum from the man.
“You don’t think it’s weird I’ve written–fantasized–about you?”
Vegas shrugged, tapping his fingers on Pete’s chin.
“Normally, I might find it a little odd, but I’ll make an exception for you. As long as you aren’t going to kill me or something.”
Pete couldn’t hold back the laugh.
“Sorry,” he said. “In my one story, you were the killer.”
“I didn’t get to that one yet. Sounds exciting.”
“My readers enjoyed it.”
Pete could feel Vegas’s breath fan his face, they were so close. His brain was filled with static. All he could think about kissing those plush lips that he had dreamed about so many times.
“See you on Saturday, Pete,” Vegas purred. “I’ll have Macau email you the address.”
Pete blinked as Vegas booped the end of his nose, grinning like a cheshire cat.
With one last wave, he was gone, and Pete was left alone.
He was already planning what he would wear on Saturday.