13: Pick an OTP, write a drabble/mini fic on a kiss you'd like to see.

for luciferblogging

I went with some random AU where Chuck is a professor.

...

"Michael?" Chuck straightened his glasses, squinting as though he couldn't quite believe his eyes. He paused in stacking up the class' homework.

Michael let the door close behind him, careful to prevent it from making a loud noise, and came closer to Chuck's desk. He held his hand out and said, "It's been a long time, Professor Shurley." His hand shake was firm, and his skin warm. He didn't sit. Seemed to be waiting for something—a reaction, maybe.

In which case, Chuck didn't disappoint.

"Jesus Christ, you look like an underwear model."

Chuck realized what he'd just said and just about smacked himself in the face, red. "I mean..." He sighed. "Just that... you're much more... How do I put this...?"

"Chiseled, perhaps?" Michael's expression remained neutral, unsmiling but for his eyes, twinkling gray, amused.

"Yeah, something like that." Chuck shook his head. He leaned forward in his chair. Briefly reached out to straighten a little notepad near his elbow and tapped his fingers against the wood of the desk. "You, uh..." He half-smiled. "You were a lot skinnier when I taught American Lit, that's for sure." He let out a nervous little laugh.

Michael practically grinned, white and bright and charming. "To be fair, it's been almost ten years."

"Don't I know it." Chuck grimaced. "Look at me, I've got gray hairs!" He jabbed a fingertip against his temple, and rolled his eyes. Plucked his glasses from his face, folded them, set them on the desktop and said, "Anyway, how can I help you? You need, uh... a recommendation for a job, or something?" He folded his hands neatly in front of him. Straightened his posture, and gained a certain air of professionalism and composure he'd lacked just a few moments earlier. Though he still fidgeted.

Still smiling, Michael leaned against the desk. "Nothing so... administrative... as that." He caught Chuck's eye. Just slightly bit his lip, near the corner, as he grinned again. Barely seemed conscious of it—a little tic, like Chuck's twitchy fingers.

"Oh. Oh God." Chuck flushed pink. "Are—are you? Are you hitting on me?"

Michael shrugged smoothly. (A movement very similar to his older brother's—his older brother, who worked in the same department as Chuck, coincidentally.) "Depends," he said. "Is it working?"

Chuck covered his face with his hands. Ran his fingers back through his hair and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for half a second. Then decided he should say something. "Well, you—you're really... charming... honestly. So. Yeah? Kinda. I mean..." He foundered for something more articulate. More intelligent. All he got out was, "You're kinda really hot."

He could have kicked himself in the eye.

But Michael just let out this quiet, low laugh, and flashed his perfect smile, and pushed a stray strand of hair from his face. "Thanks. You're not so bad, yourself. For an old guy."

"Hey!"

Michael seemed on the verge of winking—not that he was the type to ever do something so corny—and his expression was brightly amused. "I'm serious. You're... very cute." He pressed the palms of his hands against the desk more firmly. Seemed about to speak for a moment, then gave up and leaned forward, and pressed a quick kiss to Chuck's lips.

Chuck felt himself turn scarlet. He stammered unintelligibly for a minute. Finally got out a soft, "Oh jeez."

Still smiling, Michael took a step back. "If you want me to leave, I will."

"But?"

"But..." Michael gave that fluid shrug of his again. "I hope you want me to stay..."

Chuck sat very still in his chair for a few drawn out seconds.

Finally, "I don't put out until the third date."

Michael laughed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Well then," He spoke quietly. Low. "How do you feel about coffee, tomorrow night? Say... after dinner, around eight?"

"Ummmm..." Chuck pretended to check his calendar, when in truth he couldn't have cared less about prior plans. "Sounds good." He smiled, still blushing. "Sounds really good."

"Good." Michael grinned his supermodel grin again, and then he left.

Chuck sat in silence for at least five minutes before slumping in his chair, resting his forehead against the cool wood top of his desk. "Oh God." He rubbed his face. His temples. "Good thing he graduated like five years ago. Jesus. I'm gonna go on a date with a... with a ken doll. God." He couldn't help but smile to himself, though. Truth be told... well, Michael really was charming, and handsome, and well-built, and smart...

A coffee date would be fun.