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When Jeff slides into his 8am stats class, holding back a yawn, he gets a weird look from Jared, who already has his phone out, texting surreptitiously underneath his desk.
“Dude, you look like a boiled lobster.”
Jeff hadn’t much time to look over himself after getting home last night after the afternoon on the lake with Eric. He had neglected nearly all of his homework, and spent the next three hours trying to figure out histograms in excel while speed-reading through Faulkner for his American Lit course. He had fallen into a nearly comatose sleep, only to be rudely awakened by his alarm with only ten minutes to go before class started and had tossed on the nearest T shirt and jeans.
He looks down at his arms and grimaces. The flesh, from elbow to wrist, is a flaming red. Jeff uses his phone’s camera to examine his face and sees, to his dismay, that boiled lobster is not far off--the sunburn covers his face and neck.
That’s what you get for being distracted by hot PhD students dripping slimy eels in their hands and forgetting to put on sunblock. And by ‘students,’ Jeff means student. And by ‘student,’ he really means his boss.
Well, Jeff thinks, at least he’s only sort-of his boss.
Jeff just had no idea he’d be so attractive.
-
When he’d read “E. Staal” on the page, Jeff had guessed that it was a relative of Jared’s. He and Jared had Stats together, and he thought Jared was pretty chill for a drama major. Good-looking, tall, blonde, and, he now knows, the fourth of the endless clan from Thunder Bay, a small town about an hour away.
However, he hadn’t really made the connection that this would make him Marc Staal’s brother as well. (“Seriously,” Jeff had asked Jared, “Some of you have got to be cousins.”)
Marc, a quantitative mathematics PhD student, teaches Jeff’s stats course, albeit reluctantly. Jeff has never met a grumpier TA. Marc’s lectures are usually accompanied by a lot of eye-rolling and though it is obvious that Marc loves math and is absolutely brilliant at it, it was also obvious that Marc could not give fewer fucks about teaching undergrads statistics.
So between Jared, Marc and a third brother, Jordan, who was a first year PhD in math, Jeff’s not entirely sure what to anticipate when he knocks on E.Staal’s door and waits for it to open.
“Hi, I’m Eric.”
Jeff almost takes a step back, wondering what sort of wrong turn he had taken to end up here, looking at a veritable Viking chieftain rather than the nerdy, eel-obsessed scholar he had expected.
Eric is at least 6’3, towheaded, with a heavy brow over soft eyes and an even softer-looking mouth. Eschewing the favored professorial look of a sweater vest and button-down for a blue T-shirt and cargo shorts, Eric looks like he’d be more comfortable playing ultimate frisbee than teaching a class.
“Jeff,” Jeff blurts out, realizing that he’s staring, “Jeff Skinner. I, uh, signed up to be your assistant?” Duh, he thinks to himself, why else would he be here.
But Eric just grins, bright and happy, and grabs Jeff’s hand, shaking it in a ruthlessly genial manner.
“Great to meet you. I just got back from a trip, so I wasn’t sure they’d give me anyone this late,” he explains.
“Well, I’m yours.” Jeff supplies, lamely, and feel a prickle of embarrassment at the way that sounds.
Eric doesn’t seem to notice. “So what do you know about eels?” he asks, leaning against one of the tables in the lab.
“Uh,” Jeff licks his lips nervously. “Not a whole lot?”
Eric smiles widely, and Jeff’s thrown a little off-balance. “Awesome. That means I get to tell you more about them without you making me shut up. I can talk all day about eels,” Eric confesses, and Jeff laughs despite himself.
Eric gestures for Jeff to follow him into his tiny office, assigned to PhD students who teach classes and need the extra space, and Jeff sees a pile of tools and implements laid out on the desk. Eric starts gathering them up, handing some to Jeff, who takes boxes without thinking. Eric also tosses a bottle of gatorade and some granola bars into Jeff’s box.
“It’s a bit of a ride to the spot where we’ll do the research,” Eric supplies, “So we’ll fuel up on the way. You ready to go?” He looks expectantly at Jeff and Jeff realizes that this isn’t the meet-and-greet he had been anticipating.
He thinks about the assignments he has waiting back at the dorm that he was preparing to tackle when he got home, coffee in hand, but then looks up at Eric, who is staring down at him with a smile and suddenly there’s nothing Jeff would rather do than see where Eric’s going to take them.
-
It turns out that Eric’s destination is a mid-size lake about an hour and a half outside of Chapel Hill, nestled further into the countryside and closer to the ocean. It’s a beautiful drive, peppered with small-talk conversation and Eric explaining in more detail his research and the project he needs Jeff’s help for.
The site, when they arrive, is pretty idyllic. Jeff takes a moment to appreciate the warmth of the sun against his skin before noticing the dock and the small boat jutting out into the water.
“Alrighty,” Eric chews on his bottom lip. “Shocker, anode, cathode, waders, hope that they don’t leak, buckets, bubblers. Does it sound like we’re missing anything?”
Jeff’s not really sure. It’s his first day out in the field, ever, so he’s got no idea what they need. “Uh?” he says, hoping to contribute to the conversation.
“Oh wait!” Eric flaps a hand. “Nets. Right. Nets,” he makes a face. “I really haven’t been out anywhere since I got off the boat, you know? Everything was there, built-in,” he nods. “Nets.”
By the time they’ve gotten the nets, Jeff’s wondering about the seeming odd nature of Eric’s research, but doesn’t doubt his enthusiasm. Eric may be a little spacey when it comes to getting around, and grabbing supplies (”Oh wait!” Eric had jumped out of the car with the keys in the ignition, running inside with a shout of, “Sandwiches!” and when he returned, he’d held a massive paper bag and a grin to match), but it turns out that Jeff doesn’t have to wait long to see Eric in what he later deems hot scientist mode.
As soon as they’ve gotten into their waders, Eric’s giving him clear cut instructions with every bit as detailed and vital as the next. Eric focuses on the eels that they catch with an incredible focus, one that Jeff can’t help but admire.
“Okay,” Eric stays still. “Just get on my left here and look for its yellow belly.”
“Yeah, sounds go-oomph!” Jeff’s foot trips on a rock that he hadn’t noticed in his haste to get to Eric, and he almost face-plants into the river, much to Eric’s amusement. Soon enough, though, Jeff’s laughing too, because a six-foot-four Viking giggling in a river wearing a huge grey box is a hilarious image. Okay, it’s a huge grey box that can put out four hundred volts of electricity, but still.
“Good thing the shocker wasn’t on,” Eric says, grinning.
Jeff pales, muttering, “Oh shit.” If the shocker had been on, that would have been a few hundred volts right onto Jeff through the water, and Jeff’s pretty sure, from how the eels react later, that getting shocked is definitely not fun. Might put a bit of a damper on the day, he thinks wryly. A bigger damper than just getting wet.
To Jeff’s relief, the rest of it goes just fine and he stays balanced pretty well. They’re moving slowly because Eric’s not exactly the most mobile with the shocker on: if he bends over too far or gets it even a little wet, it shuts off, and three hours waiting for an electroshocker to dry doesn’t really fit into their day of a two-hour drive each way plus processing time back at the lab.
It turns out to be a lot of fun, too. They tie the bucket to the back of the shocker, and it floats in the water so that it doesn’t throw Eric off balance. Jeff gets the hang of catching the eels quickly enough, (“Scoop down!” Eric yells excitedly when Jeff misses his first due to a mis-aimed net) and soon he’s catching nearly all the ones that they see. Some are bigger than others, though they leave the smallest eels that are too small to tag.
And if someone were only listening, they’d think that Jeff and Eric were having an entirely different kind of fun.
“Oh! Ohhh! Fuck! Right there, there! Yeah! That’s it! Yeaaaaaaaah! There you go, Jeff, nice.”
Eric is pretty enthusiastic about eels, and never is it more obvious to Jeff than when he sees an eel pop out from under a rock and spasm from the shocker. Jeff’s blushing at some of the grunts Eric’s making, and every time Jeff gets one and puts it in the bucket, Eric smiles at him, ear to ear, and Jeff can’t help but smile back.
And then blush a little more, because, really, he barely knows the guy and his boss sounds like a fucking porn star. It’s hard to stay focused when every time he leans forward, across Eric’s body, to reach his net to the bank of the river, and Eric shouts, “Go for it!”
So it’s only the first day and Jeff’s already flustered. The ride back to Chapel Hill, though, they talk more eels--how they lose their digestive systems when they sexually mature--and it doesn’t have a chance to get awkward, because no-one really knows how eels mate, anyway. And that gets Eric talking about his time on the boats in the Sargasso, and Jeff’s pretty happy to lean back and just listen to Eric enthuse wildly over eel larva and life on a boat for eight months.
They go out a week later, to a different site, upstream of the last, and Jeff’s a little frustrated by the relative lack of eels. “There’s a dam downstream of us,” Eric explains sadly. “Most dams were built before people realised that eels are migratory and need to get upstream to live and grow before heading back out to sea.”
“Lame,” Jeff grumbles. “That’s not cool. What happens?”
Eric shrugs. “Some make it up, most don’t. You tend to get bigger eels up here. It causes problems with the population skew when they mature, though, since they differentiate as male or female depending on how many eels are around them.”
This site is a little denser in the plant department, and Jeff’s glaring at the trees that hit him in the face when he looks over at Eric, who’s six inches taller than he is. Jeff can’t help but laugh at the sheer number of branches that whack Eric, and Eric punches him lightly in the shoulder. They end up laughing at each other, tossing light punches back and forth as the day goes on. Jeff handles the porn-star commentary a bit better this time, though he’s still going to have to figure out what to do about how hot and bothered he gets by it, until they come to a weirdly and problematically placed branch that stretches out across the river right at hip level.
“I really want to shock that spot right up there,” Eric points to a spot just beyond the branch, “But that involves getting there.”
Jeff smirks. “You’re tall, step over.”
Eric raises his eyebrows. “I’m not that tall, that’s my brother Jordy. Come on, you don’t even know him. Don’t get us mixed up!”
The branch actually is an issue, though, and Jeff ends up ducking under it and then watching--and chuckling--as Eric lowers himself onto his knees and sort-of knee-shuffles forwards under the branch.
“You gonna be okay there?” Jeff chokes out, and Eric pins him with his best faux-insulted look.
“I can’t get up. Help me?”
Jeff laughs until Eric’s pout reaches what seems to be its maximum before offering Eric a hand up from his kneel. “Dignified PhD student, right,” he adds, and Eric swats him before turning on the shocker with perhaps more gusto than necessary.
-
They start going out every Friday, and their talks in the car shift from what they like about eels to things that they like that aren’t eels to, really, anything. They leave early, at seven, and get back to the lab at three or four and process eels for a while, and usually don’t get out until pretty late. By the end of the day, Jeff’s pretty tired, and he’d say that he’s upset he doesn’t go out as often with his friends and try to pick up, but hey, the view he’s getting right here is pretty damn nice.
Surprisingly, Eric doesn’t hog the conversation in the car, not like the professors Jeff has to deal with during their office hours when all he wants to do is go over an assignment. Eric seems genuinely interested in who he is; Jeff finds himself revealing things he didn’t even remember, and articulating opinions he didn’t even know he had. And it’s weird, but during these conversations he feels like he gets to know himself a little better.
He finds himself laughing during the obligatory defense of the Leafs once the topic turns to hockey. Jeff, from Toronto, has been raised to be a dutiful supporter of a franchise that hasn’t seen a playoff in years, which Eric finds hilarious.
“You have to admit that their defense sucks,” Eric remarks, weaving expertly through the roads that trail like veins along the more rural areas.
Jeff groans, “Literally, Eric, my family will disown me if I say anything bad about them. You don’t understand, they may all be doctors and lawyers and economists, but they turn into freaks if you mention Mats Sundin.”
“Not Tim Horton?” Eric cracks.
“Yeah, yeah spare me the Canadian jokes. I hear them once a day at school when I mention where I’m from.”
“My parents are actually from Thunder Bay, Ontario,” Eric tells him, to Jeff’s surprise. “They loved hockey, but moved down to North Carolina to expand their business. I played hockey a bit when I was young, before I got into science.”
Jeff can picture it: Eric was probably always tallest in his class, and the muscles in his arms speak to a lifetime of physical activity. Despite his almost unselfconsciously awkward gait, Jeff can see him being graceful on the ice.
“Did you ever play?” Eric asks.
“Nah, I did figure skating pretty seriously for a while.” Jeff replies, failing to hold back a blush at Eric’s incredulous look. “I think it may have been a bit of rebellion on my part. I never wanted to do anything that my family expected of me.” It’s said with a sheepish shrug, but Jeff can’t help but remember how much he enjoyed skating. The hard work, the practising over and over again, making minute changes to affect a greater outcome. There was something satisfying in it that, weirdly, he gets when he and Eric are in the lab, spending hours pouring over data and adjusting the variances.
He’s obviously not going to mention that to Eric, who instead peppers him with questions about his former career as a junior figure skater. Jeff spends about twenty minutes explaining how one successfully performs a double axel, before steering the conversation back to hockey.
Eric admits that his favorite player growing up was Joe Sakic, which Jeff takes as bait to tease him about the Avalanche’s lack of success in recent years.
“No way, they drafted some good guys last year,” Eric retorts. “Speaking of which, have you watched the Hurricanes? Weird to think there’s a franchise in Raleigh. Who the hell watches hockey down here?”
Jeff admits that he hasn’t, but doesn’t mention that between school, homework, eating, sleeping, and mooning after Eric, he barely has time in his day to do anything else.
But it’s worth it, he thinks, rolling his window down and letting the cool wind caress his face. The sun’s right at that point before setting, when the light is golden and everything feels still. It feels intimate, this moment, sitting with Eric, in sun-filled silence. He wouldn’t trade this for anything.
-
The weeks roll by and Jeff begins to stress as midterms approach. He’s come to taking his readings with him on these car rides, but it’s mere pretense. How could Jeff focus on the Transcendentalist movement in American literature when Eric is singing off-key Rihanna along with the radio?
Eric isn’t always happy-go-lucky on these trips. Jeff forgets that being a PhD student comes with its own problems and stresses. Eric confides his anxieties over grant applications, the chair of his department waiting for a conference paper proposal, and most of all, the looming weight that the research they’re doing must somehow be synthesized into a dissertation.
Sometimes they’re tired of it all, and the last thing they want to think about is eels. So they avoid work completely, talking about other things, and Jeff learns that Eric religiously listens to This American Life, reads Swedish mystery novels obsessively, is charmed by bluegrass music, and aspires to collect mid century modern furniture. He's also been trying to work his way through a creole cookbook for the last five years, but has never mastered jambalaya.
“I feel like my cred as a southerner is on the line,” Eric proclaims, and Jeff gives an exhausted laugh, forcing himself not to succumb to a nap.
He’s fascinated, by everything Eric is and says and does.
The Eric that’s presented to the University is a brilliant rising star in his field, Chapel Hill’s Golden Boy. Jeff often sees him on campus, surrounded by grad students and professors, smiling politely and engaging them in probably highly academic, distinguished conversation. Once in awhile, when he sees Jeff, he flashes a bright smile and an enthusiastic wave, and Jeff can’t help but feel special, that he gets to see this side of Eric when they’re alone: a little bit dorky, much less polished and all the more endearing for it.
He also, to Jeff’s amusement, has the pop culture taste of a fourteen year old, as other favorites include the Simpsons, Linkin Park, and any sort of Adam Sandler movie.
“Dude, you’re like a generation removed. None of that stuff is popular anymore,” Jeff teases and watches as Eric’s tanned face turns red.
“I’m not that old,” he mumbles and looks briefly at Jeff, something unreadable in his face that causes Jeff to catch his breath and look down, suddenly concentrating on his untied shoelaces.
“No, you’re not,” he agrees, and tries very hard not to think anymore for the rest of the ride.
-
A few weeks later, after class, Jared and Jeff take their homework and their sandwiches off to the upper quad, aiming for some shade against the unrelenting North Carolina sun. Jeff looks to his piles of books, scrap paper and laptop and grimaces, turning to Jared and winces, “I’ve been spending so much time catching eels with your brother that I’ve forgotten to do, like, half my reading.”
“Dude,” Jared looks unimpressed. “You can always tell my brother he’s being a freak and to shove it.”
Jeff imagines the look of hurt on Eric’s face and wants to shrivel up and die.
“Eric lives in this happy little world of rainbows and sunshine,” Jared explains, thoughtfully picking the the onions off his sandwich, “He was born with the mind of a genius and the body of an Abercrombie model. If he could, he would stay on that boat all day, every day, studying the creatures of the deep.”
Jeff considers Jared, who is the youngest of four, with three highly accomplished brothers who have made names for themselves in their respective fields. Jared, who chose, freshman year to be a drama major. Jared, who can’t pull off ginger hair and awkward looks like Marc, and doesn’t have the California surfer thing going that Eric and Jordan do.
So Jeff changes the subject, asking Jared about his latest play, and they end up wasting the entire afternoon. Jeff gets a little work done, though not as much as he probably should, but he can’t really bring himself to be bothered.
When Jeff gets back to his dorm, the sun has started to set, casting long shadows across his room. He sets his bag down and flops onto his bed, throwing his arm over his eyes and lets his mind wander.
He thinks about the long hot days on the boat, and Eric’s smile, the one Jeff’s never seen when they’ve been around anyone else, always with a hint of nervous glee, as if he’s not sure he can contain his enthusiasm. He thinks about the steadiness of Eric’s hand as he guides Jeff through the motions of dissection, the inherent authority in his character.
Jeff imagines that steady hand on his body, the weight of Eric’ intense gaze as he says huskily, “Don’t come yet, Jeff.”
Jeff shivers, feels himself harden and presses the heel of his palm against his jeans-covered dick, panting as he imagines Eric replacing his hands with his lips, scatting small kisses against his throat, collarbone, and chest.
Eric slowly unbuttons Jeff’s pants, reaching inside and wrapping a large hand around Jeff’s dick, squeezing softly, then harder. He repeats, “Don’t come, Jeff.”
Jeff chokes, his own hand clenching unrelentlessly and in his mind, Eric doesn’t let up, reaching his other hand up to Jeff’s neck, curling around it and brushing a callused thumb against the tendon. Eric’s mouth rests close, barely touching Jeff’s lips, and they breathe together hotly as Eric’s hand on his dick moves in slow, thorough pumps.
“Don’t come.”
Jeff comes.
His eyes snap open and he pants, imagining Eric’s disapproving frown turn into a fond smile, and feels the shudder of the aftershock through his system.
Shit, he did not just jerk off to his hot boss. Not his beautiful, blonde, heterosexual, geeky, scientist boss.
Ugh, Jeff is screwed.
-
“What we’re really missing,” Eric continues, “is solid data on Anguilla rostrata, comparable to what we have for Anguilla anguilla. And that’s what I intend to do over the next six and a half years. It’s time to learn about eels at their most puzzling stage, when they’re sexually maturing and heading down to the Sargasso Sea. It’s time to find the answers to questions that we’ve had for hundreds of years, and with this research, we can. And we will.”
Eric smiles to the applause that fills the auditorium and nods. His presentation had crowded the hall; ever since he’s returned from three years in the Sargasso, Eric has been touted as one of the up-and-coming of the best-and-brightest. Jeff can’t help but beam from his seat in the front row.
Afterwards, the reception is buzzing with questions. You’ve now done research on eels in both their earliest and latest life stages, Mr. Staal, how does that feel? Do you expect to become a worldwide expert on eels? You got your funding on incredibly short notice; how did you manage that? I see you only have one undergraduate--is that sufficient? Sometimes they come up to Jeff and ask him things, too: What’s it like working with such an esteemed researcher as Mr. Staal? How honoured are you to be working with such talent? Do you anticipate going into eel research yourself? Jeff handles them well enough, saying nothing but the truth about how wonderful it is to be working for Eric, how incredibly lucky he is to have this chance, how honoured he is to be here in Boston at the American Fisheries Society Convention.
By the end of the night, Eric is tipsy and smiling widely at everyone, leaning on Jeff’s shoulder in an overly familiar way.
“Come on,” Jeff says, amused but tired and hoping to get him upstairs before they both pass out with exhaustion. Eric’s face lights up, and Jeff feels a pang.
“Okay, Jeff,” he says happily, grabbing Jeff’s hand, waving a goodbye to his PhD advisor--who is far drunker than Eric, to everyone’s entertainment--and dragging Jeff to the elevator.
“Jeff,” Eric says sincerely, “Thank you for coming.” He’s holding onto Jeff’s shoulders now, eyes gazing into Jeff’s, and Jeff swallows hard.
“Yeah,” he says, and Eric’s eyes are just so blue and sincere, whoa. Jeff’s struck by the tightness in Eric’s grip on him, how it feels like it extends into his lungs, and watches, unable to pull his gaze away as Eric licks his bottom lip slowly.
Bing goes the elevator, and a laughing, drunk couple piles in next to them. Eric pulls one hand away from Jeff but the leaves the other holding on, rubbing small circles into Jeff’s shoulder blade. Jeff stares intently at the floor and feels his goosebumps, as Eric’s eyes haven’t left him since before they got in the elevator.
Jeff has to remind himself to breathe as Eric’s hand guides him into their hotel room and slides down to the small of Jeff’s back when he closes the door behind them. Eric pulls of Jeff’s suit jacket and then his own, quickly returning his hands to Jeff’s body, and Jeff stands, fully clothed but feeling naked under Eric’s eyes, watching as Eric breathes. He doesn’t notice when his own mouth falls open a little, but he’s not surprised when he realises that it has--Eric’s thrown into sharp shadows and highlights by the limited lighting on in their room, and Eric runs a thumb along Jeff’s cheekbone.
“Nineteen,” he whispers, as if talking to himself, and then, abruptly, turns away and heads for the phone. “Room service? Yes, thanks. French fries, please, one order. Room seven-three-two. Five? Great. Thanks.” Eric pulls off his dress shirt and tosses it on his bed, then walks into the bathroom without a look at Jeff.
Shaking himself out of what feels like a stupor, Jeff grabs hangers from the closet and throws one towards Eric’s bed, putting his own shirt on the hanger and changing out of his dress pants into basketball shorts.
“Basketball shorts?” Eric smirks when he and Jeff exchange places, Jeff heading into the bathroom.
Jeff makes a face. “Too warm for sweatpants.”
By the time Jeff’s out of the bathroom, Eric’s on his bed in his own shorts with a huge plate of french fries in his lap. “Hey,” Eric says around a mouthful. “Come here, otherwise you won’t be able to reach the fries.” And who can blame Jeff for obeying, for walking past his own bed and sitting down next to Eric, their shoulders and legs inches from one anothers’? Jeff can feel the heat from Eric’s body, and the brush of skin when Eric folds his knee up nearly makes him jump.
“Sorry,” Eric chews, but doesn’t bother to move his leg from where it’s touching Jeff’s.
Jeff falls asleep on top of Eric’s blankets to The Hangover and french fries. It takes him a few tries--the first few times his eyes slide shut, Eric whacks him and points at the screen like it’s almost as important as eels. But eventually, sleep wins out, and Jeff wakes up in the middle of the night to Eric’s stupid fluffy pink lips snoring in his face. He punches Eric as hard as he can in his sleepy state, and goes back to sleep, hand still on Eric’s shoulder because, well, it’s way too much energy to pull it back right now. He can do that in the morning.
-
About a week later, Jeff sleeps through stats--again--and thus finds himself at Marc Staal’s office, with about five minutes before office hours end. Marc just raises his eyebrows. “If you were going to ask a question, make it quick. I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.”
“Uh, okay,” Jeff scrambles to get his head around it. Shit, shit, he can’t get everything out in ten minutes. “Okay, I was trying to make a histogram? But I can’t get it to work when I label it. The program keeps telling me that there’s an extra comma? And, um, can you explain the, uh, way that we got rid of this lurking variable? I don’t really get it.”
“Okay,” Marc says, after Jeff’s shown him everything he has trouble on. “Let’s walk on the way out and we’ll talk about it.”
Marc proves to be a much better instructor one-on-one than in lecture, Jeff realises, and he’s pleasantly surprised when he actually understands nearly everything by the time they make it out the door of the building.
“Anything else?” Marc asks, as they push through the doors and into the blinding Carolina sunlight.
“I don’t think so,” Jeff says slowly, squinting as his eyes adjust. Is that? Over there?
Eric’s standing across the campus street, messenger bag slung around one shoulder and engaged earnestly in conversation with a young woman. She’s blonde and the kind of tan that only lifelong southerners achieve, flashing a blinding smile at Eric while gesturing to something written in a notebook.
Marc follows Jeff’s gaze and rolls his eyes. “Eric,” he add, sourly. “He’s always had the girls hanging all over him. All the grad students love him cause he’s so polite. A little ridiculous, if you ask me.”
Jeff’s mouth goes dry. “Oh, uh. Yeah,” he manages, and Marc nods and walks off, just as quickly back in his own world of mathematics.
Of course, Jeff thinks, as he tries to turn around and stop staring. Eric’s obviously got ladies on him all the time. Young, successful, star of the university? God, Jeff was stupid.
He can’t help recycling in his head, though, when he finally manages to pull himself away, the image of Eric smiling at him in the car when they’re alone, the way the Eric laughs when no-one else can hear, the night in Boston when they’d woken up breathing in sync.
It’s fruitless, he knows, to be so fixated on something. His older sister would call it avoidance, his younger sister would call it tragic. But it’s hard to care when three days a week he gets to have Eric all to himself.
It’s just kind of a shock to remember that Eric has his own life to live, and that Jeff may only be a footnote in his greater adventures. The thought stays with him on his walk home.
-
Jeff’s saved from having to worry too much by the arrival of midterms, when Eric knows not to ask him to come with him to the field. He buries himself in his textbooks, spends late nights in the library with Jared and Ellie, who’s in his chem class and has a very obvious crush on Jared. The funny thing, though, is how oblivious Jared is about it.
Jeff pokes Jared in the rib one night while Ellie sleeps on the couch behind them--he’s not really sure what time it is, at this point--and smirks. “You must be really stressed,” he starts, and Jared gives him a questioning look. “Oh come on,” Jeff grins. “You haven’t noticed? Where have you been the last week?”
“Studying,” Jared replies, rolling his eyes, but gives Ellie a glance. “I thought she was just being nice. She’s really cool, you know,” Jared assures Jeff. “And you should see her in Shakespeare, god, she’s a fucking artist with the soliloquies.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “She’s really into me?”
“Yes,” Jeff groans, and Jared blushes.
“It just doesn’t usually happen to me, you know?” And that feeling, Jeff knows.
“Unrequited love’s a bitch, man,” is what he settles on, reminding himself that midterms are not the time to be thinking about Eric.
Jared shakes his head, smiling. “Only until it’s not unrequited anymore.”
Jeff ignores the sinking feeling in his gut and shakes his head to get back in the zone. Work. Eric is not important right now. It doesn’t matter if he’d rather be out on the river instead of cooped up in a library; it’s not important if every time Jared mentions one of his brothers, Jeff’s heart jumps; it’s not relevant to his studying to be a fucking lawyer.
He’s always had the girls hanging all over him. Shut up, Jeff. Shut up shut up shut up.
“You know, you should go for it. It’s worth it,” Jared says sincerely, breaking into Jeff’s thoughts.
Jeff blushes. “What?”
“He won’t stop talking about you. And you know what it reminds me of? How you won’t stop talking about him.” Jared’s looking Jeff straight in the face now, and Jeff casts around wildly for something to say that doesn’t involve spilling all of his stupid feelings.
And of course, Jeff is saved--well, saved is one word for it--by Claude fucking Giroux, who shows the fuck up, smirking. “Hey boys, how’s the studying?”
Giroux is from Canada, like Jeff. Unlike Jeff, though, Giroux is from French Canada. And the extra word in the description of where Claude is from means extra douche.
Jeff wrinkles his nose. “Hey.”
To Jeff’s dismay, Jared grins widely. “Hey man, what’s up? Seen Jordan lately?”
Claude snorts. “Nah, he’s probably off being unsuccessful somewhere. As usual. How are you doing, Baby Staal? There’s still hope for you yet.”
Jeff’s not sure what there’s hope for Jared in, but he fervently hopes he doesn’t have to be involved. He buries his nose in his textbook and pretends to be interested in the relationship between sampling means and confidence intervals. There’s math behind this that Jeff doesn’t give a shit about, but it’s better than Giroux.
-
For the first time, Jeff’s not exactly happy when midterms are over. Yeah, it’s great to be done with exams, but he’s not really sure how to handle being in a car with Eric again for hours, three days a week.
So he does what any strong, independent nineteen-year-old man would do, and lies his balls off.
I’m sorry, he types, in what is sure to be the most uncomfortably worded email he’s ever written. I just really don’t feel great, sorry. Must have tired myself out with exams, came down with something, can’t come out this weekend.
It takes Eric’s reply (Sorry you’re not feeling well. Guess I’ll cancel research this weekend, and we can pick up next week.) for Jeff to realise that he’s holding up Eric’s work. All of Eric’s work. When he gets it, though, he feels sick with himself.
-
Jeff’s been so distracted with this thing between him and Eric that he had forgotten all about his midterm results until a timely call from his parents thrusts him back into reality.
“Jeff,” his father says, sounding concerned and disappointed, a combination Jeff absolutely hates, “A B- in Chemistry? A C on your literature paper? I thought you liked Faulkner?”
“Dad, being a B student is fine, okay? And they’re just midterm grades, they don’t mean anything,” Jeff protests, as though this time the conversation would go differently.
“We let you go to school so far from home because you promised us you would exceed our expectations. You’re a bright kid, Jeff, so what on earth is keeping you from reaching your potential?” His father has broken out the Motivate Your Child tone that he’s used ever since Jeff started skating. The tone that means that he just doesn’t understand how he could have had so many smart, accomplished children...and then Jeff. Sometimes, Jeff thinks he came all the way to North Carolina just so he wouldn’t have to look at his father’s face while hearing him say those things.
“Dad,” He attempts, “I’m doing my best. This assistant thing takes up a lot of time, but Eric needs me to help him--”
“Eric?” His dad asks.
“Um, Mr. Staal.” Jeff hastily corrects.
“You mean, the PhD student who takes you on the boat all day to catch fish?”
“Eels, Dad. We catch eels.” Jeff wants to rewind the last 20 seconds. He can tell that his Dad is already making inferences using the available data, and it’s both a surprise and a confirmation when his Dad asks, “Is this boy getting you involved with anything you shouldn’t be involved in? Drugs? Is he pressuring you to drink? Jeff, I know these older kids can seem really cool, but your mother and I have always tried to set an example--”
“Dad!” Jeff almost shouts, but it’s enough to silence the growing lecture, “Dad, Eric’s not pressuring me to do anything. I just really enjoy the time I’ve spent with him. He’s a good friend.” He’s afraid that he’s given himself away. His feelings, which have only grown with every afternoon, every car ride, every lab session with Eric for the past month and a half. Jeff spends his days with him and his nights thinking about him. If there’s anyone to blame for his negligence with his schoolwork, it’s Jeff, for being too weak to repress his affection.
He starts again, “Dad, I know you and Mom want me to do these great things, like be a doctor or a lawyer, but what would happen if I fell in love with something else?” Or someone else, someone whom his parents would most certainly be tolerant of, but wouldn’t necessarily understand the fullness of Jeff’s agency towards it. They would probably always feel that Jeff’s heart was too easily led.
His father is silent, then takes a deep breath. “Jeff, you know your mother and I only want you to be happy. We’re just afraid that this project you’re doing is a crutch, because you may be anxious or scared to really shoot for something that’s more of a challenge, but it seems as though these particular classes might not quite be your strong suit. For now, keep working on the chemistry, and why don’t you consider an ethics class next semester?”
His father keeps talking, but Jeff doesn’t hear anymore. He knows his parents love him, that he’s been fortunate his entire life to have their generosity and support towards his endeavors, but it’s so frustrating sometimes to know that they expect some sort of endgame with it all--that it’s all leading to some grand goal that they believe all three of them are in agreement with, and that Jeff can take the journey however he wants just as long as it ends there.
So he nods, and says all the right things and then hangs up and thinks about Eric again. He’s mentioned his parents, once or twice, said that they were originally farmers, that they had expected Eric and his brothers to continue with the family business. None of the Staals Jeff knows are doing that, and he wonders if Eric feels like he’s disappointed his parents too. He wonders if he could talk to Eric about it, if he would understand.
Probably not. Eric is golden in everything he does. He can’t imagine Eric ever disappointing anyone. He seems like the kind of guy who genuinely gets along with his exes and wows critics at conferences and regularly stuns the biological community while also being a pleasant neighbor and always brings something tasty to the PhD mixers. It makes Jeff feel like a fool to ever think that he is in some way special to Eric, that their friendship goes beyond their working relationship. Eric’s treated him to a couple of lunches and a coffee every now and then, and their conversations during the commute are always interesting and lively, but that might just be the person Eric is, and the person he brings out in Jeff. Nothing more, nothing less.
Maybe Eric’s the crutch. It’s a sobering thought, one that he doesn't try to dwell on as his resolutely powers down his computer and drags his reading over to the bed for a night of dedicated studying. He does not think about his afternoon tomorrow with Eric, he does not think about the recent trip to Boston, and he certainly does not think about what may or may not have almost happened.
-
The excuse of too much work gets old after a while, because duh, everyone has too much work. Plus, midterms are over so Jeff doesn’t get to play that card anymore. The problem is, his feelings aren’t going anywhere; they’re actually getting worse. Seeing Eric going out of his way to catch up to him when they spot each other on campus, spending hours in the lab pressed up near each other, and more tragically wonderful car rides only add up to an infatuated sophomore with increasingly dirty fantasies about Eric’s desk and his ridiculously broad shoulders.
They meet for coffee one day and Jeff thinks, fuck it. His feelings may be unreturned but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy Eric’s company, especially since he’s one of the few people to see Eric in those rare, unguarded moments. He can handle being a friend, even if he wants more.
And Eric certainly wants to be Jeff’s friend. He’s forever asking Jeff about this life, his interests, seemingly fascinated. He touches Jeff, too--a firm pat on the back the back when the data looks good, a hand around his waist when he’s showing him something in the water, and one time, a grip on the back of his neck with the thumb rubbing circles into Jeff’s hair when Jeff gotten the shocker wet and their day was ruined. “Everyone makes mistakes, Jeff,” Eric had said, looking into Jeff’s eyes and willing him to believe it.
Jeff had nodded, feeling like he was going to cry, and Eric had given a small smile and had pulled Jeff in for a tight embrace. All 6’4 inches had been pressed against Jeff for approximately 23 seconds and it had been awesome. Purely platonic on Eric’s part, of course...
Except.
Except they’re in the lab one night, far too late for either of them, and Jeff really does have homework but they’re right in the middle of a particularly good bunch of eels and everything is coming together and Jeff is becoming aware, for the first time, how powerful this science is. How the simplest things can add up and prove something that at first seems inconsequential but has the potential for serious change. It makes him giddy, and then giggly.
“I can’t believe that--look at this! We’ve never seen this before!” he exclaims, turning to Eric and bouncing lightly in excitement.
Eric laughs back, “No one has,” exhausted but satisfied, a look that Jeff’s imagined many times before in a different context. He reaches out to grab Jeff’s shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle there and it feels so good that Jeff sighs, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and kisses Eric lightly on the lips.
He steps back immediately and Eric’s hand falls from his shoulder and hangs loosely at his side. He’s silent, lips parted in surprise.
Jeff stares at Eric, feeling a strange mix of calm and terrified, as the muted lights of the lab and the darkness of the night peeking in through the windows make him suddenly aware of how intimate it is in here. Within this preternatural calm, everything is pronounced and focused: he can smell Eric from this distance, the clove oil, sure, but underneath the tantalizing smell of clean, freshly-washed skin; the blonde hairs covering his arm, which poke up in response to the cool temperature of the room; the sound of Eric’s calm, perhaps too steady breathing as he stares back.
Jeff wonders if it has all been leading to this. He feels as though he’s outside of his own body, looking on as he takes a step closer to Eric, invading his space. This close, the contrast between Eric’s pale skin and red lips is striking, and with a courage he can’t fathom, he stands on his toes to again brush his mouth lightly against the older man’s.
Eric inhales sharply. “Jeff, we can’t. You’re so young--”
“I’m nineteen,” Jeff states, and despite the boldness in his tone, the third kiss he presses against Eric’s mouth is softer, hesitant.
Jeff had really only kissed two people before, and both within the span of a year. Figure skating and dimples hadn’t exactly fit with most of his high school's idea of ‘masculinity,’ and his first year of college, Jeff had thrown himself into as many social situations as possible, hoping he would fit a more flexible ideal. And he had gotten his wish, with a girl and a boy who had liked the sweetness in in his character.
But as soon as Eric starts kissing Jeff back, he knows that whatever fondness Eric feels is similarly matched by the intensity of his desire. Eric’s kisses are long, thorough, and lingering, his hands steady bands on Jeff’s neck and lower back as he presses him up against the lab table.
Later, Jeff doesn’t know if it’s been minutes or hours, Eric pulls away and Jeff wants to explode as Eric gives one last, soft lick against his lips as their mouths separated. His gaze on Jeff’s face is heated and their harsh pants seem to echo in the empty building.
“Jeff,” Eric begins, voice husky, and Jeff strains forward, eager for more. Eric, however, unclenches his hand from Jeff’s hip and uses it to softly push them apart.
“It’s late. You have class in the morning and I have an eight o’clock lab to teach.”
Jeff blinks up at Eric, taking in his pathetic attempt at a serious face, which twitches at the edges. “Um, sure, you’re right.”
Eric grins, which Jeff much prefers, and leans in again--Jeff expects another kiss, but Eric merely wraps his arms around Jeff in a comfortably intimate embrace.
Jeff allows himself a moment to bask in this, the surreality of it all. Dopey, undeclared sophomores don’t get the gorgeous PhD students with unnaturally soft lips, at least, not in any movie he has ever watched. But Eric is different. Eric has never condescended to Jeff, never made him feel dumb or juvenile. Eric likes cartoons, and bands from 2005, and can talk forever about eels. And, apparently, he likes Jeff.
Released from his embrace, Jeff and Eric responsibly clean up the lab before heading out into the cool Chapel Hill night. Jeff blushes into his antiseptic wipes a few times before Eric catches his eye and a slow, steady smile spreads across his face, and when they get outside, the dahlias are in bloom, even this late, their sweet scent wafting across the breeze as the two wordlessly head over to Eric’s car, where Eric holds the door open for Jeff with a sheepish smile. Jeff has to remind himself that only twenty minutes earlier, this same guy had grasped Jeff’s tongue with his teeth and had pulled it into his mouth to suck on while kneading his ass gently but with definite promise.
This makes the drive back to Jeff’s dorm--Eric refuses to allow Jeff to walk across campus alone at night, which Jeff finds adorable--somewhat uncomfortable, but Jeff doesn’t let his imminent boner distract him from taking Eric’s proffered hand over the console and listening to Eric hum softly with whatever late-night celtic fest NPR was playing.
Half of Jeff wants to crow and make noise and do a hundred jumping jacks over the promise of more, the promise of whatever’s coming next. The other half wants to lean back against Eric’s seat in the car at the end of October with the moon shining down upon them, and never let this moment end.
-
The afternoon after Eric kisses Jeff in the lab, Jeff makes his way with two iced coffees (it may be October, but they are still in North Carolina, where you’re lucky if it hits below seventy-five) to the Biological Sciences Building. He plods down the familiar stairway into the basement level, affectionately termed ‘the Pit,’ where all the PhD candidates have makeshift offices. Eric has the good fortune of being placed farthest away from the bathroom with the moaning toilet and the creaky radiator, but he does get the flickering light above the doorway that makes this trek feel slightly ominous.
Whatever anxiety Jeff had been feeling on this journey, the condensation of the cool drinks slicking up his already sweaty palms, is quickly dispelled when he sees Eric’s face break into a smile at the sight of him.
“Jeff.” Eric sounds almost grateful, and Jeff has but a moment to wonder at it when he gets swept up in a pair of tanned, muscular arms and is all but twirled around the small office space. Eric’s smile is blinding as he lets Jeff go, and Jeff ignores the wet stain on his shirt from the coffee drinks in favor of leaning in and kissing Eric.
-
As the weeks go by, and Jeff and Eric settle into this thing they have going, Jeff finds out that Eric kisses in an essentially-Eric way. It changes with his mood, but there’s always the same taste of Eric, the same full lips up against his, the same intensity with which Eric approaches everything.
But there are differences, and as Jeff gets to know them, he finds that it’s one of his favourite things to know about Eric. He knows this, and no-one else. It makes him feel a little bit more like Eric’s his, like Eric is something stable and solid and there and Jeff’s.
Some days, Eric’s strong, licking his way into Jeff’s mouth almost roughly, and when they open their eyes Jeff can see the sheer want in Eric’s eyes.
Others, after long days in the river sun, they kiss slowly, and Jeff can take the time to explore every bit of Eric’s mouth with his tongue. Their kisses are long and lazy, and Eric relaxes into Jeff’s mouth with sighs that send shivers down Jeff’s spine.
The little kisses, that Eric dots on Jeff when he least expects it. Maybe they’re making out, really going, and one or both of them are getting half-naked on Eric’s couch, when Eric will slide up from licking between Jeff’s thighs and kiss his dimples. (Jeff’s never liked them so much.) Eric kisses him when he giggles--which is a lot, but whatever, Eric’s really funny, okay?--and when he frowns over his chem, pulling Jeff in to straddle his lap. There are absentminded kisses, when Jeff walks out of the kitchen with mugs of tea and Eric’s focused on his work, and there’s one that Jeff has dubbed the “when you catch big eels my eel gets big for you” kiss.
Jeff can tell by how Eric walks into the room, sometimes, how he’ll be. How he’ll kiss Jeff when they end up in the car, if he’ll back Jeff into the door like he wants to stand between Jeff and the world or possibly just be closer to Jeff than he can get, or wrap Jeff around himself like Jeff’s his safety blanket.
-
“God, Jeff,” Eric groans as Jeff bends over. “You have to stop doing that.”
Jeff smirks, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Waders really do it, huh?”
“I can’t concentrate,” whines Eric. “Do you know what it’s like getting a boner with six thousand dollars and four hundred volts strapped to your back?”
“Nope!” Jeff replies, bending over again, ostensibly to pick up another box, “but you’re cute when you whine.”
So yeah, Jeff could say that research is going well.
Eric grabs Jeff’s elbow as he circles around Eric’s Ford Focus and pulls him directly to his lips, laughing. They’d had a long day out in the field--Jeff doesn’t have any classes on Fridays, so they’d been able to to take the day and head out to shock. It wasn’t like they’d had to meet anywhere, since Jeff had spent the night at Eric’s, waking up with his face pressed into Eric’s shoulder and Eric’s lips on his forehead, so they’d left early, barely stopping at the lab to pick up the shocker and waders.
They’d spent the day kissing as much as shocking, and, well, Jeff thought that this whole thing was giving them extra-special luck with the eels, because they were catching more than ever. Maybe it was because they were more in sync, or maybe the eels really were intricately related to sex, as Maori culture had thought--Jeff actually had read the book Eric gave him, thank you very much, though maybe that was just because it was from Eric. Whatever the case, they were well exceeding their expectations from the tributaries of the Chocowinity Bayand that left them with plenty of time for other pursuits. No-one really looked in riverbeds, anyway, so they were pretty much free and clear, open in a way that usually only came from being in Eric’s apartment.
In the end, nearly twenty hours straight of easy, unhidden affection lead to a meeting that is anything but.
By the time they get the eels into the lab and start prepping them for processing it’s nearly five o’clock, though that doesn’t bother either. It isn’t like they want to be with anyone else for the evening.
Eric grins as Jeff gives his ass a little pinch, walking into the lab, and spins around to grab Jeff by the hips. “You know,” Eric says, breath hot in Jeff’s ear, “I doubt anyone else is in the building.”
Jeff shivers, and Eric picks up him easily and sets him on the counter, toying with Jeff’s hands until Jeff pulls him in between his legs to kiss him. They stay there, smiling into each others’ mouths, pulling back to look into each others’ eyes, then returning to kisses that get sloppier and more intense as Jeff pulls Eric in, as Eric presses himself against Jeff. Jeff’s hands are under Eric’s shirt and Eric’s are leaving bruises on Jeff’s hips before long--though it isn’t like they’re rushed, since it takes the clove oil a while to knock the eels out enough to measure them.
“Yo, Eric, I’m so glad you’re back. Listen, mom wants--” comes a voice from the doorway that trails off. “Uh, Eric? Is this, uh, a good time?”
Eric pulls himself away from Jeff’s mouth so fast that he nearly gives Jeff whiplash, though his spare hand--the one that isn’t wiping his mouth--stays firmly gripping Jeff.
It’s Jordan, the Staal that Jeff’s only met a couple of times, who is now staring at the two of them in disbelief. “Are you getting credit for this?” he asks, and Jeff blushes redder than that one eel that had hemorrhaged last week.
“Jordy,” Eric starts, and Jordan’s eyebrows snap together.
“Bro, I don’t even give a shit about what you do with your dick. But seriously? The kid’s like, sixteen.”
“Actually, I’m nineteen.” Jeff thinks this is be a good moment to contribute, since he is not, in fact, jailbait, thanks.
Jordy talks over him. “He has dimples, for fuck’s sake. Dimples. Seriously?”
Eric eyes Jeff for a moment, who is pretty sure his blush hasn’t faded. “You know, I like the dimples,” he murmurs, tipping Jeff’s chin up to look in his eyes.
A groan comes from Jordan’s direction. “When did you become such a cutesy little, ugh, I don’t know, couple? Come on, Eric. Who’s going to be my wingman now? Jared is too artsy to impress anyone and Marc’s too grumpy to go out and get girls.”
Eric frowns. “Do whatever you did when I was in the Sargasso, I dunno. Your sex life is not my problem.”
“Yeah, and you know what? Yours isn’t any of mine, either. So this,” Jordan gestures at Jeff, “Did you have to? Mom will have my ass when she finds out.”
“Let me deal with mom,” Eric says impatiently. “And stop it, you’re scaring him.”
It’s sort of true. Jeff is clutching onto Eric’s hand, hoping to god that this isn’t actually happening, but, nope, he definitely isn’t dreaming.
“Well, this probably wasn’t what they expected when you told them you wanted an undergrad.” Evidently Jordan is over the shock of it enough to start making fun, because he proceeds to laugh at his own joke for a while.
On second thought, Jeff realises, maybe it’s sort of hysterical laughter.
Eric rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, shut up. You’re terrible,” he informs Jordan, who simply keeps laughing.
Jeff glances at Eric. “You know, we’re going to kill the small ones if we leave them too long.”
“Eh, whatever,” Eric says, smiling a little. “They’re all going to die anyway, we’re dissecting this bunch. But you,” he pokes a finger in Jordy’s direction. “Get outta here. We’re going to do science.”
“Oh, science of reproduction?” Jordan sniggers, and Eric makes another face.
“Where’d you learn your jokes, high school?” Jeff mutters, hopping down from the counter, and, to that, Eric starts laughing.
“That’s how it goes, dickface,” he adds, and Jordy seems to decide to cut his losses and retreat.
“At least you won’t knock him up!” he calls over his shoulder, but Eric and Jeff don’t really care--Eric has fastened his mouth to Jeff’s again and they’re mostly gone to the world.
-
Jeff’s yanked out of his stupor of stats--even sitting next to Jared didn’t help him stay awake today--by the tall, handsome blonde waiting outside the door of the lecture hall.
“Hey there,” Eric says with an easy smile. “What’s up?”
Jeff looks through his heavy eyes at Eric’s grin and perks up a little despite the last, monotonous hour. “Today I learned that it’s statistically unlikely I’ll stay awake in stats class.”
Jared walks up beside him, snorting. “Way to go, bro. Totally impressing the in-laws.”
“Oh shut up,” Jeff laughs, “You weren’t much better off.”
“Yeah, but we’re related. I’ve spent my entire life tuning Marc out; what’s your excuse?”
Eric laughs at this and grins. “Hey now, you should see how excited he gets when he talks about multivariate analysis. He and Jordy just go at it, man. They don’t stop. Jordy’s studying geometric group theory, and his favourite is the use of quasi-isometric rigidity theorems to algebraically-”
Jeff shakes his head. “Nope, nope. Lost you at the part where Marc actually got excited, man. How do you know all that lingo, anyway?”
“Don’t ask,” Jared grouses. “It’s all they talk about, when they’re not making fun of you two.”
It turns out Eric showed up to surprise Jeff and take him to lunch. There’s a bit of a catch, though.
“With who?”
“You know, Sasha. Alex? Alex Semin.”
“Oh yeah, only the exchange student who also happens to be the Russian youth ambassador to the United Nations.”
Eric gives Jeff a puzzled look. “He comes into the lab all the time. You’ve talked to him--why are you making such a big deal out of it now?”
“I didn’t know,” Jeff groans. “My sister has a huge crush on him. All the lawyers, you know? They think he’s the cutest thing since our cat had kittens and mom let us keep some. Or since Andrea’s high school prom date bought her three hundred roses for graduation.” Jeff can’t help but grin. “Oh my god, those were adorable.”
Eric’s laughing behind the wheel of his car. “The whole UN thing gets your sisters, then?”
“Off. Limits.” Jeff nearly growls. “Anyway, you’re mine, don’t go looking over there. They’re all crazy anyway.”
Alex isn’t the only one at lunch, though. Jeff and Eric are waved over after they’ve gotten their sandwiches (“Meatball? Really?” Jeff had snorted when Eric ordered. “Yeah, really,” he’d replied, eyebrows clenching in mock-offense, adding, “Black Forest Ham is way too mainstream.”) by a pair of seniors sitting in the corner with Alex.
“Yo there, bro there,” the ginger one beams, and the other looks up from his textbook to nod a greeting.
“Jeff, this is Patrick and Jonny,” Eric says, “Patrick, Jonny, this is Jeff.”
Jonny cracks a lopsided grin. “Your undergrad?”
“Nice! Jailbait!” Patrick nearly whoops, before glancing around as he seems to remember that they’re inside. “Get some, kids,” he adds with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and Jonny elbows him. Alex’s laugh just eggs Patrick on, though, and Jeff can tell he’s getting ready for more when Eric picks up.
“They’re here on sports scholarships,” he stage whispers, to Jonny’s chagrin.
“We’re still academically qualified, you know,” he says, and Patrick claps him on the back.
“Hence the textbook during lunch break, Tazer.” Patrick glances over at Jeff with a look of faux-apology. “Sorry Jonny’s being so antisocial, you know, but he’s trying to study calculus extra hard here. He’s been getting the C.”
Jeff makes a face. “Ugh, calc. Stats is bad enough--” he starts, before a large, deep Russian voice cuts him off.
“At least he study hard because C. Sid here have the A, still work like he have big C and is on his shirt for everyone to see.”
All faces at the table turn up to see two well-built brunette men walk up. The smaller is rolling his eyes at the taller of the two, who nods and introduces himself in thickly accented English, “Geno, and this Sid.”
“Hey,” Sid pouts a little and Jeff asks what everyone is majoring in, standard undergrad smalltalk move, and is surprised to learn that Sid is doing his postgraduate work in Russian literature, while Geno is doing his concentration on the Canadian novel.
“Is how we met,” Geno explains. “I like Canada lit so much. Yes, is much better than American. American lit, all is about how good America, how best America. But best part of America from Canada, like Sid, yes? So no, Canada have better writing. Talk about trees, maple syrup, best things.”
“Except,” Sid looks like he can’t wait to get the words out of his mouth, “Russians, though, they view the world so interestingly! I mean,” Sid’s stumbling over himself now, much to Patrick’s amusement.
“You okay there, Crosby?” he asks, and Sid glares.
“Shut up. Russian literature is the greatest product of the Western canon, no joke.” He looks deadly serious, “And, in Russian poetry, they can make different things rhyme. Which makes it better. So.” Sid looks at Geno.
Patrick’s full-on laughing now. “Are you for real, Sid? Did you just try to beat your own country with ‘Russians can rhyme better’?”
“Somebody wants to get laid,” Alex mutters, and everyone bursts out laughing as Sid and Geno blush.
Jeff grins along with the group, feeling entirely comfortable with Eric’s arm around the back of his chair. It’s a new feeling, one he’s not quite used to yet: out in the world with Eric’s friends, eating his ham sandwich. He could get to like doing this, he realises.
Alex ask Jeff how his classes are, and he asks the group questions about grad school that they answer with surprising sincerity.
“Bullshit,” Jeff says, shocked, after Jonny tells him that Calc II is required for nearly every undergrad student in the sciences.
Jonny grins at that. “I fucking wish, man.”
Eric shrugs. “It’s not so bad. I just badgered Jordy till he told me how to do everything. You probably could too, you know.” Eric eyes Jeff. “He’ll be better about helping you, because you’re younger than he is. Though maybe that’ll make him worse, and since we’re dating, it could up the ante.”
And the smile Eric gives him makes Jeff flutter inside. Later, he’ll think back and shiver a little more. Eric knows Jeff won’t be taking Calculus II until at least two semesters from now. Does that mean? They’ll still be dating?
Jeff’s good with that.
There’s a moment of silence as the men chew at their sandwiches. Patrick’s aggressively eating a chicken-bacon-ranch-melt, like it’s going to turn into an actual chicken and run away if he doesn’t get it down fast enough--from the way it’s spilling over the wrapping, it’s halfway there. Jonny chews with a furious intensity, all his focus on his egg-on-pita, and Jeff can see that he and Patrick are well matched for sheer ferocity. Alex is more relaxed, going after a footlong Philly Cheesesteak with measured bites that ensure that he’ll get the meal done, though Jeff wonders how anyone from outside Philadelphia can eat that thing.
Sid’s trying to hide the wrinkle in his nose at his tuna sandwich, and Geno’s grinning at him over a BLT with avocado that would make Jeff’s stomach rumble if he wasn’t perfectly happy with his perfectly reasonable and absolutely delicious Black Forest Ham with provolone. He wiggles his eyebrows at Eric, who looks like he’s on his way to losing the second meatball and is struggling to keep the whole sub together. “How’s your sandwich?” Jeff asks blithely.
“Spectacular, thanks.” Eric says, and Jeff snorts.
“If you can’t quite get enough out of that, then you’re more than welcome to some of mine,” he tells Eric with wide, innocent eyes as Eric loses the meatball for good. “Just, you know, as a backup plan.”
Eric pouts.
To Jeff’s disappointment, Alex comes in to save Eric. “By the way, speaking of backup plans, have you heard what Bryzgalov’s up to?”
Geno laughs, and Eric shakes his head. “No, what?”
“Well, despite being a, uh, humangous big success in quiz bowl, he got kicked out of his grad program in Philly. He’s heading back to Russia. But get this,” Alex leans forward in his seat. “They let him keep all the grant money for the future, just as long as he would go.”
“Causing quite a problem up there, eh?” Sid asks. “Not worth their roster? It’ll just make them that much easier to beat, though, for all the good Ilya was in undergrad, he didn’t live up to the hype at the grad level.” Sid drops off into his own world, obviously strategizing in his head.
Eric leans over to Jeff to explain. “We all did quiz bowl together in undergrad. Hell of a team, too, if I do say so myself.”
Alex smirks. “Yeah, yeah, mister team captain. Jeff, don’t listen to him. Hell of a him, maybe, but the rest of us pale in comparison.”
“Whatever, man, discount yourself but don’t forget Jonny over here,” Kaner adds and Jonny looks like he’s a little constipated, and Jeff wonders if it’s because Kaner’s stolen the majority of his fries or because his Calc book is open to a page full of weird looking letters.
“No matter unless we beat Ovechkin.” Geno says seriously, and Sasha’s head snaps up with a devious grin.
“Oh yeah. We’ll beat Ovie.”
---
Jeff is riding the high of a great day all the way to Eric’s apartment, freely exchanging kisses with him as they lay together on the bed. His body is thrumming with how much he wants Eric. He can only communicate through arches and moans, but hopes Eric gets the message.
"Tell me what you want me to do," Eric says, lowly, and Jeff turns his face to the side, closing his eyes. He can feel Eric’s proximity and the shaking of his own body-and it feels like nothing else exists for him. He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, not when he feels so much.
Eric squeezes his hand against Jeff’s arm, "Tell me what you want me to do to you," Eric says, and Jeff lets out a choking sigh. I want- I want you to- Jeff thinks-but can’t find the words. "I don't know," Jeff says, tightly. "I can't-"
"You can," Eric says, and places his left hand against Jeff’s chest, pressing him firmly into the mattress. "Ah, Eric," Jeff gasps and now their faces are close enough together that their lips brush- so softly that Jeff almost misses it, the unbearable softness of Eric’s mouth.
"Mm," Jeff keens- the sound so loud in their small room- and his skin feels like it is itching all over. Eric leans back and looks at him. Jeff can see the quick rise and fall of his chest and his face is flushed, red and lovely. "I’ll make it good for you" Eric whispers, his tone sweet and unsteady. "I promise I will," and Jeff tenses up in pleasure when Eric leans in again, kissing him firmly and resolutely.
Jeff gets lost in those kisses, the unbearable pressure of his mouth, the streak of fire to his dick when Eric’s tongue prods his gently and then with intent. They kiss for a while, until Jeff is dizzy with it, and then Eric moves his mouth along his neck.
"Ah, god," Jeff says, and it feels so good that he feels as if Eric’s lips have his body hardwired in some way, responsive to every slight movement and he feels his cock strain against the fabric of his pants- he feels harder than he’s ever been, shaking everywhere, the only solid thing in the world Eric against his front.
"God, yes," Jeff pants, "Please, give me-" he doesn’t know how to finish.
But Eric does. He looks up, lips puffy and oh so red, Jeff could die, and says, “I’ll give it to you, Jeff.”
“Fuck, yes," Jeff says, "Please, Eric." He’s never known what he wants, never has, Eric is like an anchor, tying him to something real and concrete and the assurance that whatever he wants, he can actually have--that’s heady and alluring and terrifying.
Jeff turns his face from Eric’s and taking a few shuddering grabs at air. Eric looks at him with concern-which, dammit, shouldn’t belong in this bed, not when Jeff finally has him here--and carefully removes his hand from Jeff’s chest, and touched his cheek, tilting Jeff’s face towards his own. Jeff looks into Eric’s eyes and down to the part of his lips, and he shivers.
"You’re so beautiful, Jeff," Eric says, which causes Jeff’s face to burn with heat, cause he’s been called cute and he’s been called adorable, but never beautiful. Especially not by someone who could easily star in his own supernatural-themed CW show.
Eric smiles at Jeff’s disbelieving look and by careful degrees leans against Jeff, his bare skin lining up against Jeff's, and pushes his leg between Jeff’s legs, the muscles of his thigh pressing against Jeff’s.
"Ah, huh, hmm-" Jeff says eloquently. Eric moves his leg forwards, tantalizingly slow and against Jeff’s hip he can feel Eric’s erection, rock hard and suddenly it feels like a thousand degrees in the room.
Eric continues to roll against Jeff until stilling abruptly, looking into Jeff’s face. Oh, god, Jeff thinks- it was as if he had never known how much he had needed anything until he felt Eric’s body firmly against his, and for a moment there is nothing but the sensation of blissful pressure-until Eric reaches his hand down and slips it underneath Jeff’s jeans, searching with directed intent before encountering his erection and grasping it softly.
Between the tight fit of Eric’s large hand against the confines of the denim and the almost relentless pressure of his mouth, now returned to his neck, Jeff feels dizzy with sensation.
"Ahh that feels ahhthat- yes- oh-" Jeff babbles, and from the corner of his eye he can see Eric bite his own lip, eyes slitted shut as if in pain.
Jeff lets his hands come around Eric’s waist and up his back, rubbing into his shoulder blades as Eric’s grip tightens and lessens in a teasing agony.
"My pants," Jeff mumbles, and at Eric’s questioning hum, repeats, “Take off my pants. And yours, god, take everything off.”
Eric laughs softly and obeys, stripping them with an enviable efficiency, and Jeff can only stare at the tanned expanse of skin that’s revealed. Eric grins at him, strong and fit, the academic lifestyle certainly not steering him wrong, and Jeff spares a second to sigh over his own pale, skinny body before reaching out and spinning them, perching himself on Eric’s lap and squirming against his dick in a taunting move that has Eric’s eyes darkening and his body bracing to flip them back.
But Jeff stops him, grabbing his arms and pinning them to either side of his head. He studies Eric, studies the sculpted perfection of his face and whispers, "Let me touch you."
Eric nods, swallowing, "Yes," and Jeff, with fixed attention, reaches his hands carefully to Eric’s stomach, pressing them flat against his body. "You're so- Eric, you're so-" Jeff trails his hands down, feeling out the soft crinkly hair around his crotch and scooting himself back to he can study Eric’s cock, long and pink.
Jeff looks directly into Eric’s eyes for a moment, and then reaches down to cup his erection, echoing Eric’s earlier movements against him, feeling Eric’s heated pulse in his hands and taking satisfaction in the quickening breath of the man below him.
“Shit, Jeff,” Eric says, and Jeff can’t hold back any longer from leaning forward and resting his head against Eric’s shoulder, kissing the soft skin there as he begins to pump, trying to emulate what he usually likes and hoping it works.
By the way Eric begins to thrust his hips to meet Jeff’s hands, and the way he slings an arm around Jeff’s neck so that he can angle for a deep, wet kiss, Jeff thinks he’s doing pretty well.
He gets lost in the rhythm of stroking and kissing Eric, stomach flipping at the idea of Eric being so aroused by him, and hearing Eric’s hoarse moans, with the occasional, “God, Jeff, fuck.”
For a man who professes to be so much older, it doesn’t take Eric long to begin shaking desperately, and Jeff watches raptly as his brow creases, his hands clench and unclench against the sheets and his toes curl. "Ah, ah, ah, ahh-"
“Eric,” Jeff gasps out, overcome with sudden feeling for this man, who is letting him do this to him, letting him have control when he’s felt such a lack of it for so long.
At Jeff’s gasp, Eric trembles, chokes out, “Gonna come,” and does exactly that, spurting all over Jeff’s hand and Jeff continues to touch him, unsteadily, until he’s finished.
Eric breathes heavily and Jeff, ignoring his own needy erection, devours his flushed, sweaty body with his eyes. Eric looks up at Jeff after a moment and grins, “Jeez, kid. I didn’t expect that.”
Jeff preens a bit. “I guess I knew what I want after all.”
Eric laughs, relaxed and pleased, before reaching up to pull Jeff against him, spooning him to allow maximum kissing and caressing so that he can finish Jeff off with his usual assured competence. He doesn’t linger, stroking Jeff into a frenzy of half-aborted movements and cries. With his free hand, he places his fingers against Jeff’s mouth and Jeff sucks them in, thinking gleefully of all the time they’ll have this afternoon, tomorrow and every day after to keep learning each other’s bodies.
Eric pulls his fingers out and reaches down, still squeezing Jeff’s dick, to place his index finger against the clench of his ass and pushes in slightly. Jeff’s breath stutters and he can’t contain his babbling, “Fuck, fuck, Eric, fuck, god!”
Eric chuckles against his ear, his voice sounding octaves lower, before saying, “Don’t come. Not before I fuck you.”
And fuck Jeff’s life if he doesn’t come right then.
He’s torn between staggering relief and staggering mortification at having come so quickly, dismayed at having possibly lost the chance to feel that beautiful cock anywhere near his ass.
“Sorry,” he gets out, his entire body extra sensitive with orgasm and Eric shushes him, “Don’t be. You’re beautiful. And I have absolute confidence in your ability to get it up again.”
Jeff laughs, feeling so fucking happy he could die, and rolls over to face Eric, ignoring the still wet spunk between them to pull him into a delicious kiss.
He does get it up again, three more times, in the course of that afternoon. Enough times for Eric to demonstrate proper oral technique, and to get into hot-scientistic-lecture mode to instruct Jeff during his turn. His next orgasm comes when Eric gets Jeff on his stomach and proceeds to take him apart with his fingers, his mouth and then finally, gloriously, with his cock.
It’s an ache that Jeff relishes, to feel to connected with Eric, to have him whisper in his ear as they fuck how beautiful Jeff is, how much he loves this, being here with him, how much he wants to keep Jeff coming every day in every way.
In the afterward, Jeff and Eric pant like they’ve just run a marathon. Jeff doesn't think he’s come this hard since he was seventeen and had watched Bobby Timor pop a boner in his skating tights during practice and realised that maybe he was a little gay.
Eric looks wrecked, and Jeff grins at the stunned look on his face. “Not bad for a nineteen-year old,” he jokes and watches as Eric flushes and grins and leans over to deposit lovely butterfly kisses against his cheek before playfully biting his neck and sucking a small bruise right below his ear.
Jeff likes the idea that the bruise, and the other hickeys left by their activities, will still be there tomorrow during class. He’ll get some nods and smirks, maybe a ‘Good job, Skinner,’ and no one will know that Eric Staal has some hickeys as well, hidden underneath his professional academic clothing, in his inner right thigh, below his left bicep, and above his heart.
-
“Oh my god, Jeff, are you arguing with dad again?”
“Ugh,” Jeff groans.
“Seriously, go get laid or something, then maybe you’ll calm the fuck down and listen to his voice of reason.”
“Jilly.”
“Yeah. Wait, what does that mean? Today you’re bitching about dad more than your lack of a sex life. Did you find someone? What’s she like? Is she hot? Are you together or just fuck-buddies? Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?!”
“Really?”
“Seriously, Jeff, you can’t leave me in the dark like this. It’s heartbreaking.”
“It’s not a big deal, Jilly,” Jeff mutters, and Jilly snorts.
“Bullshit, Jeff, this is the first person you’ve dated in, like, ever. Come on, gimme the details. I bet your oh-so-secret-lover is blonde. Leggy? Smart? Ugh, Jeff, if you’re dating some dumb sorority chick I’m gonna come down there myself and set both of you straight. Please tell me you’re dating someone from the university. Wait, you never said if you were dating or not! Are you actually dating? You know, fuck-buddies works but I wouldn’t recommend it for your first. Have you fucked yet? Oh. My. God. What was your first time like? Was that your first time? If you tell me about yours I’ll tell you about mine. Oops--don’t tell mom! But remember Gabe? Uh, Gabriel Landes-fuck, he spent so long teaching me how to say his last name. Well, anyway, he came through a while ago and, well, we hung out. A lot.”
“Gabe. Landeskog.” Jeff hopes Jilly can hear the raised-eyebrow-y-rage in his voice over the phone.
“Yeah, we hung out, and then we banged, and, then some more, and, well, then he left.”
“Was he aware that you’re seventeen?”
“Yeah, yeah. Details. He knew, I think. I’m sure I said it at some point.”
“Why the fuck was Gabe in Toronto?!” Jeff’s decently annoyed now, and he sees an angry phone call to Gabe in the near future. Sisters are off-limits. All of them. Everyone knows that. All. sisters. are. off. fucking. limits.
“Uh, unimportant.”
“Jilly.”
“We’d been talking for a while, you know? So I asked him to come up, not a big deal or anything, and we hung out.”
“How the hell did you avoid mom?”
“Remember that week when grandma died and mom left Toronto?”
“You had sex for the first time because gam-gam died?!”
Jilly sounds oddly pensive. “You know, Jeff, if I’d known you’d take it this badly, I wouldn’t have told you.”
---
Jeff kicks his socks off and leans back into the pillows behind him. “Get ready. I’m about to commit a murder,” he says, and, next to him, Eric grins.
“What did he do to you?”
“He, my former-best-friend, deflowered my baby sister,” Jeff growls, getting himself properly amped for the upcoming phone call.
Eric laughs. “You should have heard us the first time Jared tried to just hook up with someone. Marc ripped him a new one. It was fucking hilarious.”
Jeff’s glad to hear this. “Good, because that’s what I’m going to do to Gabe.” Jeff makes a face. “I feel so betrayed.” There are totally rules against sleeping with a bro’s sisters. Just like there are rules that say that Jeff can get revenge for such absolutely uncool behaviour. Shit, Jeff thinks as the phone rings, maybe there are even laws. He wonders if he could recruit Andrea into this; legal expertise is always handy.
“Yo, Jeff! Long time no talk!” Gabe says by way of greeting, and Jeff’s missed him, is so glad to hear his voice that he just laughs.
“What’s up, man?”
“Nah, nothing much,” Gabe says easily. “Hey, I hear you’re getting laid. Congrats, buddy!”
What the fuck, Jeff thinks to himself. Thanks a lot, Jilly. “You’ve been talking to Jilly?” he asks casually.
“Uh, yeah. A bit here and there. Nice girl.” Gabe says awkwardly.
“Anything else you’ve been doing with my baby sister?” Jeff asks, nostrils flaring.
“Oh yeah. About that.”
“Sisters are OFF FUCKING LIMITS!” Jeff yells into the phone, and Eric turns to him, eyebrows slightly raised in question, then gives him a thumbs up.
“Bro! What the fuck?! I mean, better me than some frat boy, right?”
“Gabe! That doesn’t make it better!”
“Yo, dude, I know you are all pissed about this and what, and don’t like thinking of her this way, but your sister is pretty fine.”
“Fuck you,” Jeff says, glaring at a spot on the wall across from him and pretending that it is Gabe’s face. Gabe’s punk bitch ass face that apparently sucked face with Jilly’s face. Ugh.
“Nah, too late, baby, your sister got here first.”
Jeff hangs up.
“You’re cute when you’re trying to be fierce,” Eric says blandly.
-
Jordy meets them for lunch sometimes, though he makes sure to call every time before he comes into the lab. One day, he’s smirking across the table as Jeff makes faces around his sandwich, and gives a particularly awful grin.
“...so the eels sexually mature while they head down to the Sargasso Sea--” Eric pauses, frowning. “What? Oh god.”
“You know, you guys have been together for like, two months,” Jordy says.
“A month and a half, yeah.”
“And this is the first one since Tanya you’ve been serious about.” Jordy continues, and ignores Jeff as he chokes on his tomato. “He knows me, and Jared. Marc, even. You kind of have to invite the kid to dinner.”
Jeff coughs. “Not a kid.”
Eric looks like he might be considering it. “Well, I mean, I could.” He glances at Jeff with an appraising look.
“Come on, you’ve got to let the family say Mazel Tov and all!” Jordy says gleefully.
“We're not even Jewish, Jordy.”
“Still. Congratulations! It's a boy!”
Eric groans.
---
When Eric proposed going to see the guys compete at quiz bowl, Jeff had expected the nerdiness. He anticipated the obscure academic trivia. He knew that there would be competition, and that they got into it.
It still comes as a bit of a shock, though, when that loud ginger, Patrick, yells, “MOTHAFUCKAS GOIN’ DOWN!” and instead of trying to rein him in, Jonny sits back and smirks at the opponents from Buffalo State.
“We’re going to kick your asses,” Sid sniffs, smoothing out his notepad. Geno just nods next to him, looking big and Russian and intimidating, and is that Sasha in the back stretching?
Patrick continues with commentary about the opposition’s parents, sisters--Jeff bristles a little, thinking of Gabe--girlfriends, and wives, and Jeff’s pretty sure that he’s taking it far too seriously until Claude Giroux shows up.
“I can’t hear you, Kane, what was that about blondes?!” Giroux shouts from a few rows behind Jeff & Eric.
“We’ll see that blondes really are dumber when the tournament starts up, eh?” Patrick shouts back.
“Kane, aren’t you from Buffalo?” Giroux calls, and a gasp goes up from the Buffalo team, a few of them calling, “Traitor!”
Patrick grins widely, all teeth. “I saw the fuckin’ light aftera little time in Chicago, baby. It’s almost as cold as Winterpeg up there. Fuck that.” Jonny elbows him then, and they hiss quietly in each others’ ears for a few minutes until the bowl begins.
The chirping doesn’t stop, Jeff learns after a few questions in, when Sid answers a question about the sixth pope correctly after the Buffalo kids get it wrong after not one, but two tries. Patrick smirks widely, drawling, “Y’all motherfuckers need Jesus,” and they have to pause the tournament so that the referee can laugh.
Jeff can tell that it’s itching Eric not to be up there with the team--he twitches at some of the questions that he would have reached for, mouths a few answers as they’re called out, frowns when the UNC team gets something wrong that he knows. So Jeff grabs Eric’s hand, holds on, and smiles back when Eric gives him a look of apologetic relief.
“One-eight-hundred-shank-a-bitch,” Patrick crows after Geno recites the Ethiopian emergency telephone number correctly, and Jeff wonders if this chirping is technically allowed. But knowing Sasha, he’d be slapping the other players if he could, so they must be getting off easy with the teases.
Even Giroux is cheering when the Tar Heels win, though it seems that no-one is surprised. “Those five won Worlds last year,” Eric yells over the crowd, and, looking at the team, Jeff isn’t surprised. They work in sync--Patrick’s got the speed to click the buzzer before anyone else can even think about it, Jonny’s got the composure to take on any stony-faced ref, Sid’s got the crowd pleasing out-of-nowhere trivia that nobody sees coming, and between Geno and Sasha, they have a world of knowledge in multilingual form.
The seven of them head back to Eric’s to celebrate, and before long, most of them are pleasantly buzzed--those that aren’t buzzed (Patrick) are nicely drunk. It’s fun; the good-natured ribbing goes all around, and now that he’s known them for a while, Jeff feels like he fits in pretty well.
He’s under Eric’s arm, laughing himself nearly into tears as Jonny and Geno argue the benefits of beer or vodka--who knew that vodka being colourless was such a vital point? Not Jeff. Yet its importance rivals only the fact that beer fizzes--when Sid sticks his face in between theirs and says sincerely, “Potatoes versus wheat, I like Canada best,” and falls facefirst into Geno’s lap. Jonny takes this to mean that Canada is the best, and therefore beer is better, and as much Sasha tries to tell him that his logic doesn’t work, no-one can stop Jonny from getting up and dancing a little moonwalk, the same stoic look on his face as in the throes of competition.
Then Patrick roars back into the room and does what he proclaims to be the “Kaner shuffle” around Jonny, and Eric launches into the story of the time Patrick tried to pick up a girl at a Jimmy Buffett concert with the dance--unsuccessfully--and ended up embarrassing himself on stage.
“Yeah, but I met Jimmy fucking Buffett, shitters legitters, so suck it,” Patrick adds, clearly thinking that this makes him superior and giving his shuffle a little extra pizzaz to emphasize it. It almost works, too, until he crashes into Jonny and they land in a swearing, giggling heap on the floor.
Geno grins widely and calls, “глупые дерьмо, он выглядел как идиот,” and Sasha starts to laugh.
“эта новость? он всегда идиот.”
Jeff’s taking a moment to inform Eric about the rate at which quizbowlers knock them back and how impressive it is when Sid perks up, still sprawled on Geno. “Did you just call us quizbowl bros?”
When Jeff nods, Sid grins like they’ve won again. “Patrick!” he calls, “Tell him our name.”
Patrick bounds up from Jonny’s tangled legs--well, he tries, but it doesn’t go so well and he falls back into Jonny. “We are the Quizbros!” he proclaims, and descends into a fit of giggles.
Sid turns back to Jeff. “Yeah, Quizbros,” he says happily.
“Okay everyone,” Sasha says, emerging from a back room with a big box in his hands. “We play games, yes? More things for Sid to win.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Sid bounces up and down. “I want to do that. What do I have to do?”
And that’s how Jeff ends up playing quiz bowl against the reigning world champions at one in the morning. It turns out that he’s pretty good, though that may be helped by the fact that he’s significantly less drunk than the others--well, mostly just Patrick. But in Jeff’s time as an undecided major, he’s had a lot of chances to take a variety of classes, so he’s got a decent idea of a fair number of subjects.
“Boom!” Patrick yells, as Jeff whoops when they win.
“Yeah buddy!” Sasha shouts, and Eric falls out of his chair laughing when Patrick tries to get Jeff up on his shoulders. When that fails, they resort to plan B, which entails Patrick giving Jeff a piggyback ride and running around the hallways with the buzzers, cords flying behind them like a victory tail.
“Damn right,” Jeff grins, and he and Patrick high-five from their eventual perch in the kitchen--Jeff sitting on the counter, Patrick curled up on top of the refrigerator.
They have to come down, though, because there’s karaoke to play and Sid has to win or he’ll pout. Worse, Jonny will punch things, or so says Patrick, whose wide eyes and sincere nod do nothing to make his point sound more truthful.
Geno and Sasha sing a duet that nobody understands--apparently it’s very popular in Russia--and Geno dances along, big and clumsy and goofy, and Sasha tries to tango and then dip him, which goes about as well as might be expected.
Jonny jumps up after they’ve fallen over enough and belts out Aerosmith’s Dream On husky and rough enough to rival Steven Tyler. He wiggles his eyebrows at Patrick afterwards, breaking the deadpan he held up for three and a half minutes of Patrick air-guitaring along. “Bro,” Jonny says, slapping an arm around Patrick’s shoulders, “dream the fuck on with your air guitar.”
Of course, that’s a challenge that cannot go unmet, so Patrick makes it his mission to air guitar his way through his own karaoke stand. “We’re up all night for the suuuuuuuuuuuun,” he wails, “We’re up all night to have fuuuuuuuun, we’re up all night to get lucky,” with generous allotment of air guitar to an otherwise mostly techno song.
“Can’t you put a little more air guitar into the Kaner shuffle?” Eric suggests, and Patrick swats him with his air guitar.
But Sid take karaoke very seriously, and it is clear when he takes the coffee table to perform. He hops up on the table shakes his head out, the clears his throat. “I’d like to dedicate this to Mother Canada,” he says, and...well, Celine Dion is not what Jeff had expected, but he can work with that. Sid goes all out, even tossing his hair around a little. “MY HEART WILL GO OOOOOOOOON,” he sings, and bows when it’s done.
“Sid,” Jonny says, sniffling, “That was the most beautiful thing Canada has ever seen.”
“Really?!” Sid gapes, grinning.
Jonny stands up and approaches Sid with utmost sincerity. “I hereby proclaim you the King of Canada,” he says, kneeling down in front of the coffee table, and Sid’s so surprised that he nearly falls off the table.
So the night turns into celebration of Sid’s coronation--Burger King crowns are totally legit, even if they have to go find a Burger King specially to get the crown--and his every whim is met. This includes lengthy massages from Geno and Eric’s turn at the mic for a little more music.
That idea doesn’t last long, because, to Jeff’s relief, Eric does have a flaw. (He was getting worried.) Unfortunately, it’s inflicted on all of them for far too long.
“That very nice. Sid, no worry, I have better royal present for you,” Geno says, cutting off the end of Eric’s song. “No more sing, Sid мило, заслуживает объятий.”
Sasha punches him lightly. “English.”
Geno frowns, arms no longer massaging Sid but mirroring Jeff’s, wrapped around Eric. “Sid best.”
It’s up to Jeff to console Eric about his singing, then, and he does so with gusto after Patrick and Jonny have left, Sasha has crashed on the couch, and, well, he’s not totally sure but Geno didn’t want to move after Sid passed out on his chest, so they might still be on the reclining chair in the other room.
Whatever. He’s got Eric alone in bed, and, though they’re both too tired to do much, falling asleep curled up in each other is plenty.
---
Jeff’s not sure why, again, he agreed to come over for dinner with Eric’s family.
“It’ll be fine,” Eric says reassuringly, for the fortieth time, in the car outside the Staal homestead. “You have nothing to worry about. And you don’t have to come if you don’t really want to, though we are, well, here.”
But Jared will be there, and Jeff can hide behind Eric if it gets bad enough, so he stills the quake in his hands and opens the car door. When they get out, Eric, salmon in his other hand, grabs Jeff’s hand, squeezes, and leads him up to the house. “This is where I grew up,” Eric calls over his shoulder, with an easy smile that loosens the knot inside Jeff’s stomach a little.
The door is opened to reveal an older couple with the same intense blonde hair as Eric’s. The woman, Eric’s mother, smiles widely upon seeing them.
“You must be Jeff!” At Jeff’s nod, she replies, “Eric’s said so much about you. It’s a real treat. I’m Linda.”
Her husband, Henry, sticks out his hand to shake.
“Jeez, Mom,” Eric laughs as they step inside, “It looks like Christmas exploded in here. A little early, hmmm?”
Linda playfully whacks her oldest son’s shoulder. “Well, it’s so rare to have the four of you all under one roof. And Jeff here has yet to experience Staal hospitality.” She winks at Jeff, who has the unmentionable thought that there’s one Staal who’s already shown him a good deal of hospitality.
Jeff feels Eric’s hand on the small of his back, warm and firm, as he guides Jeff down the hall and turning the corner. The dining room is decorated just as elaborately as the rest of the house, and the large table in the center is loaded with dishes. He awkwardly waves as two pairs of eyes land on him.
One of which includes, to his dismayed remembrance, his stats TA.
Marc, fork raised halfway to his mouth, freezes and gapes, not noticing as a piece of pilfered casserole falls to the tablecloth.
“Are you shitting me?” He says, looking directly over Jeff and to Eric, who Jeff can feel tensing against his back, “This is your date?”
Jordan raises his eyebrows at Eric, obviously in the middle of joining Marc in some traditional pre-dinner snacking.
“Brought the kid, I see,” he comments, and Jeff’s pretty sure that Eric wants to throw something at him. The awkward moment is broken when Linda walks up next to Jordy and bats the dinner roll out of his hands.
“Boys,” she starts, with a tone that shows Jeff how she managed to keep control over a household of four raucous boys. “Manners, please.”
And before Jeff can worry about too much attention being drawn to the whole thing, she’s recruited every hand in the building--except Jordy and Marc--to protect the food. By the time that they get to eating, and Jared’s shown up, with a friendly elbow at Jeff’s side, Jeff’s comfortable enough to unplaster himself from Eric’s side. Not that he’s going more than a foot or two away from Eric or anything ridiculous like that, but it’s eased a little. Eric’s laughing and joking with his father, shooting glares at Marc and Jordy--that is, until Jordy shrugs with a shit-eating grin--and maneuvering himself in the tiny Staal kitchen with remarkable ease.
Between Jeff, who, despite being nearly six feet tall, is the shortest person in the house, Linda, Henry, Jared, and Eric--Jordy and Marc are still banished from anywhere near the food--Jeff’s amazed that they can fit everyone in the kitchen. And that’s not even including the food.
“Wow,” Jeff tells Linda, when he finds himself standing behind her. “This is quite the meal, Mrs. Staal.”
“Call me Linda, dear,” she says, then chuckles. “Jared used to eat three pounds of spaghetti in a sitting, and I’ve seen nothing to indicate he’s slowing down.”
Dinner is, as Eric promised, an interesting affair. Jeff learns that Linda and Henry own a sod farming company, and that Eric was the first Staal to attend college.
“After that, we couldn’t keep the rest of them away!” Henry laughs, clearly bemused over his sons’ scholarly ambitions.
Marc furiously bites into a hunk of ham, staring at Eric and Jeff like they’ve just taken a dump all over the fine table.
Linda asks Jeff about his studies, and Jeff admits to not knowing quite yet where his passions lie.
“I’m sure I know,” Jordy smirks.
“Jeff is incredibly bright.” Eric says, loudly, “He’s been a huge help with my doctoral research and he used to figure skate, right Jeff?”
The subject then turns to Jeff’s illustrious high school skating career, which leads to Jared asking about the skin-tight costumes, which leads to Marc asking how the hell he ended up in North Carolina studying eels.
“Um, well I ended up winning bronze at the 2004 Canadian Junior championships, and after that I guess I wanted to focus more on getting into college and getting a degree. Being a professional athlete seemed too unpredictable.”
“And what do you parents do?” Linda inquires.
“They’re both lawyers, back in Toronto. Two of my sisters are lawyers too, one lives down here, and another is a doctor. I guess I felt like I needed to aim for something that had real world applications,” Jeff replies, remembering the speech his mother had given him after winning bronze.
Underneath the table, he feels Eric’s hand squeeze his, and Jeff smiles softly, linking their fingers together comfortably.
“So Eric, tell us about eels in New Zealand. I hear they’re very significant in certain-” Jordy starts, but Marc interrupts, griping, “Oh my god, Eric. I think I graded his exam. This is so inappropriate.”
“Marc, seriously, do we have to do this right now?” Eric’s getting red, and Jeff squeezes his hand tighter, hoping to hold him down.
Jordy chuckles. “You know, Marc, don’t worry about grading his papers. Seems like he’s not having any problem scoring well.” Jordy high-fives Jared, who makes a not-so-sorry face to Jeff, and then adds to Eric, “You know, at least he thinks you’re a good catch. Get it? Cause of the eels?”
Henry guffaws at this.
Eric sighs heavily and then grins to himself. “Well, speaking of catching, Jeff’s great with a fishing rod.”
It gets better after that. Marc keeps repeating, ‘Seriously?’ to himself at odd intervals, Jordan and Jared continue to shovel food into their mouths and crack unfunny jokes, and Eric, towards dessert, takes over most of the conversation with his parents, acting the natural eldest son. Linda asks Jeff how the research is going, and they talk about how, since he and Eric have worked well together--this sparks snorts from all around the table, but it’s true, they make a great team out in the field--Jeff’s going to stick around doing this research with Eric for the foreseeable future.
“It’s helping a lot with my parents,” he confides, and Linda smiles.
“A lot of expectations, honey?” she asks, and Jeff’s relieved that someone gets it. “You know,” she adds, “We never expected any of our boys to go further than high school. That’s all Henry and I got through. But we’re proud of them now, and we’ll be happy for them no matter where they end up. If they decide to leave now, that’s okay too, though once you’ve started something, I always think you should see it through.”
Jeff thinks about his parents’ worry that we was moving so far away, despite the fact that Andrea lives nearby. His father’s weekly calls for updates, and the frown in his voice as Jeff tried to explain how much he enjoyed the eel research, replying, “I know, but how are your chem scores? Are you signing up for econ next semester?”
Linda and Henry get up from the table to grab dessert, waving off their sons’ attempts to help and Lina winks at Jeff as she heads into the kitchen.
With the parents gone, Marc opens his mouth to speak.
Jeff tunes it out, instead focusing on how attractive Eric’s face gets when he glowers.
The beer he was allowed to drink with dinner makes things a little bit fuzzy, and he’s content to smile like a dope in the direction of his hot scientist.
“....your jailbait boyfriend.” Marc finishes.
“He’s my age!” Jared exclaims, obviously offended. “Does that make me jailbait too?!”
Jared looks like he’s in crisis, and Jeff can’t help but laugh.
“Yes, Jared. What a disappointment to your many lady friends,” Jordy deadpans, and Jared sighs dramatically, like his entire worldview has been thrown askew.
Eric leans his chin against Jeff’s head, arms wrapped around him to hold him close, chair pulled up to Jeff’s. “You dicks are just jealous ’m in a happy stable relationship and you aren’t. Plus,” Eric lets the pause linger, “Both of us get laid on a regular basis and you don’t.”
Marc groans and Jordan pouts. Jared just gives a shit-eating grin, adding, “I’m a straight guy in the drama department. I do just fine.”
Jeff simply smiles and plants a kiss on one of Eric’s forearms. “Are you talking about me?” he slurs a little, and Eric spins him around to plant another one on his lips.
Yep. Definitely too drunk to be with the in-laws, Jeff thinks hazily, as Linda and Henry return with enough pie to feed a small army. Which is what the Staals are, in retrospect. An army of science majors. And math majors. And sod farmers. And one Shakespeare reciter.
Jeff decides that it won’t be too long until Jared joins his brothers in the science and math buildings, and leans over to tell him so.
“Ugh. Shut up, man.” Jared rolls his eyes, as Eric frowns dimly at the sudden loss of Jeff in his arms. “You know, one of you is going to have to drive home.”
“No one in this house has low enough alcohol levels to drive home yet,” Linda calls from across the table, and Jeff wonders where they’re all going to fit. Not that he minds squeezing in with Eric, but he’s pretty sure, even drunk, Marc wouldn’t want to snuggle with them.
But the Staals, like the Weasleys, have perfected the art of cramming large people into small spaces.
Jeff follows Linda into the kitchen and offers to help do the dishes, which Linda gladly accepts. “Oh, all of my boys are just thrilled to help me eat the dessert, but none of them can seem to lift a finger when it comes time to clean up.”
Jeff grins, hearing the muted conversation of the Staal men as they move to the living room. Eric pokes his head in, obviously hearing his mother’s last statement, and Linda throws a dish towel at him.
“It’s sort of the opposite at my house,” Jeff explains, “I have four older sisters, so as soon as I was old enough, they dumped all the chores on me and my brother.”
“I suppose I’ll have to wait for grandchildren to get a girl,” Linda remarks and Jeff chokes on air a bit, hoping she won’t follow up that statement. She doesn’t thankfully, and the two of them clean silently for a few minutes.
Jeff feels full and tipsy and a little drowsy, the warmth of the kitchen and the dull, repetitive task of drying the dishes makes him want to find wherever Eric is and curl up into him.
As it turns out, Eric’s already upstairs, getting prepared in his old bedroom which he invites Jeff into with a sheepish smile.
“Blast from the past, right?” He indicates to a couple of Linkin Park posters and Jeff snorts, changing into an old gym shirt of Eric’s that still smells like him and slipping into bed beside his boyfriend.
“Well, I definitely imagined being in this bed with a cute nineteen year old many times. I just never thought it would happen,” Eric remarks after a period of semi-awkward silence.
Jeff snorts, burrowing into Eric’s side, pleasantly full and flushed from wine. The Staal’s acceptance has meant a lot to him, and Jeff just hopes the eventual meeting of the Skinner family goes similarly.
He doesn’t dwell on those thoughts, letting the safe, rhythmic thump of Eric’s heart lull him to sleep.
-
Winter break sneaks up on Jeff. The long days on the boat with Eric had made him feel as if the semester would last forever, but real life intrudes in the form of final exams, which Jeff feels he passes by the skin of his teeth. He’s never felt so unmotivated before, but he can’t really claim that entirely. This project they’re doing is exciting and interesting and Jeff sometimes wakes up wanting to get to the lab so he can research and test things out. And Eric, of course, who teaches him far more about biology than any professor has ever.
It therefore comes as an unpleasant shock to get an email from his mom with a plane ticket back to Toronto in three days. He’s chilling in Eric’s apartment, lazily watching as Eric putters around the room, watering his plants and chuckling over a rerun of Car Talk playing on the radio when he realizes that in three days he won’t be seeing Eric again for practically a month.
When he tells him this, Eric’s face gets that scrunched, upset look that it usually gets when an experiment fails or something doesn’t work the way it should.
“I had forgotten all about that.” He says, sighing and throwing himself onto the bed next to Jeff. “Do you think you could get back early?”
“Dorms don’t stay open over break.” Jeff reminds him, already dreading the idea of a long cold winter in Canada while Eric stays down here in 70 degree weather, hopefully not meeting anyone and being just as miserable as he is.
“Stay with me,” Eric suggests, looking all too innocent while his hands inch up Jeff’s stomach, dragging his T-shirt with it so he can skim the sensitive skin underneath Jeff’s ribcage, causing him to catch his breath.
The idea is too lovely to refuse, so he doesn’t, whispering “Yes” into the skin of Eric’s neck as their bodies move together on the bed.
---
Eric drives him to the airport, and Jeff has a hard time letting him go.
“You have a plane,” Eric reminds him, but neither makes a move to let the other go.
“I can skip it,” Jeff replies, mashing his face further into Eric’s shoulder. “Planes are unimportant. Right? Right.”
But Jeff can’t stay with Eric the whole break-- has parents and sisters that expect him home so that they can discuss, as a group, exactly the nature of Jeff’s future. He’s convinced them to let him go back to Chapel Hill a little early, but the whole family is, apparently, dedicated to getting everyone together as soon as possible. To talk about, you know, the holidays. Holidays. And the future.
Fortunately, he has Jilly to take some of the pressure off.
“What do you mean, Boston?” Jeff’s father enunciates very clearly. “Jillian, Boston is in the States. It’s not really reasonable, and you could be just as happy going to university here in Canada.”
“Daaaaad,” Jilly whines. “You’re not listening to me!”
Jeff’s listening in from the top of the stairs, feeling like a ninja turtle or something, alternately grinning and feeling guilty. He knows it’s because he’s relatively directionless that his parents don’t want Jilly to leave the country for college; he knows his parents think that if only he’d stayed in Canada, he would have found his true love in Canadian law and stuck with that. But it didn’t really work out when Jeff headed down to the States, got lost in the meanderings of the American legal system and found himself in science.
Unfortunately, that really is how it had happened: on Jeff’s first day in Chapel Hill, he’d meant to go to his ethics class, he really had meant to, when he found the Introduction to Entomology class wandering around with nets and the add/drop form had been filled out, mentally, in ten seconds flat.
But it’s fun to listen to Jilly whine, and he knows she’ll get her way--she’s the most stubborn person Jeff has ever met, and that includes Jordan Staal--and Jeff’s excited for the moment that she tells the family that she wants to study art history. He knows they’ll support her, especially once they see how dedicated it is, but it’ll be amusing between now and the moment that they find out that the baby of the family, and their last hope after Jeff, doesn’t want to be a lawyer.
“Jilly, the United States is too dangerous for a young woman all alone,” his dad starts, and Jilly growls.
“Oh, I see how it is. Jeff’s a boy, he can go there, but I can’t because I’m a girl?! Way to go, thanks a lot, dad.”
Their dad tries to placate her with increasingly pathetic failure as Jilly begins her rant. “It’s such bullshit”--”Don’t you use that word in my house, young woman!”--”you’re just the same as anyone else, just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean that I can’t take care of myself,”--“It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because the United States is dangerous and Boston is a very big city!”--“Yeah? Then why can Jeff go and not me?”--“Stop arguing with me on this, Jilly, and we’ll talk about it when your mother gets home.”
Okay, now Jeff feels a little guilty. He sneaks back into his room before Jilly comes storming up the stairs, and manages to get headphones in and his computer open before she bursts into his room.
“Your. Fucking. Fault.”
Jeff twists his face into a half-smirk, half apologetic frown. “I never.”
“Oh my god, Jeff. Don’t act like you’re the good son here. If you hadn’t gone at gotten yourself shacked up with some weird-ass eel dude, they wouldn’t fucking have these issues with me leaving Canada for uni.”
“Hey!” Jeff glares at Jilly. “One, they don’t know we’re dating, and don’t you fucking tell them. Two, he’s not weird.”
Jilly slumps onto his bed. “Tell me nice things about him. It’ll make me feel better.”
Jeff can’t help but smile, because now he’s thinking about all the wonderful things about Eric, and, well, there’s a lot of those. “His voice. It’s so, ah, sometimes it’s sharp and excitable, and sometimes it’s soft and low, and he’s so expressive.” Jilly snorts and Jeff wrinkles his eyebrows at her. “Do you want to hear about him or not?”
“Fine, fine, I’ll shut up.”
“He’s really dorky,” Jeff grins to himself. “He likes The Hangover. And Linkin Park.”
“Seriously?!” Jilly interrupts, but Jeff pushes through.
“He’s a TA for one of my classes next semester,” he says, and Jilly giggles.
“Seduce the teacher, pass the class?” she asks, and Jeff swats her with a pillow.
Then he smirks. “Maybe.”
-
Later, Jeff calls Eric and relates the evening’s drama, soaking in the chuckle that Eric makes when he does his Jilly impression.
“I don’t know. Four sisters and one brother sounds infinitely preferable to three lame-ass brothers. Man, you should have been there for the drama when Marc was thinking of dropping out of grad school to move to New York and ‘find himself.’”
“Are you serious?” Jeff giggles, thinking about his cranky TA who seems as devoted to stats as eels are to water.
“Oh yeah. Where do you think Jared gets it from? Marc totally rebelled first.”
“Not you?” He asks, coyly, indulging in some flirtation. Eric, much like the rest of his scientist brethren, can’t flirt to save his life and Jeff finds it endearing and hot as fuck when he tries.
“Oh, I rebel in other ways,” Eric replies, voice getting deeper, “I got you, didn’t I?”
“You got me, huh? I thought it was the other way around.” Jeff teases, skimming his hands over his stomach, scratching lightly at the hair there the way Eric likes to do when they lay in bed together.
“I think it’s more correct to say that I’ve had you.” Eric’s breathing is hypnotic across the line, and Jeff lets himself fall into the sound. It’s still so new for Jeff, the notion of himself as a sexual being, who attracts and is attracted. But with Eric, it’s all so easy.
Jeff sighs into the phone. “I’d let you have me now,” he says, feeling a thrum of arousal and nervous excitement as he waits for Eric’s reply.
He gets a sharply taken breath and Eric goes, "Fuck, Jeff. Just..."
"Eric?" Jeff asks, syllables rolling off his tongue, and he can hear Eric shifting in his bed.
Eric humms. “Are you alone?”
Jeff wants to giggle. “Um, yeah, or else this would be kind of awkward.”
“Good.” Eric’s voice does that thing where it gets kind of growly, which usually signifies that their sexy times are about to get intense. Usually Eric is playful and equal-opportunity, happy to let Jeff take over and go to town on his body. But sometimes, the alpha-male takes over, probably a combination of being the leader of the family and the smartest PhD candidate in the program and the captain of pretty much every club ever.
It turns Jeff on like nothing else.
“Take your pants off. Now.”
Jeff hastily complies, feeling his skin flush against the cool air in his room. He gets under the covers and closes his eyes, waiting on Eric’s next instructions.
“Touch yourself. Touch your neck.” Jeff bites back a moan, allowing his fingers to run from below his ear and across his jaw, sliding down to feel along the ridge of his collarbone, where Eric likes to press deep, sucking kisses that are hidden by his shirts during the day. He misses them, even though it’s been less than three days, and tells Eric so.
“I should have marked you up more before you left,” Eric replies, “All those boys in Toronto who will look at your dimples and fall in love. How will they know you’re mine?”
Jeff moans, a thrill in his body over Eric’s rarely seen possessive streak. He’s never like this in public, never gets jealous; always confident in Jeff to be honest and decent and that’s one of the things Jeff loves most about Eric: how much he trusts Jeff to be an equal partner.
But when they’re in bed, Jeff likes the reminder that of all the people Eric could have had, he chose Jeff. And that he wants to keep him.
“Only you get to have my dimples,” Jeff grins, enjoying the feeling of his fingers across his torso, obeying Eric’s unsaid instructions to keep it above the equator. “Though I don’t know why you find them so hot. They make me look like a baby.”
“No, they make you look like you. And I like you,” Eric says and Jeff feels a warm glow that has nothing to do with the building arousal, “Plus, when I fuck you, I like to see them. Makes me want to fill them up with my come.” It’s so casually filthy, that Jeff’s reaction is slightly delayed. God, he remembers that night, when Eric sat on his chest and fed his dick to Jeff, who had begged, because Eric had been so cruel all night, teasing Jeff with his hands and his lips and more than Jeff wanting to come, he had wanted to get Eric worked up too, and see him lose that iron-tight control. Who would have guessed that Eric liked it a little kinky? He had worried out afterwards, afraid that Jeff had felt demeaned or disrespected, but Jeff had made him promise to let him know whenever he wanted to come on Jeff’s face.
“Oh God, Eric.”
“You can go lower. Pinch your nipples, Jeff. Tell me how it feels.”
And that’s just mean. Eric knows Jeff’s sensitive to the point of discomfort over his nipples. Sometimes Eric will get them wet, just soft, kittenish licks across the peaks, alternating blowing on them until Jeff wails and shakes, trapped underneath Eric’s strong arms.
“Nnngh, Eric, I can’t...”
“Do it.” Eric orders, his words simultaneously biting and caressing over the phone and Jeff does so, the build-up almost as bad as the feeling of spiky pleasure that circuits through his system at the gentle pinch. He lets out a high, squeaky moan in response.
The sound of rustling over the line gets louder, as Eric presumably has his hand around his cock and is moving is faster now, to the tune of Jeff’s pleasure. “I wish I could be there. God, you look so beautiful when you get like that.”
“Me too,” Jeff replies, feeling incoherent as he continues a gentle assault on his chest on Eric’s command. “Eric, please, let me..”
“Okay,” Eric sounds soothing, “You can touch your cock. Slowly, though. You know how I do it, slowly? Like it’s me.”
Jeff hums, gulping in breath after breath as he slides his hand down past his bellybutton and along crest of his pelvis. He makes a tight ring of his fingers the way Eric does, and lets it hover over his skin, listening to Eric’s soft pants. “Eric?”
“It’s okay, Jeff, I’m with you. Do it.”
Jeff’s so hard he knows that slowly is the only way he can take it, lest he end things prematurely. So he gives himself patient, deep strokes, shuddering at the sensation and letting Eric know how good it feels, how much he wants Eric there to touch him, fuck him, do whatever he wants.
Eventually, Eric’s calm facade begins to crack as well, and he starts of a litany of “Fuck, Jeff, come on baby, fucking do it,” while they jerk off, miles apart from each other, but together in the way it counts.
“Eric, I’m so close, so close...”
“Stop,” comes the rough command, Eric’s voice husky through the line. Jeff doesn’t register it at first, keeps going until Eric repeats, sharper, “Jeff. Don’t come yet.”
Jeff holds perfectly still, trying so hard to regain control of himself. A sigh echoes through the phone and Jeff trembles, his eyes sliding shut as he listens to Eric finishing himself off.
“Jeff, fuck.” Eric comes with a groan and Jeff can almost taste it. He misses Eric so viscerally, much more than he thought he would (they’ve only known each other for a little over four months, yet it feels like ages) and he can do this for him, wait for his say because he knows its worth it. Eric always makes it worth it.
So he waits for Eric to calm down, still gripped in the heat of his arousal, hands clenching at his sides.
“You’re so good,” Eric says, he tone sounding wondrous and soft and Jeff smiles. “You’ve done so well. Jeff, let go. Come for me.”
Jeff moans in relief, hands quick as a flash back on his cock, one foot wiggling about wildly as his other pulls up higher, knee nearly touching his shoulder as his body curls in anticipation.
"Faster," Eric whispers breathlessly.
"Please..!" Jeff begs, writhing against himself, needing that extra bit more, knowing Eric can, will give it to him.
“I love you, Jeff. I love you so much.” Eric says, sounding sure and confident and that’s what does it. Jeff’s such a sap, but he doesn’t care, not when the pleasure floods his system and he comes with a cry.
It takes him a couple of moments to come back online, to the sound of Eric’s murmurs.
“You love me?” He manages to get out, feeling choked and emotional.
“Yes,” Eric says, simple as that. No one’s ever said that to Jeff before, save his family. Jeff maybe wants to cry, maybe wants to laugh. Mostly he wants to get his butt down to Chapel Hill so he can feel Eric repeat it over and over while he rubs against his body.
“Eric...”
“You don’t have to say it back,” Eric assures him.
“No! No, I’ve definitely been in love with you since, like, the first day.”
“Really?” Eric sounds amused and surprised.
“Are you kidding me? Eric, have you looked in a mirror?”
“I thought you loved me for my personality.” He sounds mock-hurt.
“I love everything about you. Especially the fact that your personality is housed in a body that could model underwear.”
“Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.” Jeff pauses, “I only wish you had said that to me when I got back, so I could see you and all. And, you know, touch you.”
“Yeah, but the timing seemed right,” Eric replies and Jeff has to laugh at that, feeling deliriously happy.
“I guess it’ll tide me over until I see you. Three weeks, right?”
Eric hmms in disappointment that Jeff echoes. What he wouldn’t give to have Eric up here, in his childhood bedroom with all his lame posters and figure skating trophies. He’d probably think it was great, and insist and seeing everything and getting a complete house tour and meeting all his siblings.
But for all that they’ve acknowledged that this thing between them is serious, it’s still too new for Jeff to imagine how to even approach the concept of having Eric up here. His parents are tolerant and liberal in a perfectly Canadian way, but Eric is older and kind of his boss and Jeff’s a nineteen year old with ever-changing majors and a pathetic need to make everyone in his life proud. It’s too soon, for all that he desires for Eric to make himself at home in his life.
But someday, maybe.
For now, he lets Eric talk about his research and Jordy’s new girlfriend and how stupidly warm it still is down there, and feels content. He can’t wait to get back to school, but until then, he wants this moment to never end.
---
Start of next semester, Jeff rolls into Vertebrate Zoology lab a few minutes early with a grin. He’d selected his lab section specially for the TA, and this time, he knows exactly what to expect from the “E. Staal” on the page.
Eric’s standing behind a desk at the front of the room, shuffling some papers around, and damn, Jeff thinks. He picked a good one. Jeff stops at the desk and brushes against Eric’s hand.
“Hey,” Eric smiles from under his eyelashes. “How’s your day been?”
Jeff snorts. Eric knows exactly how his day has been--they’d been messaging back and forth until Eric had to prepare for lab. “Fine,” he says finally, grinning. “Better now.”
They stand there and smile at each other until footsteps pad outside the door and Eric’s eyes widen. “Alright,” he mutters under his breath, and they busily don’t stare at each other while the rest of the class fills in.
It’s weird, for Jeff to go out in the field with Eric and twenty other students. The first few weeks are indoor labs, because these wimpy Carolinians think that it’s cold, and they dissect a cow’s eye and heart under Eric’s chill direction. Jeff’s pretty good at dissections by now, and, well, Eric’s always been good about praise where it’s deserved.
Sometimes Jeff whispers those lines back at Eric, wrapped up in each other in the dark and Eric blushes. “I’ve gotten used to saying nice things about you,” he adds defensively. “You do good work.”
“Yeah,” Jeff says, tongue flicking over Eric’s ear. “But do you have to say it in public?”
---
Eric’s office hours are not really somewhere Jeff expected to end up--okay, fine, he totally did, because he likes showing off his connections just a little bit--since it’s not like he can’t just ask Eric any other of the large amounts of time that they spend together each week, but, well, he likes being with Eric. He likes it more when other people aren’t around, but, let’s be real, who goes to office hours unless there’s an exam?
The answer is nobody.
Well, Jeff thinks, nobody but him, who finds himself walking two coffees down the echoing hallways, past Marc’s office (they nod hello politely, Marc wearing a sour but resigned face), past the lone window that shows that it’s far too sunny for February, into Eric’s office, where Eric’s face lights up to see Jeff’s dimples peeking in. (He was really bored over intersession and practiced smiling with his dimples on purpose, shut up, Jilly, but now whenever he does it Eric beams and Jilly’s teasing is totally worth it.)
Jeff brings his classwork and they sit comfortably across the desk, occasionally tangling their fingers together, and, well, Jeff’s surprisingly productive. It may have something to do with the fact that if they get enough done, Eric closes his door and Jeff can straddle him in his office chair--he’ll never see leather the same way again--until it’s time for them to head back to Eric’s and make out some more. And cook, and work, and eat dinner curled into each other on the couch. Eric assures Jeff that it’s only to conserve heat, but Jeff’s pretty sure Eric just wants to grope him.
Oh and that one time that Jeff accidentally brought lotion in his backpack, oops, what a shame that his hands aren’t dry and couldn’t they find better uses for this lotion? Yeah, Jeff thinks to himself, that was good.
In fact, it’s all going good. Too well, really, which is why he isn’t surprised when his mother calls and demands a full update on his academic life, expressing dismay at Jeff’s choice to continue being Eric’s assistant.
“Mom,” Jeff tries to interject, “Mom, I’m fine, really. I’m having a great time with Eric. And the eels.”
“Eels. Jeff,” his mother begins, “I know that you’re a sophomore, and it’s okay to be searching a bit for some direction. But honestly, eels? Your sister’s law firm has openings for an internship this summer. I really think you should consider it.”
Jeff can’t think of anything worse than putting on a suit in the blazing Chapel Hill heat to endure eight hours a day of filing, clerking, and gophering for rich lawyers. He imagines, instead, a summer with Eric: spending hours on the lake gathering samples for research, taking a dip when things got too hot, leisurely drives back with the music and the countryside and their own conversation. He imagines how Eric would look after a day like that: pink-cheeked, dewy, and exhausted, but grinning at Jeff like he always did.
Jeff wants that so badly he can taste it.
His mother is still talking, and with a flutter of nerves, Jeff interrupts her. “Mom. This is what I want. I’m an adult now, and I can decide what’s good for my future.” And then he hangs up.
-----
It’s a Tuesday night when trudges back to Eric’s apartment, weary from a full day of classes, assignments and lab work. Eric, who had given Jeff a copy of his key with a bashful smile weeks ago, had invited him over any time to study if he needed a break from the noise and drama of his dorm. He planned on taking advantage of it tonight, especially since Eric and Alex have their weekly bros-and-fries night out. Jeff already knows he can’t concentrate on homework when Eric’s in the room. He figures he has a good three hours to dig into his stats work and edit his lit paper before Eric comes home, tipsy and pleased to see him.
So he lays out his books and papers on the round kitchen table and gets up to grab a red bull from the fridge when a familiar design catches his eye. It’s a college crest, stamped on a folded up piece of paper sticking out from a pile on the counter. Jeff idly pulls it out and gets a closer look. It’s from Yale, addressed to Eric in ridiculously formal prose.
Jeffs feels weird, thinks about putting it back in the pile, but he can’t seem to help himself, reading about how the university had been really impressed with his research and saw in Eric a promising candidate for a grant program in New Haven. Jeff feels his stomach sink as he sees that the deadline for reply is in a week. The grant would be for two years, and includes doctoral credit.
Eric hadn’t mentioned this. The date is from a month ago, just after their research hit a snag. Eric had been moody and reserved, frustrated over their findings. Jeff had begun studying in earnest for midterms, and hadn’t had too much time to support Eric, but hadn’t given it much thought when Eric had a breakthrough the next week and returned to his usual happy self.
But the fact that he kept the letter? Jeff can’t help but feel the low niggling touch of worry in his stomach, as he goes over the options. Either Eric meant to refuse Yale, but just didn’t throw the letter away yet, or is actually considering it. The grant would begin immediately after the semester ended, so that the he could take advantage of the summer months to work.
That means, if Eric accepted, they would have less than two months left together.
They haven’t discussed what happens next. The year, to be honest, had seemed endless, as though he and Eric would continue to spend their afternoons on the water indefinitely. It had been a happy thought, sitting in the back of his head; something he could recall during stressful study sessions and conversations with his parents.
He had never really thought about Eric’s side of this. Grants are difficult to come by, especially in the ecological biology field, and he knows this is a crucial time in Eric’s graduate career: the moment that his work can be recognized as significant in his field. Honestly, Jeff’s surprised Eric hasn’t heard from more schools, although maybe he has. Maybe he hasn’t told Jeff.
Studying that night, predictably, doesn’t go very well. When Eric comes home three hours later, smiling and shouting something out the door to Alex as he drives away, Jeff’s worked himself up a little bit. Eric’s a bit too tipsy to notice his boyfriend’s silence, instead pulling him into a sloppy kiss and leading him to the bed. Jeff fights against the impulse to melt into Eric’s arms as he gets cuddled with. Does he bring it up? He doesn’t want Eric to think he was snooping, which he kind of was, but Eric tells him everything. Why wouldn’t he mention this?
Eric’s too sleepy and far gone for sex that night, but he kisses Jeff enough to make up for it: slow, lazy, searching kisses that are wet and tender. Eric keeps smiling, that dopey smile that scrunches his entire face up, kind of like a caveman, and Jeff tries to forget his anxiety, and leave the conversation for another night.
-
It starts slowly, after that. Jeff had put the Yale letter out of his mind, and Eric hadn’t mentioned it. He breathes a sigh of relief when the reply date passes and happily sets himself to being the best student and boyfriend he could be.
Except Eric hits another snag in his research, and things take a wrong turn. Nothing has turned up, but suddenly the timing of his thesis is incredibly more important.
“Jeff?” Eric calls, as Jeff ambles in, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. It’s Tuesday morning, and he doesn’t have class until late. Not that he or Eric mind sleeping in, though Eric’s better at mornings that Jeff--a function of boat life, he says. But Eric’s up early today, hunched over his computer with his analyzing-data-face on.
“Maybe,” Jeff yawns, reaching for the coffee. “What’s up?”
“Working,” Eric says absentmindedly, and Jeff frowns. He likes waking up next to Eric, drinking their coffee and kissing. But today, Eric’s practically kissing his laptop, so Jeff takes his coffee to the couch and yawns over his textbooks until they head to campus.
-
The nagging feeling of doubt in his head intensifies as the weeks fly by and Eric’s problems intensify. When it’s not inconsistencies with the data, its a notice about a delay of a certain grant, and Jeff’s coursework seems to triple. All this professors seem to think that March is the perfect time to crank up the load, and between homework, afternoons on the lake, and being a good boyfriend, Jeff is constantly exhausted, sore, and irritable.
He snaps at Jared one day, after class. It’s something trivial, a chirp he makes about Jeff dating Eric and being able to ‘handle the load’ of all that work and Jeff gets weirdly irritated and bites out a remark about Jared being the stupid Staal that he knows hits the mark.
He feels awful afterwards, and Jared’s quick to forgive him, but the sour feeling in his chest intensifies throughout the day as Eric cancels a trip to the lake for tomorrow, citing a meetings with his advisors to go over grant proposals, and Jeff walks into the lab to find that some idiot left a bunch of his and Eric’s samples outside over night and now they’re contaminated. It takes a few extra hours and a terse conversation with Eric, who sounds upset and exhausted over the phone, and Jeff really hadn’t wanted to bother him, to get things settled. Jeff leaves with his hands literally shaking with stress and impotent anger over the spoiled data, and gets back to his dorm and spends the next several hours memorizing proofs and sparknoting Thoreau before noticing the voicemail alert on his phone blinking. It’s his father, of course, wondering if Jeff’s figured out his courses for next year and whether he’d like to talk about them, and what kind of internship he wants for the summer.
Jeff falls into bed around 3am, too tired to jerk off, and too wired to sleep. He thinks about Eric, who must similarly be up miles away in his apartment. He can picture his scrunched brow and red-bitten lips and instead of the warm gooey feelings he usually gets when he thinks of Eric in this way, Jeff feels shame and embarrassment for not being diligent enough to have saved those samples and not doing enough to take the frown off his face. It’s no surprise that he doesn’t sleep that night.
-
They’re working in Eric’s apartment one evening when Jeff hears it. Eric’s muttering harshly to himself over paperwork, and Jeff’s resorted to listening to music in order to focus, when he realises that Eric’s now directing his words at Jeff.
“...I just don’t know what to do next, and the grant office is bitching back and forth about this. What’s making things worse is, remember how few we’ve been seeing upstream? And how we filed a preliminary endangerment examination request? The unagi industry is trying to shut it down, the bastards. And you know how much Seattle exports to Japan? How much goddamn lobbying power that gives them?” Eric tosses his papers to the sides and rubs his eyes in frustration. Jeff gets up from his seat across the table and walks over behind Eric, frowning at the tension in Eric’s shoulders.
He rests his hands on Eric’s shoulders for a moment, then slowly rubs his fingers in circles. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s going to work out.”
Eric shakes his head. “Yeah, but not easily, and not well, and, fucking fuck. At this rate things are going to shit, and I need to publish this data on their density as soon as I can to support the petition, but I don’t have anything yet. Nothing we’ve done has gotten us fucking anywhere. They’re not mature, and the tags are impossible to re-find, and, fuck. And nobody else gives a shit about Carolina eels because of that news over in Taiwan, so none of my connections are pulling any strings like they need to.”
“It’s one year. You aren’t going to get enough data for a dissertation in a year,” Jeff says, ruffling his nose in Eric’s hair, hands still working his shoulders. “And you’ve got me here, yeah? You can talk to me whenever you need to about this. It’s good.”
“Yeah, but you’re not going to be my assistant forever, Jeff.” Eric huffs sharply, pulling out of Jeff’s grasp and bending over his files again.
“No,” Jeff says, sitting down at his own work. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be here to talk to, he want to say. Unless you don’t want me here.
-
Jeff starts getting hyperaware, almost, of when he’s actually helping Eric. Kissing on the boat isn’t helping, he sighs, but neither is just taking in the river around them when they’re paddling out. And it’s not useful when they’re in the lab either, handling expensive equipment and god knows what kind of chemicals.
So Jeff begins limiting the affection on the boat, gearing their conversations back to research, ducking out of evenings at Eric’s apartment with excuses of homework. He wants Eric to thrive. But all he sees is Eric becoming more frustrated and reclusive with every setback, and yet disappointed when Jeff tries to give him space. Jeff doesn’t even know who’s initiating it anymore; it’s like they’ve both begun to withdraw from each other, and he hates it. The ease, the utter certainty of their previous interactions is beginning to seem like a memory.
Turns out, he’s not the only one who notices the schism between them. Jeff gets cornered by Marc outside of class one day, and the man looks unusually hesitant.
“Listen, kid,” Marc began, and then paused, as if searching for the right words. “I know you and my brother have been having some trouble.”
“Um, sorry,” Jeff tries, awkwardly, “But that’s kind of between us.”
He fears that Marc will get angry, but instead the man sighs. “Eric’s always been a dreamer. He’s a leader, sure. A great role-model for us: strong, and smart and brave, but he sometimes can’t see past his beakers to actually take what he wants.” At Jeff’s dismayed look, Marc speaks quickly. “I’m not saying he doesn’t care about you, deeply, but Eric’s world is small. It’s this school, the rivers, and those eels. You fit into all of that, but he probably hasn’t thought about what happens next. What if you decide to major in something else? What if you get a job in another state?”
Jeff swallowed, compelled by some unseen force to stand still and listen.
Marc continued, “All I’m saying is that Eric’s used to being the big fish in the small pond, forgive my pun, and now you’ve altered the pond. And it’s thrown off his zen, and he won’t make the first move because he can’t see the parameters of what this is. It’s unfamiliar territory and, honestly, maybe you’re better off seeing that now rather than later.”
“I just don’t want to hold him back.” Jeff whispers.
Marc looks pained, and weary. “Yeah, but have you ever thought that maybe he’s holding you back?”
Jeff doesn’t speak.
Marc reads the silence and looks away. Suddenly Jeff can see how frustrating it can be, being the realist in a family of dreamers, feeling like the odd man out. Jeff can sympathize that that, he knows, but the hint of truth in his words chokes something up inside of him.
“What can I do?” He asks, feeling hopeless.
“I don’t know kid,” Marc replies, shrugging, “But whatever it is, you’ll have to make the move that’s best for you.”
-
He’s alone in the lab that night.
It’s too quiet, without Eric there to make random observations or crack a hilariously bad joke. He can be quiet and serious too, often is when the work gets complex, but his presence there always makes something hum comfortably inside Jeff.
But Eric and Jeff haven’t really talked, not since their last aborted argument, not since his talk with Marc, and not since he faced course registration for next year and chose more difficult courses like Wildlife Parasitology and Ecological Evolution and scheduled an appointment with this advisor to go over modering into the Biology major. He’d gotten pretty interested when Eric had pointed out a few of the parasites on their eels, and his advisor had been supportive but firm when he’d asked about studying that. He’s on the right track, fortunately, but there’s a lot more that he needs to cram into the next few years.
Jeff loses himself in the routine of the work--the steady, repetition of data entry, the focus of measuring out samples from from the pipettes, and the hum of the centrifuge. It’s easy like this, and he gets why Eric wants to devote his life to it. He had wanted to devote his life to figure skating once, and then, briefly, hockey. But Jeff thinks it was really this he was looking for, where his actions have an impact that is real and discernable. It’s better than writing a paper or solving a formula--it’s something that matters.
And he can’t separate that from Eric, as hard as he tries. The silence of the last couple of days hangs heavy over him, and the open-ended question of what he’ll do next year, if he’ll do it with Eric, is constantly on his mind.
So he escapes to the lab, and measures out samples.
His work is interrupted by the sound of a door shutting. Jeff looks up to see Eric in the doorway, paused with a look on his face that looks surprised and also, Jeff notes in dismay, hesitant.
“Hey.” Eric says, face unreadable.
Jeff nods and waits. The silence stretches out and Jeff is reminded painfully of a similar night months ago, when this thing between them was just getting started and the buzzing sensation in his body was palpable and exciting and something completely foreign to Jeff. He feels like he’s grown ages in this year, somehow too tall for his skin and whatever nervousness he feels now is compounded by the weight of his complicated feelings for this man, who has taught him and loved him and has withdrawn from him in the span of almost nine months.
Marc’s words come back to him--make the move that’s best for you. But here’s the thing: Jeff still doesn’t know what’s best for him. He only knows what he’s interested in, and what he’s learned, and what he still wants to discover in his life. But how can he know what’s best?
Eric finally breaks the moment. “Go out tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. See you then.” Eric nods and looks at Jeff, almost as if he wants to say more. But Jeff can read between the lines. What Eric said? Really sounded like goodbye.
---
The next morning dawns and Jeff notes miserably that it’s absolutely beautiful. A perfect fucking spring day in North Carolina. The two hour ride is filled with Ira Glass talking about Second Chances and Jeff wants to fling himself out the window.
When they arrive at the lake, Jeff is furious, not exactly sure over what: Eric’s cowardice, or Jeff’s own, in not confronting this thing that’s grown between them, sick like one of the parasites Jeff has spent hours poking at. It’s not the best metaphor but Jeff doesn’t give a damn right now. “Are we going to talk about this?” He bites out, and takes grim satisfaction in watching Eric pause and fumble with this rod and look anywhere but him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eric replies and Jeff wants to push him into the lake.
“Eric, you haven’t said a single word to me that wasn’t about this project or class in a week.”
Eric groans in frustration, “I’m not sure what you want me to say. But don’t go pinning this on me. You started acting weird a month ago, and ever since then something’s been wrong. Just fucking talk about it.”
Jeff thinks of the letter Eric never told him about; the untold opportunities at other schools that Eric neglected to mention. His frustrations at the pace of their project, and how maybe Eric should have been looking for some upper level students to help him out, and how Jeff’s become this burden and he can’t stand it.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the letter from Yale, Eric?”
A shadow crosses Eric’s face. “It wasn’t important.”
“Are you kidding me? Yale University wanted you and it wasn’t important enough to tell me?”
“My life is here, Jeff. I thought you knew that.”
“My life is here too. It’s with you, in case you didn’t know!” Jeff wants to bite back those words, ‘cause Eric’s face tenses with something he can’t name.
Eric sighs, “You don’t know that. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to...I don’t know, feel obliged to keep doing this. I was never going to go, but this research is getting a lot of attention right now. Good attention, and you’ve already invested so much time and energy. If you knew that Yale was interested, that it was becoming important, I thought that you would think only about helping me, and not yourself. Your studies.”
Jeff is not sure he can believe this circuitous logic, but he gives Eric points for trying.
“I know what kind of guy you are, Jeff. You want to help people, you want to give it your all. I didn’t want you to feel like I was pushing you into something.”
Jeff reels back. “I’m in this with you, Eric. I love doing this research. How could you think that I don’t?”
“Jeff, you’re so young. You’ll change your mind over and over again and it’s fine, it’s what you’re supposed to do.”
“Not about this!” Jeff protests, feeling dread gnaw at his insides. “Eric, I love you. I won’t change my mind!”
Eric looks pained and frustrated, and runs his hands through his hair. Jeff doesn’t want to see him like this, stressed out over him. He wants to lean over and touch Eric, but for the first time, he’s not so sure what the reception would be.
Finally, Eric looks up, looks Jeff in the eye and Jeff falters for a moment because Eric is so beautiful, so earnest and it occurs to Jeff that maybe there’s a reason Eric’s trying to drive him away. Maybe he realized that being saddled to a nineteen year old kid with no direction, no particular smarts and a pathetic longing to be liked wasn’t in his best interests.
His fears are confirmed when Eric states, in that unexpectedly lovely tone, “Jeff, I know where my life is going. My research, my writings, my career. It’s here. I committed myself to this organization a while ago and my obligations are here. Marc said--” and at that Eric cuts himself off, maybe hoping Jeff will interject and say something stupidly rash, but Jeff can’t speak. Can’t do anything but listen and feel the crisp March wind batter against his skin.
“Marc said that I was holding you back from what you want to do. And I think he was right.”
“No,” Jeff croaks, finding a sliver of his voice, but Eric ignores him, continues, firmly, “You need to find something you’re passionate about. Something unrelated to this, because me being here? It’s keeping you from reaching your potential.”
He sounds so much like his father, like his mother, like his sisters that Jeff suddenly wants to scream, wants to rage and hit and smash. “Shut the fuck up, Eric! You don’t know what you’re talking about! What if this is me, huh? What if this is what I’m good at? I could have left last semester, but fuck you for thinking I only stayed because of you!”
“Jeff, you can’t actually tell me you want this for your future.”
How can Jeff explain? How it’s not the eels, Eric’s right about that, but it’s about so much more?
The questions biology sets out to answer, and how Jeff knows that he’ll never be able to understand all of them, but he can try. How eels are part of an incredible cycle that is absolutely foreign to humans. A cycle, a way of life, that started long before humanity started searching for answers, and one that will continue long afterwards. How connected this research makes Jeff feel; how he loves not just seeing nature in a book and on a screen but being in it, touching it, feeling it. It gives Jeff a sense of his own place in the world, who he is within the paradigm of millions, hundreds of thousands of thousands of beings and lives out there that Jeff can only wonder at. Jeff loves being in the boat with Eric, the only two souls seeing what they’re looking at. He loves holding an eel in his hands and talking to it, telling it that though today may be an incredibly shitty day, tomorrow it will be better. Back in the river, where it belongs. Connecting with, seeing, feeling, understanding this world around him makes Jeff feel like maybe he, too, can belong.
He wants to say all these things, but they are still new to him, too raw to find the proper shape in his mouth. So instead he says, “You think you have to be noble, but fuck that. If you don’t want me here, just say so.”
Jeff doesn’t know which ‘here’ he means, but Eric must intuit something deeper, because his brows furrow and his hands clench and he looks away, out against the landscape of trees and water, where it’s just the two of them for miles and miles.
“I didn’t think it would feel like this.” Eric states, and Jeff doesn't know if he means it in a good way or a bad way, but Eric continues, “You’re the first person I’ve taken home to meet my family.”
Jeff’s stunned, because Eric is the kind of guy who smiles more than he should, is kinder than he realizes and leads effortlessly, without thought. How can it be Jeff who got noticed? Out of the thousands of people Eric has met, how is it that Jeff lingered, made himself indelible in the shape of Eric’s thoughts, in his heart? It was so easy for him to fall in love with Eric. Effortless, really. But for some reason it’s hard for Jeff to believe that it can happen so easily for someone else, about him.
But it did happen. And Eric did kiss him in the lab, and take him to Christmas dinner, and spent hours and days by his side, learning about him and making him laugh and sigh and moan. How can Eric be unsure of this? This is the surest thing Jeff’s ever felt.
“I wanted you since I first saw you,” Jeff says finally and Eric’s eyes snap back to him. “You gave me this, sure, something I am passionate about. I’ll never be a doctor, or a lawyer or a politician. But being out here, being in the lab, that makes a difference to me and I want to continue with it. Don’t ask me to give it up.” Jeff’s voice breaks a bit as he finishes, “Don’t ask me to give up on you either.”
Eric’s eyes look fierce now, practically devouring Jeff where he stands. “I won’t. I can’t. But Jeff, if you’re here and that’s it, then it has to be for good. I won’t be able to let you go.” His arms are around Jeff now, buffering him against the chill, but it takes only an instant for his entire body to feel warm again. “I want you here. I think about it, sometimes, us together years from now. Working side by side, challenging each other to go further, reach higher. And we are happy, so happy,” Eric’s breath puffs against Jeff’s neck and it makes him shiver with happiness.
“I want that too,” he whispers and Eric gasps, and yes, he’s actually growing hard against Jeff’s thigh. Jeff didn’t think he could feel happier in this moment, but realizing that Eric gets turned on by imagining their future domestic bliss? That sends him to the stratosphere.
But eels wait for no man, and after a few long moments of frantic kissing and above-the-board groping, they settle on their small boat and paddle out, grinning like lunatics at each other the entire time.
It’s not long though before the urge to touch Eric (although, when doesn’t he feel that urge?) overtakes Jeff and his hand settles on Eric’s knee as he takes down their coordinates with a distracted purse to his lips.
At his touch Eric looks up and his eyes alight with mischief. He sets aside his pad and pen and reaches for Jeff again, and Jeff sighs at the familiarity of his strong fingers squeezing against his neck and the small of his back. With remarkable ease, Eric bends Jeff back a little so he balances against the edge of his wood seat, held up mostly by Eric’s own strength as he’s maneuvered so that Eric ends up straddling him lightly. Jeff loves the feeling of being slightly trapped by Eric’s larger frame, so damn tall that his position would be comical if Jeff wasn’t so turned on.
"Ah-" Jeff says, and he doesn’t know why he felt he should be so quiet, they are in the middle of fucking nowhere- and Eric leans over him a bit more, so that Jeff can see every pore, every eyelash, every pale blond hair on that perfect face. Eric kisses him in Jeff’s favorite way, where he just can’t seem to get enough of every part of Jeff’s mouth--his upper lip, and then his lower lip, and even the corner of his mouth--savoring him like a fine wine.
Then Eric raises his head and Jeff lifts up for another kiss- but Eric simply presses one chaste peck to the bare, overheated skin of his throat before he moves his body down, awkwardly as the boat shifts at the displaced weight, lips grazing Jeff’s shirt at the bottom of his ribcage, then on his navel, and then on the slip of skin exposed above his jeans, near the jut of his hipbone.
Jeff feels like crying out his need, and his hips rock upwards, body tense with want. And then Eric places his mouth against Jeff’s cock through his pants, pressing his lips against the tip of it. "Ah," Jeff pants, hands digging into the bench. He looks down at Eric as his jeans are undone and slid down, Eric between his legs, with his light hair falling into his eyes and his cherry-red lips moving against Jeff’s erection. “Oh god, I can't, Eric,” Jeff moans fruitlessly, moving his hips up and down with jerky, incoherent motions.
He doesn’t know if he wants Eric to keep going or stop before he embarasses himself, so he’s only half-disappointed when Eric stops sucking and stares at Jeff, looking frantic and as undone as Jeff feels. “Jeff, God, I have to--” Eric’s hands fumble as he undoes his own pant buttons and Jeff can only watch in shock as he tries to figure out where Eric plans on this going, then decides he’d be good with pretty much anything at this point. His breath sutters as Eric palms his own cock, squeezing tightly at the base and making a face as his other hand searches wildly behind him, into their supply bag and taking out a travel size bottle of hand lotion, which Jeff has to giggle at, because Eric hates dry skin.
Eric’s matching grin is sharper-edged, and he doesn’t break eye contact as his squirts some lotion onto his fingers and moves up again to wrap one bracing arm around Jeff and uses the other to gently move behind Jeff’s saliva-wet cock and probe at his hole.
They’ve done this a couple of times after that first, ecstatic experience in Jeff’s dorm room and each time has felt just has new and exciting to Jeff--the heady realization that he’s about to be connected with Eric in the most intimate way possible, the hot pressure and almost-painful friction that puts everything into sharp relief, and the contrasting wave of pleasure he feels at Eric’s intense focus on self-control, putting Jeff first every single time. It’s no different now, for all that they are out on a boat and it’s about 60 degrees out. Jeff feels Eric’s fingers stretch him thoroughly, expertly finding his prostate and pressing down so Jeff is distracted from the uncomfortable stretch by almost unbearable pleasure.
“Do it,” he pleads, then demands as Eric continues his torturously slow preparation. Eric, glassy-eyed and heaving deep breaths, chuckles and finally obeys, manipulating their bodies so that Jeff grasps the sides of the canoe for leverage as Eric slides in.
Fuck, it feels so good, and Jeff holds onto the edge of the boat for dear life as Eric begins to slowly thrust, his face set into a smolder and eyes barely leaving Jeff’s as he controls the pace evenly, to Jeff’s increasingly vocal dismay. The contrast here always startles Jeff--Eric, normally so talkative, insatiable with his need to share his feelings, his knowledge, his experience with Jeff, always falls silent when they fuck. Jeff likens it to Eric’s ‘Science Mode,’ the state Eric gets into when utterly absorbed in his research, where nothing will tear him away until his achieves his goal. It might be an unusual allegory, but Jeff likes that Eric thinks this is special enough to warrant the silence--apart from their first time, where he had been so warm and reassuring. It gives Jeff an unexpected sense of freedom, like Eric’s giving him a chance to be open and expressive, when normally Jeff’s lack of know-how has him default to shyness. So he takes advantage of their open-air privacy, shouting and laughing and singing Eric’s praises, and takes satisfaction in the increasingly broken-sounding grunts he hears against his ear.
Then the world around him spins when Eric thrusts extra hard and Jeff--with Eric still holding onto him--tumbles backwards over the edge of the canoe and lands, ass-first, in the river.
Jeff and Eric quickly emerge, shocked and sputtering and laughing in the freezing water and spend the next couple of minutes wrestling with the canoe to climb back in.
“Holy fuck,” Jeff wheezes, caught between giggles and shivers as Eric grabs the emergency blanket from the kit and wraps it around his shoulders before grabbing the paddles to row them back to shore.
Eric, whose lips are already turning purple, grins blindingly, shirt clinging fetchingly to his frame. “Did that kill the mood?”
Jeff looks down as his hastily tucked in dick, which has shriveled pathetically with the sting of cold water and shrugs, “I’m nineteen. The mood never dies.”
Eric just looks at him, eyes dark again with promise and Jeff hopes its for more than what will happen in bed later. But maybe it’s time he actually said something about it, so he gathers his dignity and flips his hair and says, “I’m in this with you for good. I need you to trust that.”
Eric pauses in the midst of rowing, lips parted as though ready to deliver another lecture, but then shuts his mouth, nods firmly and reaches one hand to grasp Jeff’s, holding it tightly as they shiver together. Jeff knows they have a long road ahead of them. He needs to come out to his parents, his sisters and his friends. He has to sort out how to remain Eric’s assistant once their relationship gets out--and it will get out, eventually.
But he’s sure of some things now, surer than he was last year, or last week, or yesterday. He wants to continue researching. He wants to find something (not eels, Eric can keep the eels) to devote his career to, something that will make a difference. He wants to take a drama class with Jared, maybe an art history course, travel abroad, write a killer senior thesis, graduate, and make a life here in Chapel Hill, and live the dream that was described to him just thirty minutes ago.
And Jeff, with a happy pang in his heart, realizes that there really are no endings here. He has two more years, grad school and an entire life ahead of him with Eric to look forward to.
He's only just begun.