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The restaurant is valet parking only, and as Jinx pulls up on the circular drive, a man in a crisp uniform makes for Viktor’s door.
“Why the hell did you pick this place?” Viktor asks Jinx. She’s his roommate, and probably his friend, though he would deny that fact to anyone who asked. She’s a pain in his ass on good days, and on bad ones, she pulls shit like this—forcing Viktor on a blind date by announcing that the other guy will be expecting him in half an hour.
“Oh, come on,” Jinx says. She’s relaxed, an elbow resting casually on the center console. She’s dressed in her typical crop top and shorts, while Viktor wears the button-up and slacks she picked out for him. “We both know you weren’t going to do anything with your Friday night anyway.”
“Ouch,” Viktor says.
“It’s the truth. Now look alive! I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
The valet reaches the door, opens it, and says, “Welcome to La Nuit,” with a smile.
Viktor stares at the entrance to the restaurant, bordered by gold filigree and carpeted in red. The restaurant name is written in a scrolled font that is barely legible. Viktor probably couldn’t afford a meal here if he saved up for a month. “Your friend better be paying,” Viktor tells Jinx.
“He’ll pay. He’s a gentleman and all that. Now go have fun!”
Viktor climbs out of the vehicle, throws an anxious smile at the valet to appease him, and turns back to Jinx before she can drive off and strand him at this uppity French restaurant. “How am I supposed to find him?”
Jinx arranged the date, the venue, and the participants. Viktor is just along for the ride because if he didn’t give in to her whining, she would play her screeching music all night in retaliation and complain about how Viktor never leaves the apartment except to go to class, and Viktor doesn’t want to deal with a pissy Jinx all weekend. At least he’ll get a meal out of this, and also he’ll get to say “I told you so” when the date inevitably doesn’t work out.
“He’ll be in a dark blue shirt,” she says. “And he’s got a thing going on with his eye.” She gestures to her face. “You can’t miss him.”
“A… He’s got a what?” Baffled, Viktor lets the valet shut the car door. The window is rolled half down, so he can still see Jinx.
All she says is, “Have fun! Okay, bye!” in a sing-song, and then she’s driving off, deserting him.
Viktor stares mournfully after her. He could just get an Uber. Stand his date up, go home, take a bath and read instead. But he knows he won’t, so, steeling himself, he steps through the doors.
A woman at a podium greets him. Her hair is slicked back in a military bun, and she asks for his reservation.
“I, um, I’m waiting for someone.”
She smiles and gestures him to a velvet bench.
Viktor sits. The restaurant isn’t loud, precisely, but lots of soft noises overlap, vying for attention: cutlery scraping, music lilting, and chatter ebbing and flowing. Viktor checks his phone. He’s two minutes early. The door opens, and he glances up, looking for a blue shirt and a distinguishing eye, filled with a fresh worry that his date won’t show up at all…
But he has. This man is clearly the friend to whom Jinx referred. Navy shirt, glass eye, and a scar cutting across it like the riverlets of a delta. The man clocks Viktor, his eyes widen, and he stares. Then he sighs like he’s deflating. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Jesus Christ,” says Viktor’s British Lit professor.
Professor Silco cleans up well. Viktor sneaks a glance at his trim body, stylish watch, and polished shoes. He always dresses nice, but this is an extra level of effort. Viktor wonders if Jinx picked the outfit for Silco like she picked Viktor’s. Then he wonders how Professor Silco knows his roommate. Then he wonders how he’s going to kill her.
The maître d tries to catch Silco’s attention, but he ignores her, instead peering down at Viktor in a resigned, long-suffering sort of way. “I never should have trusted her,” he says, and though he sounds frustrated, he doesn’t sound frustrated at Viktor.
Viktor pushes himself to his feet with his cane. “A sentiment I frequently share. You know who I am, then?” The professor must have recognized Viktor to react so viscerally to his appearance, but it never hurts to check that they’re living in the same dark comedy.
“Yes, Viktor, I know who you are. What, you think I wouldn’t recognize my own student?”
Viktor shrugs. “It’s a big class.” To his memory, he’s never spoken one-on-one with Silco. And honestly, Viktor doesn’t mind the opportunity to. Silco is intelligent, cutting, and a Zaunite like Viktor. Not many Piltover professors come from Zaun.
“I’ll call you a cab,” Silco says. “Unless you drove? You have my sincerest apologies for ruining your night.”
Viktor could accept the offer of a ride home (wasn’t that what he’d wished for just minutes ago?), but now that Silco is here, and the campus is so far away, and the aroma of spiced meat hangs in the air, Viktor finds himself wanting to stay. “Aren’t you going to buy me dinner first?” he says cheekily.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Silco says. “This date was obviously a farce from the beginning. I don’t know what Jinx was thinking, unless she’s scheming to get me fired.”
Maybe she thought they were compatible. Maybe she’s genuinely, sincerely off her rocker.
Viktor says, “We’re already here. And I was promised a free meal. So…”
He might be crazy, too. In fact, he might be hallucinating this entire evening. Standing beside Silco, Viktor gets a whiff of his cologne. Had he worn cologne to class? Surely not. It smells good. Rich.
Silco wouldn’t mind a little playful flirting, would he? What man wouldn’t be flattered by the attention of a boy (Viktor does some quick mental math) almost two decades younger than him?
Silco narrows his eyes at him. Well, he narrows one eye, and his other brow moves, which gives the same impression. “If the university thinks that you and I are romantically involved, it will be the end of my career and your education there.”
“Relax. We aren’t on a date. It can just be dinner. I’ve gone out to eat with professors before.” Which is true, though Viktor wasn’t thinking about how good Heimerdinger smelled when they met to talk about his thesis.
Then Silco sighs again and turns at last to the poor maître d, giving her his reservation. She leads them into the restaurant, seats them, and promises that the waiter will attend to them shortly.
The table is small, intimate, tucked in a nook made of twisting metal and fogged glass. Similar nooks twist and turn the restaurant’s floor plan into a maze to isolate groups of diners from one another. They’re seated in the middle of the room, but it feels as if they’re in a corner. Viktor glances up. The chandeliers are geometric and over-designed. The light is dim and golden. This is a setting for lovers, not teachers and students. The drab classrooms of the university seem a world away.
“I guess I ruined your night too, huh?” Viktor asks.
Silco shakes his head and shakes out his napkin, laying it across his lap. “I didn’t have high hopes for it. Jinx insisted I get out of the house.”
“Same.” The waiter arrives, fills their water glasses, and hands them wine menus. He introduces himself and points out his recommendation.
“Do you drink?” Silco asks.
Viktor contemplates a joke about Silco getting him drunk and taking him home, but he’s already pushing his luck here, so he answers simply. “Yes.”
Silco orders a bottle of the wine recommended by the waiter, who replaces their wine menus with ones for food and leaves them to browse.
Viktor’s stomach rumbles. He hasn’t eaten since lunch, seven hours ago. Maybe eight. Hey, students are classically starving. He won’t be embarrassed by arriving hungry to a dinner date. He asks, “What do you normally order when you take cute boys out on the town?”
Silco’s lips are twisted in a frown. “This isn’t a date.”
“I never said it was.”
“I would never enter a romantic engagement with a student from the university, particularly one of my own students.”
“So noted.” Viktor glances over the top of the menu at his dining partner, wondering at his history. Silco must have dated younger men before, otherwise, why would Jinx match the two of them together? “Do you think this is Jinx’s idea of a joke?” he asks.
“Frankly, I don’t know.”
Then she might have genuinely meant to set them up. What the hell was going through her brain?
Maybe Silco isn’t the experienced one. Maybe Jinx guessed Viktor’s type. “I’m a little offended,” Viktor says, “that she pegged me for someone interested in older men. We’ve never spoken about our tastes.”
“You’ve dated older men before?”
Got him. Silco is responding like this is a date, not a professional meeting between academics. Viktor chides him. “Is that the sort of question you typically ask your students?”
Silco scowls at his menu. He’s handsome when he’s frustrated. Viktor knows he’s being difficult, but he can’t help it.
The prices are outrageous. When the waiter returns, Viktor orders the second-cheapest entrée, a pasta dish.
Silco sets the menu aside. “We’ll have the same thing,” he tells the waiter. “The lobster bisque to start, then the escargot, and then the carbonara.”
“I don’t need all that,” Viktor protests. Unfortunately, he is very good at math, and he knows precisely how expensive those three courses are together.
“You’re getting your free meal. Don’t complain.”
The waiter brings the bottle of wine and leaves again. Viktor just feels silly, now, for demanding a dinner from Silco, for flirting, and also for listening to Jinx in the first place. Never again. The next time she accuses him of being a shut-in, he’ll tell her to go jump in the Pilt.
Viktor doesn’t know what to do with his hands now that his menu is gone. A snatch of laughter carries from nearby. Silco pours both himself and Viktor a glass of wine, which Viktor is grateful for because it gives him something to hold. A new song starts playing: a piano piece. Silco taps a finger on the table and sips his drink.
Viktor should go easy on Silco, at least until he loosens up. He looks liable to bust a vein from how hard he’s scowling at his glass. He says, “Since this isn’t a date, and since you’re my professor,” as if either of them can forget, “what should we talk about? Class?”
“We can.” Silco is leaned back in his chair, sipping wine. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Have you begun the term paper yet?”
“I made an outline.” The paper isn’t due for weeks, and Viktor feels content with his progress so far. “I’m writing it about ‘Leda and the Swan.’ Will you grade harshly if I disagree with you about the poem?”
His brow narrows. “I’ve presented the material in an unbiased manner in my lectures, haven’t I? What do you think my opinion is?”
He’d let students lead the discussions in class, yes, prompting them to share their own thoughts and guiding the conversation with questions rather than opinions. However, “You interpret it in your book,” Viktor points out.
Silco stares at him. “You’ve read my book?”
“Of course. I try to read something published by all my professors, just to see what I’m getting into before class begins.”
Silco’s blue eye would be striking—clear as ice—if the other weren’t so odd. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, except his tone bears a hint of amusement now. “You’ve read all your professors’ publications.”
Viktor defends himself. “I’m not crazy. I haven’t read through your entire CV. I just picked something that looked interesting.”
“That is not something undergraduates normally do, Viktor.” He’s definitely amused now. “So what’s your take on the poem, then?”
“Well, you argue that the violence inflicted from above—the swan descending on the maiden—represents new twentieth century anxieties about warplanes, since before that, people didn’t have to fear attacks from the sky.”
Silco nods. The argument is surely familiar, since he made it. He gestures for Viktor to continue.
“But the fact that the myth of Leda and the Swan existed in antiquity is itself evidence that humans feared attacks from the sky before the advent of warplanes. And it’s far from the only myth to feature a flying creature. Didn’t Zeus also kidnap Ganymede in the guise of an eagle?”
“What do you think the poem means, then?”
“Does it have to represent any violence other than the obvious? Kings take whatever they want from people who can’t fight back.”
The waiter brings them a selection of bread and spiced olive oil in which to dip it. Viktor and Silco both take a piece, and Viktor is grateful for the food, though he doesn’t know how he’s going to fit all three courses. Silco asks, “Why did you come to Piltover to study? You’re from Zaun, aren’t you?”
With warm bread in his hand and Silco’s focused attention upon him, Viktor feels daring again. Silco might report Viktor to the dean—he should, if he wants to protect his job—but Viktor gets the sense that Silco cares as little for Piltie rules as Viktor does. “I have an idea,” Viktor says. “Let’s make this a game. We take turns asking each other questions, and we have to answer truthfully. You can refuse to answer at any point, but then the game ends.”
“What sort of stakes are those? Why should I play along?”
“Because I think you want to know more about me,” Viktor says bravely. “And if you concede, then you don’t get to ask me any more questions.”
It’s a trap, the most obvious trap ever laid by any person in history, and Viktor waits to see if Silco will call him out on it or call off dinner. They are already bending the boundaries of propriety with this fancy dinner; will Silco bend them further? Viktor wants to flirt with Silco, rules be damned. Does Silco want to flirt as well?
“Fine,” Silco says.
And Viktor grins, knowing he’s won the game already.
“Answer my first question, then. Why come to Piltover?”
“I came on a scholarship. The schools here are better than the schools in Zaun. Now it’s my turn.” He starts with a lowball, an easy question to pretend that playing games of truth or dare is normal behavior between teachers and students. “Why are you teaching Irish literature in a British literature class?”
“The school won’t approve an Irish literature class. My turn. How long have you known Jinx?”
“A few years. We’re roommates. We had a few classes together, which is how we got acquainted.” Viktor sips at his wine. It’s just the right amount of sweet.
“So I’ve heard.”
“How do you know her?”
Silco’s brows lift. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“I’m her father.”
Viktor tries not to choke on his wine. Jinx’s father is Professor Silco? She never let slip that her father taught at the university, much less that Viktor was taking his class! And Viktor had mentioned the class to her. She’d had plenty of time to drop that nugget of information, and yet she’d kept it to herself, the bastard.
Jinx had set Viktor up on a blind date with her father. Jinx had thought that her father and Viktor might hit it off. Processing the lunacy, the audacity, the sheer lèse-majesté of this move shocks Viktor into a bout of silence.
“She never told you,” Silco says.
“Never.” Viktor takes another, deep drink. “Wow. So why does she think you’re into college kids? Have you dated someone her age before?”
“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”
So it is. Viktor primes himself with another swig of wine, and Silco, ever the gentleman, pours a top-up into his glass. Does Jinx want her father to get laid? Does Jinx seriously expect Viktor and her father to date? For Viktor to join the two of them at Christmas dinner and kiss her father over the mashed potatoes? Viktor realizes that he will never, ever understand what goes on in that girl’s head.
“Yours inspired me. Before you go and accuse me of impropriety, remember that you asked after my dating life first.”
Viktor’s insides warm, and the alcohol is partly at fault, but so is the gravel in Silco’s voice. He pretends more confidence than he feels, pretends Silco is some stranger Viktor picked up at a bar, and cocks his head, wetting his lip by drawing it between his teeth for a moment.
Viktor knows he’s desirable. Men hit on him all the time. Silco might be tempted to hit on him, too, if Viktor plays his cards right.
The waiter sets their soup in front of them, and Silco waits for the man to leave before asking his question, which means it’s going to be inappropriate. Viktor’s pulse quickens. Silco asks, “Have you ever dated a man much older than you?”
“I’ve hooked up with one once. I enjoyed it, but neither of us was looking for a relationship at the time. My turn. Have you ever dated a much younger boy?”
“No.” He sounds smug, pleased by his own answer, as if Viktor wasted a question.
They begin to eat. Viktor didn’t expect that response. Why else would Jinx recommend Viktor to her father unless he fit her father’s preferences?
The soup is delicious, creamy and tasting of fish, of home. Lobster bisques aren’t Zaunite cuisine, but seafood is. The soup tastes like endless adolescent afternoons, perched on a roof overlooking the ocean, writing his idle thoughts in a journal. Smog and brine on the breeze.
When the silence has stretched too thin, Viktor prompts, “It’s your turn.”
“I’m thinking.” Silco doesn’t look at Viktor while he thinks, focusing instead on the food. “All right. I’ve got one. What are you majoring in?”
“Engineering.”
Now Silco meets his eyes again, baffled. “You’re not an English major? Then why are you taking my class?”
“As an elective. And you can have that question for free.”
“You’re a better writer than most of your peers. Are you certain you’re an engineer?”
Viktor laughs. No, as brilliant as many of his engineering friends are, writing is not typically their strong suit. “When I was younger,” Viktor says, “I had a mentor who impressed upon me the importance of being well-rounded. I was his… apprentice, basically. For a few years in my teens, I lived with him, worked with him, and learned from him.” Viktor takes another bite of soup. He doesn’t normally tell this story to people, but he gets the feeling that Silco will understand, hailing from Zaun, too. “He was a horrible foster parent. He signed up to take on a kid basically for the free labor. But when he realized I was intelligent, he did his best to educate me. Bought me textbooks, and all that. And I have more practical lab experience than anyone I know.”
“Lab experience.” Silco’s eyes widen, and then he looks away from Viktor, like he’s had an epiphany but feels uninclined to share it.
“What?” Viktor asks.
“Nothing. Do you think we should bring back childhood apprenticeships? Do you feel that the experience was beneficial?”
He’s changing the subject on purpose. Viktor wants to know what Silco found so interesting about his foster experience. “You’re thinking of something. Tell me what it is.” The game is still running, though Viktor let Silco take a couple of extra turns. “This is my next official question, so you’re not allowed to lie.”
“I remember the rules.” Silco sets down his spoon. He watches Viktor thoughtfully for a moment. Then at last, he says, “I know a scientist who once fostered a child named Viktor.”
That’s a pretty big coincidence, if there happened to be two male scientists with Zaunite orphans named Viktor. He sucks in a breath. Does Silco know Singed? How in the world could they be acquainted? The acquaintances of Singed, at least the ones that Viktor knew, were career criminals. Dangerous people. Is Silco dangerous?
Silco asks, “Does the name ‘Dr. Reveck’ ring any bells?”
Silco does know Singed. How? Since when? And why? Has he bought chems from Singed? Has he needed an underground medical procedure done? Maybe Singed was the one who sewed up Silco’s face after whatever event shredded the skin. Plenty of Zaunites don’t trust or can’t afford Piltie hospitals, so they pay men like Singed to patch them up in makeshift operating rooms.
The connection could be that innocent. Or, (Viktor’s mind is working a thousand miles a minute) Silco might be involved with Singed’s other clientele, the Chem-Barons who sell Singed’s formulas by the millions. Drug lords.
Silco is watching Viktor very carefully, with a very neutral expression on his face.
Viktor sets his utensils down.
Viktor can go to the enforcers. He probably won’t, but the idea is soothing to entertain. He can call the cops on Silco, report an anonymous tip, and wash his hands of the whole affair. He can, if he wants to.
What proof does Viktor have that Silco is connected to drugs except the name of an acquaintance and a hunch? (And he brought you to a very expensive restaurant, Viktor’s mind supplies. A restaurant he should not be able to afford on a teacher’s salary.)
If Silco is a Chem-Baron, or working for one, then Viktor’s life is in danger. Zaun’s criminal underworld is ruthless. Darkness grows in the smoking fissures and the twisted streets. There are too many blind corners, too many crevasses in which evil can take root.
The student body likes to joke that Silco is evil—the kind of professor who drinks student tears and is secretly a mob boss. The rumors would be an effective camouflage. Everyone thinks themselves so clever for figuring out that Silco is dangerous that they never investigate him for real.
Or maybe Viktor is just spiraling. Silco has a daughter, after all. Could Jinx have been raised by a gangster?
…
Actually, this hypothesis is seeming more plausible by the minute.
“Are you all right, Viktor?” asks the man who might or might not be incredibly dangerous. His voice is quiet and intentional.
How is Viktor supposed to navigate these waters? One wrong move, and he’s under.
He cranes his neck looking for… There. A Zaunite woman sitting alone at a table across the room. She’s big, buff, and scary. She’s not looking their way, but Viktor knows she’s a bodyguard anyway; the chances of two separate Zaunite parties attending the same luxury restaurant at the same time is astronomical. There simply aren’t enough Zaunites in Piltover.
Viktor looks back at Silco, and Viktor knows that Silco is more than he seems to be, and Silco knows that Viktor knows. He’s calm—perfectly calm, waiting for Viktor’s move.
Viktor swallows. “It’s my turn for a question,” he says. “What has Singed said about me?”
Silco is taken aback. He searches Viktor’s face, deciding what to divulge and what sort of threat Viktor poses, and then he replies. His voice is kind. Paternal. “He said you were the best assistant he ever had and the brightest child he ever knew, and he’s glad you turned out nothing like him.”
Blind dates aren’t supposed to be this intimate. Silco isn’t supposed to know Singed. He isn’t supposed to know this much about Viktor.
Suddenly, Viktor’s eyes are wet and his throat is swollen. He never suspected that Singed thought so highly of Viktor… or cared to think of him at all. “Oh.” Viktor swallows. He shouldn’t be this emotional over a man who took such poor care of him, but Viktor is low on fathers, and he’d once thought he could be happy by the side of Singed forever.
Silco gives him time to get a hold of himself and wrestle back the tears before they fall. The next course arrives, and they take the distraction to heart. Viktor tries escargot for the first time. It’s fishy and drowning in butter. It’s wonderful.
“I have another question,” Silco says when they’ve eaten in silence for several minutes. The tension from before has dissipated. “Why did Jinx set you up with me? In other words, if you were to guess, what about me might she think appealed to you?”
“That’s easy,” Viktor said. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that men who are handsome, rich, and intelligent are likely to be found attractive.”
“Handsome, eh?” Silco is smiling. It’s small and satisfied.
“Why did she set you up with me? What would you find appealing about a student?” Then he raises his hand to stop Silco before he can speak. “I heard it. All right, I suppose you don’t need to answer that one.”
Silco’s smile broadens. “It’s not a kink thing. Believe it or not, most days, I don’t run around banging students.”
“Have you ever?”
“No. In general, I’m in favor of guidelines that prohibit relationships between teachers and students.”
In general. Viktor sips his wine, feeling daring again, despite (or perhaps because of) his new suspicions that Silco is a criminal. The fact would be encouraging, actually, were it true; a man who’s broken one regulation can break another. “And in this specific case?”
Silco bites his lip. He shares no features with Jinx, but they share this mannerism. “I haven’t answered your official question for this round of the game. Jinx might have thought you would appeal to me because you’re smart and a Zaunite. You’re quite handsome, too. Anyone would be lucky to go on a date with you.”
“If I weren’t your student…”
Silco shakes his head. His voice is gentle. “But you are, Viktor. It’s not fair to pretend otherwise.”
Viktor doesn’t push, doesn’t ask again. Silco won’t be obliged to answer the question truthfully, anyway, because it’s Silco’s turn, not Viktor’s. He waits with quiet breaths for the next question.
It doesn’t come until they’re eating their main course, all the other dishes cleared away and their wine refreshed. Silco claims he doesn’t want to take advantage of Viktor, but he keeps refilling Viktor’s glass, and Viktor keeps drinking the contents down.
At last, Silco says, “Are you a rule-follower?”
He could say ‘yes.’ He could end this dinner with a few more minutes of polite conversation, agree that they’ve gotten a bit carried away, and plan never to meet alone in a room together, at least until Viktor’s graduation. Viktor shouldn’t risk his scholarship. He shouldn’t risk Silco’s position at the university. Viktor and Silco have spoken for too long, about topics too intimate for a mere teacher and student who will return to a professional relationship tomorrow. But Silco intrigues Viktor like no man he’s ever met. “I’ve never much cared for them,” he says. He meets Silco’s gaze and leans crossed arms on the table, tilting into Silco’s space. “Is there anything else about you that I should know?”
He waits. He barely breathes. Silco considers, tapping his finger to the table again. He can play righteous all he wants, but he agreed to buy Viktor dinner and play this game of questions, and Viktor thinks he’ll agree to more.
Silco speaks at last. “You should know that involving yourself with me is a bad idea for more reasons than one.”
He’s a Chem-Baron. Viktor knew it, and the confirmation should rattle Viktor more than it does. He licks his lips. The wine is getting to him. He should stop this dinner and go home and yell at Jinx about what a monumentally stupid idea this date was. “I don’t care.”
“You’re a little tease,” Silco accuses.
Viktor shrugs. He takes another drink. He proves Silco right. “I would go home with you if this were a date. That’s something you should know.”
The next rounds of the game come lightning fast. “I don’t believe I asked, so that one is free. Is there anything else I should know about you?”
“I’m trans. What’s your favorite sex position?”
“Sixty-nine.” (Viktor imagines Silco’s mouth between his legs and his dick in Viktor’s throat.) Silco asks, “What do you want to do after you graduate?”
“I don’t know. Something for Zaun.”
The waiter returns to clear their pasta plates. “Can I interest you gentlemen in a dessert menu? Coffee?”
“We’ll both do dessert,” Silco says, barely taking his eyes off Viktor. “Whatever most people order. No coffee.”
The waiter leaves, and they’re alone again, just them and the weight of things they shouldn’t do filling the air between them. Viktor asks the question they’ve both been waiting for. “Do you want this to be a date?”
Silco takes his time answering. He won’t be rushed into things—that’s good for Viktor to know. Viktor waits far more patiently than Silco deserves as the professor decides just how much risk Viktor is worth. “Yes,” he finally says.
Viktor implores Silco. “We can be discreet. We can meet up at your place, off campus.”
“And if we’re found out? I won’t be the cause of your expulsion, Viktor. You’ve worked too hard and come too far.”
“I want you. If we’re found out, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Silco’s mouth is twisted. He’s still thinking.
The dessert arrives: two dishes of chocolate cake layered with mousse and drizzled with red sauce. To Viktor’s surprise, he still has room, even after all that food, and he tucks into the cake. It might be the best thing he’s ever eaten, actually—rich and decadent chocolate cut with the tang of cherry. Viktor moans a little at his third bite. “Silco,” he says, teasing again, “don’t you deserve your reward? You treated me to a lavish meal. Shouldn’t you get something out of this?”
“Do you always fuck on the first date?”
“Only if I like the person.”
“On how many first dates have you put out?”
Shit, Silco is getting daring. Viktor loves it. He counts on his fingers, slowly. “Three.” The game is pretty much in shambles by this point, but Viktor takes a turn anyway. Silco can reply or not. “Do you want to fuck me? I want to fuck you.”
“It’s not a question of what I want.”
“It’s a question of what rules you’re willing to break.” Viktor looks pointedly at the bodyguard again, reminding Silco that he knows, or at least suspects, that Silco’s record is not squeaky clean.
“Are you really willing to gamble your future at the university for me?”
“I am if you are.”
The waiter returns. Silco asks for the check and pays it.
Viktor cleans out his glass of wine; Silco drank much less over the course of the evening, which makes sense if he’s going to drive. Viktor’s heart is pulsing, and he can tell by how he moves that he’s tipsy. He imagines Silco’s favorite sex position—would Silco be on top? Would he hover over Viktor, cock in his mouth and face between his legs, licking Viktor while thrusting into his throat? Would he be gentle as he fucked Viktor’s mouth? Viktor doesn’t want him to be gentle. He wants Silco to force into Viktor’s throat until Viktor is choking.
Silco stands and offers Viktor a hand. “Up,” he orders. Across the room, the bodyguard is also getting her check. She will follow them at a distance, perhaps, or maybe since Viktor’s clocked her, she’ll quit pretending she’s not stalking them.
Viktor lets Silco help him to his feet, and then he gets his cane under him.
Silco doesn’t let go, just shifts his hand to Viktor’s back to guide him out of the restaurant.
Viktor catches the eye of another, random diner: a woman in a formal, floral blouse. She glances at Viktor and the older man leading him out of the restaurant and purses her lips. Viktor doesn’t know if her distaste stems from the fact that he and Silco are both men, that they’re Zaunites, or that their age gap is so apparent. Probably, she doesn’t realize that Silco is also a criminal and Viktor’s instructor, but probably, those facts wouldn’t improve her opinion any.
They wait outside the restaurant for the valet to pull Silco’s car around. It’s dark. The patio is lit by lamps. Silco’s hand rests warm on Viktor’s back. Silco says, “I believe I owe my daughter a ‘thank you.’”
Viktor is giddy. “You and your daughter have a very weird relationship, and we will be talking about that later.”
Silco smiles. “Later?”
“Tomorrow. Tonight, I don’t want to think about her at all.”
The car pulls up, and they get in. Silco adjusts the mirror while Viktor buckles his seat belt and settles his cane beside his leg. Silco pulls onto the street.
“Where are we going?”
“A hotel.”
“Not your place?”
“No.” He doesn’t elaborate. They drive in silence for a while, imagining, anticipating. Then Silco says, “If you get expelled, I’ll employ you.”
“And if you get fired, then what?”
“No great loss. I’ll fall back on my other job.” He reaches over and rests a hand on Viktor’s leg, high on his thigh. “Teaching was more of a hobby anyway.”