Chapter Text
If there’s anything Graham would tell his twenty year old self, it would be to never underestimate how incredibly stupid some college students can be (“and yes, this includes you— so, me, technically,”), and to please, for the love of God, change his degree, because becoming a photography professor was going to fuck up his life immensely.
Well, not really. It’s just the teaching part he can’t stand, having to wade through dozens of badly edited, poorly composed photographs, always the same subjects: a tree, a house, an overly detailed portrait of an old man in black and white (as if to make a point of the wrinkles), a bowl of fruit (are you serious?), an eye.
What happened to grace, he wonders, to passion? Is everyone losing the plot? What happened to taking risks, to taking pictures of ugly things, raw emotions and crude, red-hot feelings? Hadn’t he taught them better? What happened to art?
Anyway, these aren’t thoughts he should be having while his hand is wrapped around his cock. Jesus, he thinks, I can’t even have a wank without thinking about work— and that’s precisely the thing he needs to get a move on and type his favorite website into the browser: www.hornyandliterate.com.
The name’s stupid, yes, but it’s the only place where people actually put some effort into their words. Porn had never done the job for him— too raunchy. He logs in and types a single ‘hi’ into the Colchester chatroom. It’s doesn't take long until to get a few replies, and he scrolls through various interesting usernames (footlvr69, XxmascnhungxX, mrriedcouple, FitnThick), until his eyes land on someone he’s never seen before— because, yes, pathetically enough, he is familiar with other users, including footlvr69. It’s not his fault the Colchester chatroom was always full of the same people.
But this one was new. eager2try. Try what, exactly? Was this a virgin? He had absolutely no interest in virgins or teaching anyone anything, but before he can scroll past, they get there first.
eager2try: hey
eager2try: u there?
Graham hesitates, wondering whether he can be bothered replying to whoever this was— and an overly keen message from footlvr69 saying ‘u gonna show me ur feet or what’ makes messaging this mysterious newcomer the obvious choice.
tweedo: Yes
tweedo: Interesting screen name
eager2try: thank
eager2try: tuanks***
eager2try: thanks*****
eager2try: sorry, hard to type with one hand haha
He feels relieved this person is willing to skip the small talk, because he’s terrible at it and ultimately too horny to get through it anyway.
tweedo: Straight on it, are you?
eager2try: yea
tweedo: M or F?
eager2try: what’s that
tweedo: Male or female?
eager2try: sorry never been online for these things
eager2try: im male
That’s fine by him. His last homosexual experience had been at university: a messy, drunken handjob by a bloke who looked like a girl anyway. He’s never had a preference, either way.
tweedo: I’m male too. that ok?
eager2try: yes i’m bi
Is that what they call it? Sure.
tweedo: I guess me too
eager2try: how old r u
Graham hesitates, considers lying so as not to seem like the pathetic forty-three year old man he is, but ultimately decides to be honest, because he’s coming to terms with the fact that that’s all he is: a pathetic forty-three-year-old with a now softening cock in his fist and a warm laptop propped on his chest.
tweedo: 43
eager2try: hot
eager2try: i like older men
tweedo: Your age?
eager2try: 25
Bloody hell. Right, this might not be such a good idea. Both hands now hover over the keyboard, hesitant, wondering whether it’d be better to just not reply, or to say a polite goodbye and leave it at that. Then another message comes through.
eager2try: would u like to be tied up?
He freezes, reading that message over and over, and then, without quite noticing it, he’s hard again. The thing is, Graham had always been rather peculiar about sex, ever since he was a teenager. He remembers the exact moment it shifted for him: he’d been fighting with a girlfriend over something stupid, and after saying something probably equally as stupid, he got a slap across the cheek, and along with it, a painful hard-on that only sorted itself when he had a wank thinking about it later.
Then, it got worse— he kept thinking about it, about the slap, and the next time they had sex he asked her to do it again, to slap him, hard, please— which only got him dumped. After he got over that, he delved even deeper into this newly discovered, unexplored part of his mind, and found himself getting hard at the thought of getting teased, of having his hair pulled, of someone having their way with him until he was reduced to tears.
He’d also fantasised several times about getting tied up, about being helpless, entirely at someone else’s mercy. It wasn’t such a strange thing, he’d come to learn after joining the website years ago— but no one else in there, until now, had ever offered him anything quite like what this random bloke was offering him. He swallows, feeling a tingle run the length of his spine.
tweedo: Yes
tweedo: I’d really like that
eager2try: would u let me do whatever i wanted?
tweedo: Yes, what would that be?
eager2try: depends
eager2try: in a bed, i’d ride u until i’m satisfied
eager2try: on a chair, i’d suck u off until you’re crying
tweedo: Crying?
eager2try: cos i wouldn’t let u cum until i said so
God. He takes a long, laborious breath, and goes to type his next message— but the person on the other end beats him to it.
eager2try: did i scare u?
tweedo: No— i like it
eager2try: what do u look like
Unremarkable, is his first thought, but he doesn’t want to put this person off.
tweedo: Nerdy. Buddy Holly type
eager2try: fuck that’s hot
eager2try: with the glasses n all??
tweedo: Yes
tweedo: What about you?
eager2try: brunette, blue eyes, pretty tall
eager2try: i’m no maria elena but i reckon you’d like me the same
tweedo: Ha
tweedo: If you’re willing to do what you said, then yes, i’d enjoy you a lot
eager2try: u willing to meet up?
Once again, he hesitates. The thought of meeting up with someone eighteen years younger makes him feel like a creep. However, the thought of meeting up with a cute bloke who was willing to tie him up and possibly slap him about makes him feel far too excited to pass it up.
tweedo: Yes, very much
eager2try: gr8 send me ur number
eager2try: we can arrange something maybe
tweedo: Sure :·)
This is the first time he's ever sent his number to anyone from that god forsaken website, but he figures it’s worth it— and, after that, he sorts out the situation in his trousers, closing his eyes and picturing himself, breathless and helpless, entirely at the mercy of a brunette, blue eyed younger man.
He regrets having stayed up so late the next morning, though, because he keeps zoning out during the group presentations, tired and bored of seeing the same old photographs every time, and also because he can’t stop thinking about the bloke he still hadn’t put a name to when he saved his number.
“Thank you, that was… it was interesting. You can take a seat,” he says to one of the group members, scribbling on his notepad to look as though he’s actually taking notes, before checking the student list and calling out for the next group. “Uh— Albarn and Gallagher, you’re up.”
“That was absolute shite,” Liam grumbles as they’re heading for the parking lot, dragging his feet. “That’s it. We’re failing that fucking class, I’m calling it now… ah, sodding Mr. Coxon, mate— Senile bastard. Fuck him and all his family, and if he’s got a dog, fuck that dog too.”
“To be fair, our pictures were rubbish. We literally took them last minute,” Damon says, checking his phone for what must be the thousandth time that morning, and it’s not even eleven o’clock.
“Right, but I’m sure he’d have failed us regardless. He’s too old to get it up and that’s why he’s always miserable, y’know what I mean—” he says, picking up the pace when he spots his car. “His missus probably left him cos his mouth tasted of coffee and boner pills.”
“Bloody hell, Liam,” Damon says, though he does find it quite funny. “Let’s just focus on sorting that grade out. You know what they say— If you’ve got one foot in the past and the other in the future, you’re pissing on the present,” he finished, nudging Liam in the side with his elbow as Liam digs deep in his trouser pockets for his car keys.
“Shit— Where are they?” he hisses, palming his other pocket, and then his back pockets, to no avail, and then, it hits him. “Ah, for God’s sake— They’re all the way back there,” Liam groans, turning to look at the building that seemed miles away, though it was only a ten minute walk. Damon senses he’s about to get asked for a favour, so he acts dumb by squinting into the distance and looking away, though he knows he’s not getting out of it. He can practically feel Liam’s stare burning a hole in the side of his face.
“I—” Damon starts the beginnings of an excuse, but gets cut off immediately.
“No— It’s my car, you’re renting a room in my flat, I made you eggs this morning, and I’m pretty sure you’re wearing my underwear right now. No— Don’t go pulling your trousers up, you wanker, I saw them already,” Liam says, and Damon feels defeated, because Liam is right, that’s absolutely his underwear. “You go and get my keys, and you better be quick about it.”
“Fuck,” Damon groans, throwing his head back and taking a breather before sighing in defeat. “Okay— Alright. But you’re letting me pick the music this time,” he says, and he’s off before Liam gets a chance to argue otherwise.
He takes the opportunity to check his phone again, clicking around with a squint, feeling disappointed at the lack of a message from the bloke he’d been chatting to last night. He’d told a couple lies, just to be safe, because it had been the first time he’d actually acted on his impulses and gone online to have a go at fulfilling his odd little fantasies. He’d told him he was twenty five, when, in reality, he’d only just turned twenty one, and he’d said he was a brunette, which was true, in a way— but he’d spent half his life dyeing it blond, so, half a lie, maybe.
Oh, but who cares, really? What was that man going to do— ask for his ID right before they got into it? Were they even going to? Should he text him first? Would that make it too obvious that he’s sex starved? He doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, because he’s already at the door, and he sighs at relief when he notices it’s unlocked and Mr. Coxon is still in there, hunched over his laptop like a shrimp.
God, he’s so pathetic. That’s so hot. Right— if he’s being honest, he wasn’t doing this favour for Liam purely because he needed the lift home. He was also guilty of harbouring a terrible, gross crush on his photography professor.
He’d first noticed him on the first day of his second semester, last year. He remembers feeling quietly amused by his outdated little bowlcut, and then going soft over the enormous nerdy glasses, then getting caught up on the nervousness of his voice, the high-pitched tone of it (how had this bloke ever become a teacher, being this nervous?), and then it had been the mysterious misery behind his big brown eyes, and then, finally, he’d realised he hadn’t taken in a single word of the lecture, because he’d spent the entire hour staring at him like a complete maniac.
“What an interesting creature he is, Mr. Coxon,” Alex had said, taking a drag of his cigarette— they’d been sprawled out on the grass, having a break. “He gave me the impression of someone who wandered into the wrong classroom and just decided to wing it.”
“Gave me the impression of a forty year old virgin,” Liam added, struggling while he tried to roll a spliff, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. “Fuckin’ hell— This paper’s useless.”
“I don’t know, I thought he was rather sweet— Like a nervous chihuahua,” Damon said, chewing on the side of his fingernail before reaching for the spliff . “Like something you take home in a box with airholes in it.”
“I’ll poke a hole in you if you don’t get your disgusting fingers away from my weed,” Liam said, slapping his hand away.
He remembers feeling strangely excited at having something worth looking at each week, because, as came as a surprise to absolutely no one, film school was packed to the rafters with pretentious bastards and women in relationships. What was he supposed to do, then? He’d been fairly popular at school (when he wasn’t getting beat up for being too pretty) and had half expected uni to be more of the same— but he’d been wrong. So, odd as it might seem to everyone else, he was genuinely grateful for the eye candy.
He opens the door carefully, and it creaks, making Mr. Coxon look up like a startled deer.
“Sorry,” Damon smiles, “Liam forgot something, I think it’s… oh, there, got it," he says, half-jogging over to the lectern Liam had stood behind during their portfolio presentation. Liam had chucked them there at the start, because he was one of the only people in their year with a car, and even though it was battered and old, he did love to show it off.
“Oh, that’s— Yeah, you don’t wanna lose those,” Mr. Coxon says (Graham, was it?), giving him an awkward little smile, pushing his glasses up his nosebridge, which was a slightly manic little habit that Damon had clocked from the very first day, and for some reason it made him want to kiss that old man so hard his glasses would go flying clean off his face.
“Yeah, bit of an airhead, that Liam,” Damon chuckles, and he’s almost at the door when Graham’s voice stops him: soft, polite as ever.
“Wait— I’ve actually been meaning to have a word with you. Won’t keep you for long,” Graham says, in a tone so deferential that anyone walking past would’ve assumed Damon was the one in charge. That man really needs to learn to project, he thinks. “So, uhm— As you know, based on how your portfolio went today, you’d be failing my class at the moment.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Damon replies, leaning on the doorway, half fantasising about something straight out of a porno, a ‘special assignment’ of sorts. He has to bite back a grin at the thought.
“Well, yours and Liam’s photographs were actually rather decent compared to some of the other’s, so I’m thinking of giving you an alternative assignment to replace that grade. It would be a bit more demanding, of course— But it’s either that, or sitting the exam at the end of term,” Graham says, and he’s halfway to pushing his glasses up again before he realises they’re already sitting perfectly on his nose.
“What’s the assignment?” Damon asks, scratching his cheek and stuffing Liam’s keys into his trouser pockets— you know, just in case he ends up taking them off soon, so he won’t go and forget them again.
“Back in my university days, we did this one assignment— It was quite fun, I think you’d enjoy it. So, what you have to do is recreate a classic painting, you know, getting the lighting and the composition right, as well as the background elements and so on.” Oh, bummer. Trousers stay on, then. “You get to choose the painting yourself. How does that sound?”
Damon gives it a moment’s thought, and the idea of studying for a photography exam sounds exhausting, given he’s forgotten what shutter speed does and still isn’t entirely sure what a light meter’s for— so his mind’s made up.
“Yeah, we’ll take it.”
“Don’t you want to check with Liam first?” Graham asks, but Damon’s already decided.
“No, he’d say the same,” he says, and flutters his eyelashes at Graham, which was a flirty habit he hadn’t grown out of. “Cheers, Mr. Coxon. When’s it due?”
“I’ll give you three weeks… given you’ll need time to sort the scenery and all that. Oh— And keep the editing to a minimum. Try to send me the RAW file, if you can,” Graham says, eyes on his laptop, apparently immune and unmoved by Damon’s charms.
“Right— Cheers,” Damon says, giving the doorframe a little pat on his way out and heading back down to Liam, who’s waiting on the bonnet of his car with a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lips.
“What took you so long, mate? I’ve been stood here for six fuckin’ hours,” Liam complains, holding his hand out for his keys, but Damon tosses them at him instead, and he manages to catch them mid air, almost dropping them.
“Oh, nothing much— Just sorted us a lovely little deal to get our grade fixed,” Damon smirks, smug, sliding into the passenger seat the moment Liam unlocks the car. Liam gets in, frowning, and turns the ignition, and Damon has always wondered how he manages to smoke without ever taking the cigarette out of his mouth, no hands involved.
“How? Did you give him a blowie?” Liam asks, pulling out of the uni car park. “Did his cum taste like a Greggs quid coffee?”
“No. More like the three quid one,” Damon says, struggling to get his backpack off now that he’s already done his seatbelt up. “It’s just a stupid assignment. We’ll knock it out in no time— I’ll fill you in back at the flat,” he says, popping open the glove box and fishing out his favorite CD to stick in the player.
Liam grumbles and complains about his music choices, but Damon couldn’t care less, because his focus is on his phone, and the fact that it’s just buzzed in his pocket. He’s grateful for Liam’s road rage (Oi— Use your mirrors, you bald headed knob,), because his reaction would’ve given his little secret away.
Tweedo: Hey, sorry for not texting today
Tweedo: Been rather busy
He glances over at Liam, who’s still going on, and starts clicking away at his Blackberry.
Me: thats ok i was busy too
Me: was it work? what do u do btw?
“I think we should stop and grab a pizza on the way back,” Liam says, talking around his cigarette, so it comes out all muffled. “Noel sent the money back he owed me— He might be coming to stay soon, and he gets all bitchy when I haven’t got a proper bed for him, so you’ll have to take the sofa…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Damon mumbles, too busy reading Tweedo’s reply. What’s the deal with that name, by the way? He’ll have to get a proper one out of him at some point. He cannot picture himself getting hard over the thought of shagging someone called Tweedo.
Tweedo: School teacher
Tweedo: Nothing interesting
Me: fun
Me: whats ur name btw?? been meaning to ask
About five minutes later, while Liam’s having a go at himself for taking a wrong turn toward the Domino’s, Damon gets a reply, and he has to bite back a laugh at how obviously made up the name is. But he can’t blame him, given he’s been planning on using a fake one himself.
Tweedo: Leslie
Leslie: May I know yours?
His eyes drift to the glove box he’d forgotten to shut, and spots a copy of one of many books Liam had never got round to finishing, and decides to borrow the author’s name.
Me: gabriel, like the angel :b
Me: nice 2 meet U then Leslie
Leslie: Nice meeting you too :·)
He grins at the little nose on the emoji, and has to put his phone away when Liam nudges his arm, because they’ve apparently been sat in the Domino’s car park for quite a while now, and Liam’s been waiting, finishing his cigarette. He shoves his phone in his pocket, climbs out of the car, and successfully gets Leslie out of his head the moment Liam suggests they order the pizza with pineapple on it.