[AU][C] -shitting fuck, my phONE!

The line of thin and decorative cursive on his neck was something that Fleck gave up trying to cover a long time ago, despite the strong language. He was just thankful that the cursive was so decorative and nice that it wasn't particularly easy to read.

But here in university, especially when he spent a lot of time around the arts when he wasn't in his own classes, a good portion of people actually could read it.

It left him feeling a little embarrassed, but sadly, you couldn't control your soulmark tattoo.

But that didn't mean that people teasing him about the coarse language on his skin didn't put him in a bad mood. He'd had a lot of jibes that particular morning and he almost thundered through the halls towards his class.

A buzzing in his pocket had him pausing just enough to grab his phone from his pocket. He'd been hanging on it since last night. His eldest sister was due any day and he was just waiting for her husband to let him know what was going on.

Just as he opened up the messenger his shoulder bumped someone, and jostled himself. "Shit, so-nO!" The jostling had caused him to lose his grip on his phone, and it hit the ground with a sharp crack, the screen shattered. "No nonono fuck no fuck shitting fuck, my phone."

The cursing was done in one long strong, basically a single word. He took a second to just stare in horror at the glass massacre, before swooping down to grab it, broad shoulders slumped in defeat.

He carried on down the hall, shaking his head slowly.

Fuck.

Dick's mark was rather embarrassing. It was a long scrawl of Italian profanities along his wrist. He almost always had it kept covered, typically by a long shirt. Nowadays, it wasn't the first impression he wanted to give to people; that his soulmate had shitty language.

Especially since he worked at a university, where first impressions were everything. To both students and colleagues.

He was running late his first lecture of not only the week but the school year. With only a few students milling about, so he wasn't paying too much mind as to where he was going when he looked down at his watch. Then he knocked into somebody.

He turned, an apology formed on the tip of his tongue. It fell flat. The words that came out of the stranger's mouth were words he had memorised until he was sure he spoke them in his sleep.

"Fuck no fuck shitting fuck, my phone." The words rolled off his tongue so easily, without pause. Strung together like they were one word, but lacked the frustration to the stranger had behind them.

He fixated on the stranger. Then he let out a half laugh of disbelief.

After over half a millennium, he met his soul mate.

This was the man he had been waiting for.

Swearing in the hallway of the university wasn't an uncommon thing. In fact, it was so common that Fleck usually barely even fluttered an eyelash when he heard it.

Those words, however, were burned into his mind and had been right from his early childhood. If someone spoke those words, he could probably pick that person out of a crowd full of people.

He paused in his stride and span on his heel to stare wide-eyed at the person that had spoken. 

"You're shitting me. Did you read that off my neck?" He clapped a hand over his marked neck at the mention of it.

That had happened one too many times before, and he had to make sure that this one was legit before he got excited.

"What, I? No!"

He didn't even notice the writing on this mans neck. Which now he couldn't see as the man hid it with his hand.

"Look."

He fumbled with the button at the hem of his sleeve. A few curses slipped past his lips when he couldn't undo it. He felt hot and panicked that this man was going to just walk off in disbelief that he was his soulmate. That they were soulmates.

The button finally popped, and he pushed up his sleeve to show him his forearm. The man's writing a few shades darker than his pale skin.

His heart jumped into his throat.

No? Did that mean...?

He held his breath as Dick fumbled with the button at his wrist and exhaled sharply when he read the curses, in his neat and simple handwriting. 

"Holy shit."

His soulmate.

He wanted to talk, to drag him off to a little coffee shop and talk for hours, to get to know him, to fall in love like they were supposed to.

Right now, though, he had duties. "Look, shit, I have a class to go help teach now. Can we meet at the campus cafe after the lecture?" His voice held a touch of desperation. He didn't want to let this one go.

If his phone wasn't royally fucked right now, he would have given him his number.

His soulmate voiced exactly what he thought.

Dick's shoulders sagged. He had his own class to teach, which he was late for. Plus, he also had the teaching assistant to meet.

"Sure, um, maybe the Picasso Cafe? In the art block?"

It was one of the nicer cafes in the university. It was big and bright, surrounded by student's works. And it was never as busy like the main cafe.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Picasso."

Fleck's grip, which had gone loose on Dick's wrist, but hadn't completely let go, tightened slightly, and he pulled Dick forwards.

"See you soon."

He pressed a hasty kiss to Dick's cheek then hustled off to his class.

He couldn't afford to be any later.

Dick let himself be pulled forward, and his heart skipped and jumped as a kiss was placed on his cheek.

His skin burned and he touched the spot which his soulmates lips touched.

"Bye," he said as he watched the man hurry off.

Straight into the room he was heading for.

Dick stood there, dumbfounded by the events that just took place. After so many years of waiting and giving up than believing again, he found his soulmate, and he was sweeter than any man he imagined in his head.

He stood there for a minute, trying to collect his thoughts. The class could wait. He needed a moment, and he didn't want to go into class looking as flustered as he did.

Closing his eyes, he made his way to the bathroom, instead of the lecture room. It was only a couple of door down.

Washing his face and patting it dry the only thoughts that were swirling through his head were: He finally met his soulmate; his soulmate was human; his human soulmate walked into his lecture room and could probably be his student.

Fuck his life.

Considerably less flustered, he was fifteen minutes late when he walked into class.

"Sorry, I'm late."

He scanned the throngs of bored looking student's. He couldn't find him.

"I hope you all had a good summer and are looking forward to what this term has to bring- oh."

His soulmate wasn't a student. It was his teaching assistant. Thank God.

Fleck ducked into the room and scanned it.

No professor.

Okay.

"Hi everyone," he called over the din, and the students fell mostly quiet. There were a few murmurs of appreciation rolling through the class. They thought he was hot. Great. That wasn't going to be awkward.

"I'm Hank, your TA for this class. If you need any help and Richard, your professor, isn't around, I'm your guy. Richard is... Either not here, or invisible. Your pick."

A roll of laughter.

"I'm sure he'll be here soon."

Fifteen minutes later, Fleck was chatting absently at the class. He almost fell over when his soulmate walked into the room. Fuck, please don't let his soulmate be one of his fucking students.

When he spoke, Fleck's shoulders slumped a little in relief. He was a teacher. Thank fuck.

He was staring. He was staring more than necessary. The man had friendly, warm and inviting eyes.

No. Not just 'the man'. Hank. That was the name of his teaching assistant, right? Hank Masan?

Someone coughed, and he turned to the class with a flush.

"Right. So. As always, we need to do the register first." There was a collective groan which he ignored as he took out a folder from his bag.

He passed it to Hank.

"You won't mind doing this while I set up?"

This was the last thing he wanted to ask him. He wanted to sit down and ask a million questions about his life and find out why he was his soulmate. What made them so right for each other?

"Sure."

Fleck took the register and propped himself up on the edge of Richard's desk, resting it on his thigh.

He ran through the register pretty painlessly, thankfully.

No name fumbles, at least.

The set up was simple. All he had to do was turn on the computer. Turn on the overhead projector. Plug in his USB stick. Then start the power point.

Somewhere along the way the over head projector wouldn't show anything but blue. Pure, bright blue. There was nothing he could do to fix it.

It wasn't because he wasn't distracted, either, as difficult as it was not to notice the man sitting on his desk. The one he was sat at.

By the time Fleck finished the register, he had admitted defeat.

"You don't know how to get the overhead projector working, do you? I think someone must have fiddled around with it over summer."

He pointed to the machine above them. It required a chair and someone a someone with a few inches on him. He, embarrassingly, found out last year.

He set down the register then stood.

"Yeah." He dragged over a chair and hopped up onto it, stretching up to press the reset button.

As he stretched, the bottom of his shirt lifted slightly, showing off the dark dusting of hair at his navel. After a moment, the image flickered then came in steady.

As he stepped off the chair he grinned sheepishly. "When in doubt turn it off and back on again."

From the ripple of murmurs throughout the class, they all couldn't shift their eyes away from the same spot he had fixated on.

He blinked when he was spoken to. Cheeks still hot and his seat highly uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat.

"Right. Of course. Thank you, Hank."

There was a reason he was an Art History professor and not someone in technology.

He brought up the power point and began going through this terms syllabus. There was a subtle shift in his persona; acting less flustered and erratic to someone who knew what they were doing.

This term they will be studying portraits. Specifically, Royal portraits. He gave Hank a wad of paper to give out to the students, which contained what he expected of them, the course work they needed to do and the date of their exams. He ran through it all on the powerpoint.

From the looks on their faces, he knew they were nervous. This year was much harder than their first year.

"Any questions?"

His eyes turned to Hank in hope. Hopefully, he would ask questions that he knew the students were thinking, or bring up something he missed.

If not, then he can move on to the next section of the lecture.

Fleck handed out things as directed, and perched on the edge of the desk again as Dick ran through the course.

When the question was asked, and everyone stayed quiet, Fleck arched a pierced brow.

"Well, since we suddenly have an infestation of cats with a lust for tongues in the hall," he said pointedly, eliciting a laugh. He was good at diffusing tension with humor. "I'm going to ask the obvious: why are you making us suffer like this?"

More laughter from the students.

"And now the less important questions. Can they choose the artists? What books do you recommend they bury their little masochistic noses in? Can they come crying to your office when they don't understand shit from lectures? That's one I was guilty of doing all the time when I was studying back in Florence."

His lips quirked up in surprise.

So, his soulmate had a sense of humour. He liked that. Someone who can make him laugh.

"Yes, you can choose your artists, and I strongly suggest you do your own research and apply what I taught you. It does get a little bit boring reading about the same artist I have already covered in class."

There were a few guilty looks.

"As for recommended books, you can find them all on Moodle. I spent a lot of time trying to work out how to organise the list, so they are relevant to each term and subject. All of the books I have listed can be found in the library. If you think a book or journal should be added, send me an Email. Or if you want a particular book and need help finding something, again, send an Email."

There were nods throughout the room. A few scribbled down in their notebooks or tapped away on their phones.

"As for coming and crying into my office, I would appreciate it if I got a little warning before hand. If not me, than any of the other professors or your personal tutor. Again, if you have any problems, please just send us an Email." He was starting to sound like a broken record.

"We have been in your shoes before." He looked over to his teaching assistant. "We know what it is like."

Then he turned back to the class.

"Any more questions?"

"Hell, if you were wondering," Fleck clarified when Dick said they'd been there. "But so worth it at the end."

That last question had Fleck grinning a little, and he raised his hand.

"Should we send any staircase questions over email?" he teased.

The teasing joking dynamic wouldn't be dropped anytime soon. Dick would have to get used to it.

Dick stared at Fleck.

"Staircase...?"

It took him a moment before he understood. Then he nodded.

"Yes, do. If you have any questions, just Email me."

Maybe he needed to get a badge to have on his shirt to constantly remind students. Or just get Hank to hold a sign up that said: "Email me."

Blues eyes roamed around the room. On second thought, maybe not. Not with the goo-goo eyes he was getting.

"Okay, let's start going into more depth into the first essay due. Don't worry about the others, for now."

He began to go into depth with the essay. Covering all the nitty gritty details of it until it came to the end of the lecture.

The student's filed out, some tanking him and Hank until it was just the both of them. The controlled persona he seemed to have was replaced with nerves. He toyed without the rings on his fingers.

"Sorry, you didn't have much to do today. You will be more involved in some other lectures and work shops."

Fleck shook his head with an easy smile. 

"I'm sure you'll find ways to work me to the bone later on." He was certain of that. Professors rode their TA's hard after the initial honeymoon period. He'd had it when he was working in Florence, and it wasn't likely to be any different here.

Fleck milled about, cleaning up the desk.

"Want to go get that coffee at Picasso?"

"Of course."

He tried not to sound too excited, too eager and play it cool like he was. He shut down the computer and pulled out the USB. He toyed with that instead.

"May I look?" He asked.

He hadn't had the proper chance to look at the mark. Hank had covered it with his hand when they first met. Then he was too busy teaching to pay much attention.

Now this man had his full attention.

"Sure."

Fleck pulled down the collar of his shirt slightly so Dick could see all of the script wrapping from his throat to just under his ear. He pulled his bleached hair out of the way.

In an undeniably beautiful script, one that Dick should be incredibly familiar with, were the creative Italian curses Fleck had spewed, and Dick had parrotted.

Dick stared at the writing scrawled across Hank's neck. His hand writing. It was unmistakable with all the flourishes and curves.

There were points in his life where he thought he would never see it. There it was. Clear as day.

He couldn't help himself; he reached out to trace the C the tip of his middle finger in wonder.

Fleck shivered as a cool finger brushed over his neck.

Dick's skin was so cold. He wasn't really used to such cold skin, especially not here in Sicily.

He shifted a little, pulling back slightly.

They were soulmates, but he didn't think rocking a semi after less than two hours of acquaintance would win him any favours.

Dick recoiled his fingers.

"Sorry, I-" Couldn't help myself? What type of excuse was that?

He had a similar thought pattern to Hank: Just because they knew they were soulmates didn't mean he could be touchy-feely within a couple of hours.

He cleared his throat and nodded to the door.

"Right, let's get coffee?"

"No, it's fine," he assured.

Touching was fine. It really was. He just hadn't expected such cold fingers. He hadn't been prepared for it.

His lips crooked up into a little grin. "Coffee sounds good."