~~Hey! First time writing smut for this fandom, hope it's up to par. May add a second chapter if people are interested! Don't be afraid to leave me a review, I'd love to hear what you thought.

I don't own Professor Layton or any of the characters in this fanfic. Level 5 does, and I'm glad they do.

No spoilers are IN this fanfic, but the ship itself is kinda a spoiler. But whatever Layton doesn't know can't hurt him, right?

Enjoy!~~

Phong Gi was...cozy, Hershel supposed. It was much too primitive for his liking, but the people were kind and he was growing fond of their antics, if he were to be quite honest on the matter. Luke and Emmy were exceedingly fond of them, as well, and he knew that it was important to keep them happy—especially a boy Luke's age—in these exceedingly dangerous times, nonetheless. So, when Luke and Aurora had insisted on staying the night with the locals, and with Emmy fully on their side, who was he to disagree?

A gentleman tries not to cause a fuss, Hershel chanted during dinner. He sat next to Luke who was, in a very ungentlemanly manor, devouring the large hunk of meat that had been set in front of him. While he would like to remind Luke of his standing, he simply couldn't imagine ruining the poor boy's fun. So he sat there, amused, watching the circle of people all seemingly conversing as one, obnoxious to the fact that there were no less than twenty separate conversations going around. He watched as Chestnut switched from conversing with Button, who was sat right beside him, to almost verbally abusing Blewitt, seated about halfway around the circle.

It was all in good fun, and Morel's constant laughter was the background track for the evening's fun. Hershel had barely touched his food because, unlike Luke, he had been given a share of a ghastly smelling stew. It was enough to make his stomach curl…and he was sure everyone was too engrossed in their conversations to notice his lack of appetite. Hershel also found himself engrossed (particularly Aurora attempting to answer Button's questions about the jewel on her wrist) that he almost missed Desmond's grand disappearance. Hershel assumed that he had gotten fed up with Amanita's affectionate talk of his hair and had decided to excuse himself and head back to his ship. It was obvious to Hershel that Desmond was fuming, holding back the bitter words that he, no doubt, wanted to oppose onto Amanita. Hershel watched him make his way to the Bostonius, muttering vaguely all the way there.

"Psst. Professor!"

Blinking, Hershel turned his attention to his apprentice. "What is it, Luke?"

In his haste to watch Desmond, Hershel had missed out on a part of the conversation, it seemed. Luke had wide, gleaming eyes, and Aurora seemed just as excited. "Well, can we?" Luke's excited plea brought his eyes back to the young boy, an embarrassed chuckle playing off his lips.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch the initial question, my dear boy."

"We've been invited to stay in the mushroom houses, professor!" Aurora's face was aglow with excitement, and if that wasn't enough to let them do as the pleased, he didn't know what was.

"If you've been invited, it would be rather rude to decline, now wouldn't it?"

Luke was practically beside himself, and Aurora clapped excitedly, both of them immediately chatting with those around them. Who would be staying with whom, including bickering from Button who was very adamant to not be left out of the endeavor.

"What about the two Professors, though?" Emmy was the voice of reason, but Hershel would have rather if she had left him out of all this.

"Yeah! The Professor needs to stay with me!" Luke immediately huffed up, making Hershel chuckle a little more. It was Emmy who responded before he could, causing another gentle set of chuckles to fall from Hershel's lips.

"It's so kind of you to take in Professor Sycamore. I'll gladly take Professor Layton in with me."

Luke was angry about that, and was surely about to whine loudly enough to help a stranded man in the forest find the hidden village. While that may have turned out nice for such a man, the thought was purely hypothetical and Hershel had wanted to keep the peace among them. "Professor Sycamore and myself can stay in the Bostonius for the time being. A little space could do us both well, and I would rather like to have a chat with him." With a cup of tea, perhaps.

Crestfallen, Luke nodded gently. Hershel took a deep breath, eyeing Emmy in particular. "I leave them in your care."

"You can leave it to me, Professor!"

After patting Luke's shoulder and handing him his bowl of foul smelling stew, Hershel stood up, waving a hand to the group, only a few of them actually seeing the gesture. "Have a good night." Nodding and turning, Hershel left the warmth of the well-lit circle of friends, and walked along the small path to the awaiting ship. He couldn't say that he was fond of the threatening forest around them—especially at night. The sounds of chatting and laughter started to fade as Hershel crossed into the ship.

As he entered, however, a different source of laughter rung out.

"What are you saying, Raymond? Ohoho, you're not making sense anymore!"

Whatever Desmond's butler had been talking about, Desmond was having a ball with it.

"Master, please—"

"Oh, speak of the devil! Hershel, make yourself at home!"

Clearing his throat, Hershel suddenly felt in the spotlight. Raymond was hovering over Desmond and he looked very…frazzled. Frazzled and worried. Desmond himself was holding onto a bottle of wine. He was intoxicated.

"I—I seem to be intruding." Hershel shifted to leave, but Desmond bolted out of his seat. The wine sloshed in the bottle, and before he could resist, Desmond had a tight grip on his arm and was pulling him to the ring of couches. Hershel sputtered, attempting to explain that he was merely checking on him and hadn't had a plan to stay. While that wasn't true, seeing the Professor in this state was a bit of a shock for him.

"Nonsense, nonsense." Desmond sat Hershel down, taking the seat next to him. Hershel looked up to Raymond, confused and almost asking for help. "Raymond, another bottle, please. And take the rest of the night off. Hershel and I have some catching up to do."

Raymond hesitated for a moment, but it was only a few seconds before he left to retrieve another bottle. "Professor Sycamore—"

"Now, Hershel, that won't do! If we are to drink together, we should be on a first-name basis, don't you agree?" Desmond put his free arm over the back of the couch, his hand clasping Hershel's opposite shoulder and pulling him a little closer. Desmond's breath was heavy with wine, and while he didn't oppose the casual drinking of alcohol, this was entirely too much.

"If you insist, Desmond. But I'm not sure if joining you is the best idea…"

"I do say so, and while you say that now, I suspect that will change after the first sip of this wine." Hershel looked Desmond over, sighing gently.

"It seems I have no choice."

Raymond returned to them, bowing to the two before handing Hershel a bottle. Inspecting it made Hershel even more apprehensive. "This is expensive wine…I'm sorry to say that I'll have to refuse once again. Even opening it would be a tragedy."

"But for a special occasion?" Desmond chuckled, bringing his bottle to his lips and sipping graciously.

"And what would that be?"

"An…academic night between two renowned men of archaeology."

With a sigh, he handed the wine bottle back to Raymond to uncork. He did so, handing it back to Hershel, who was still apprehensive. Drinking straight out of the bottle was rather…beastly, if he were able to accurately speak his mind. But he had no other choice, it seemed, as both Raymond and the intoxicated Desmond were watching him carefully. He smiled gently, muttering a gentle "Bottoms up, I suppose," before taking a small sip from the bottle.

And the wine was stunning. The flavor burst forth immediately, and Hershel found himself thinking that, as long as he was careful to stave away intoxication, maybe this wouldn't be too bad of an experience. He must have had a smile on his face, because Desmond reacted as if he had said his thoughts aloud.

"Brilliant! I told you, didn't I?" Desmond patted Hershel roughly on the back, shaking his head and laughing obnoxiously. "Raymond, you are no longer needed. You may retire to my study for the night." Hershel offered a smile as Raymond hesitated once more.

"I will make sure he doesn't do anything rash."

Raymond nodded at Hershel's words, but did not look convinced. He left without a word, leaving the two Professors alone with each other and the bottles of wine. It was quiet for a moment, before Desmond's hand reappeared on Hershel's far shoulder.

"Drink up, my friend. The night is short and your bottle is deep." Desmond's eyes were dark behind his shining glasses. Layton couldn't help but feel like him being here was part of a plan of Desmond's, although he felt bad for allowing such thoughts to cross his mind.

"I suppose you are right, Professor—"

"No, no! Desmond."

"My apologies." Layton chuckled as he brought the bottle to his lips, drinking in a little more than he had meant to. The taste was intoxicating enough without the added effect of the alcohol. "This is some wine, Prof—Desmond. I'm surprised you would allow us to drink of such a wondrous vintage."

"As I said, my dear Hershel, it is a night of celebration."

Desmond gestured wildly with his bottle of wine before taking a drastic drink from it. He klinked the bottle against his glasses, and if Hershel had not known he was already intoxicated, he would have felt like Desmond hadn't been used to having the spectacles on.

Wishing the doubting thoughts away (why was he even having them?) Hershel took another all-too-greedy sip of his bottle. Already feeling a blush spread to his cheeks, Hershel knew that he was drinking too much too fast. Clearing his throat, he moved to place the bottle down on the table.

"Hershel, you cannot mean to give up so quickly. You're not even caught up to me yet." Desmond pulled Hershel even closer, swishing the wine left in his bottle. Hershel chuckled, rather nervously, and attempted to scoot away just a tad. It only caused Desmond to hold him tighter still, and he realized that it would be detrimental for him to try that again.

"How can a gentleman keep his promises under the influence, Desmond?"

"To hell with promises! Let us enjoy the night." The wide smile on Desmond's face made Hershel feel a little guilty. Just this once, he told himself, taking a deliberately long drink of the wine. Desmond responded well, chuckling and sipping from his bottle.

Removing his lips from the bottle, a giddy laugh escaped Hershel's lips. "If Luke or Emmy were to see me like this…"

"You needn't worry about that, Hershel. I'm sure we'll have our alone time."

Hershel's mind was far too clouded by now to read further into that sentence. If he had one less drink of wine in him, perhaps he would have noticed the look in Desmond's eyes. But when their eyes met, Hershel merely chuckled and smiled warmly back, chancing another sip of his bottle.

Hershel moved the bottle from his lips, surprised to have Desmond take it from him. Confused, Hershel allowed him to have it and watched as it was placed down on the table in front of them. Hershel smiled nervously, opening his mouth to ask why Desmond had changed his mind so quickly.

He was stopped, as Desmond shifted in his seat, pressing a hand on Hershel's far leg, above the knee. He got close to Hershel's face, making him chuckle. "Oh? Did I spill a bit?" Hershel was wrong, of course, and this revelation made itself utterly clear as Desmond's lips were suddenly against the corner of Hershel's mouth. A gasp rose from Hershel, and he placed his hands on his shoulders in an attempt to move him away, sputtering out Desmond's name in an attempt to rouse him from whatever trance the wine had put him in.

"Oh, Hershel..." The words were extremely fond, and something that scared Hershel. One of Desmond's hands touched Hershel's face, and his lips moved up to brush Hershel's.

"Desmond!" He spoke against him. "The wine has certainly gone to your head…!"

"Nonsense." Desmond moved away, allowing Hershel to scoot slightly away, himself. "It has done nothing to me. Nothing bad, at least." Hershel swallowed, glancing away for a moment.

In that moment, Desmond shifted positions once more. Hershel found himself dazed as Desmond moved himself onto his lap, much as Luke was wont to do.

"Desmond—"

"Hershel." Desmond removed his glasses, placing them on the cushion next to them. Hershel stared as Desmond proceeded to take off his hat, swallowing as it got placed right by the eyeglasses. "Hershel…" This time, the name was not stern, but fond and gentle. Hershel closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Tried to think rationally about this.

And Desmond kissed him. It was forced, completely forced, but still strangely intimate. Desmond's hands were fond, one lightly gripping Hershel's shoulder and the other running through his hair. It was not long until Desmond moved away, and Hershel met his eyes. He searched for something in them, some ulterior motive behind these affections, but Desmond's eyes only held a fondness that Hershel had not realized he had missed so much. Either that, or the wine had truly clouded his judgment.

He came to the conclusion that it was the clouding of judgment, however, when Desmond kissed him once more and, this time, he responded. Hands grasping Desmond's sides, Hershel moved his lips with Desmond's, sloppily returning the kiss. This affection was so warm—so gentle, somehow—that Hershel was welcoming it despite his head telling him not to.

Desmond was excited by the returned kiss, making a small noise against Hershel's lips to signify this. The vibrations from the hum made Hershel's lips tingle, and caused him to take in a sudden breath. Foreign and sudden, it would take getting used to…although, he was sure he should stop this now.

This kiss ended with both of Desmond's arms draped over Hershel's shoulders. He sighed gently, leaning his head onto Hershel's, their temples pressing together.

"Desmond….I w-would never have fathomed…"

"Oh, silence, Hershel. Your insatiable wit will ruin the moment." Shifting away, Desmond reached behind him to grasp one of the bottles of wine. He leaned away from Hershel in order to take a drink, and Hershel couldn't help but note that he didn't seem to swallow.

Placing the bottle back down, Desmond wasted no time in locking lips with Hershel once more. Hershel knew what Desmond had been planning, and was just as quick to part his lips and allow Desmond what he wished. He winced, however, as Desmond's tongue brushed against his lips—as Desmond pushed the foreign wine into Hershel's mouth. Unknowingly, Hershel's tongue met Desmond's, and he fully accepted the wine, enjoying the taste but for a moment before swallowing and enjoying Desmond, instead.

Their tongues twisted together but without the need for haste. It was calculated, as if they were both trying to outwit the other. Hershel smiled at the thought, and Desmond chuckled against him. Just like that, the kiss was deepened, Desmond bringing a neediness to the situation that had been absent before. His hands clutched at Hershel's face, forcing his head back ever so slightly.

Fingers gripping to fabric, Hershel responded just as Desmond had hoped…which only meant that the fun was going to continue on. Desmond removed his hands from Hershel's face, running them down his chest and causing Hershel to shiver and to kiss back with more passion—entwining their tongues more than before as he pulled him a little closer.

Desmond toyed with the hem of Hershel's shirt before dipping his fingers under it, his cold, calm fingertips feeling up the other Professor's chest before resting on either of the dips in his waist. Hershel twitched at the cool touches, but didn't attempt to force him away. At this point he was enjoying this all far too much.

He pulled Desmond's shirt out of his trousers, placing his hands on the small of Desmond's back. He arched back into Hershel's touch, moving away from their heated kiss for a much needed moment of breathing.

Hershel massaged the skin gently, finding that he was feeling a lot less of butterflies with his hands occupied. Desmond chuckled, causing Hershel to look up at him, biting his lip slightly.

"I'm afraid I cannot control myself any longer, Hershel." Desmond's voice was slightly gruff, and it alone was causing Hershel enough problems as it is. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, unsurprised when Desmond leaned with him, giving the exposed skin more than enough attention. He felt shivers raising the hairs on his arms, his heart pounding in more places than one.

When he spoke, his throat sounded dry. "I am afraid I cannot, as well."

Hershel gasped as Desmond took some skin between his teeth, arching his body at the sudden pain searing through him. Suddenly Desmond seemed fueled by his arousal (which, there was no doubt in Hershel's mind that there was indeed an arousal, on both of their parts) and things were now going a bit too fast for Hershel's tastes. In between heated French kisses, Desmond was teasing the man under him. Running his hands over his nipples, his fingernails down Hershel's sides, brushing his palm along the bump in Hershel's trousers…it was all driving him mad. His undergarments were sticking to him with his burning desires, and he was close to losing his temper with the man atop him.

Instead of ruining his reputation of a true gentleman with saying such things aloud, he opted to thrust upwards—into Desmond's own arousal—instead. Desmond hissed in response, moaning gently in the back of his throat.

"Is that your game, Hershel?"

"I just wish you'd hurry on with it, to be honest."

Desmond chuckled, shaking his head. "Never imagined you were to be so…" He thought for a moment, and Hershel groaned gently, wishing he wouldn't drag things out like this. "Impatient."

"Yes. Quite." It was the only response Hershel could muster. With the words, he thrust up against Desmond one more time. Desmond shivered in response, a throaty 'okay' the only vocal response. Hershel's senses were attacked once more as Desmond's lips were upon his again, their tongues locking and Desmond taking control once more. His hand resumed the playful teasing around the hem of Hershel's shirt , but this time they stayed lower. Desmond rubbed the skin just above his trousers, his fingers curving around the dips and curves on his sides.

Hershel lost it, however, grabbing a fist full of Desmond's hair, however, as his pants started to be unbuttoned. The zipper was unzipped and the fabric pulled aside, and Hershel fought Desmond's tongue even stronger than before. Merely the pressure of the man's hand was overloading his senses, and Hershel had to break the kiss, allowing his head to fall back and moaning Desmond's name very lightly.

"Hershel…" Desmond closed his eyes as Hershel's hand fell from his hair, arching as it trailed down his chest. The other hand joined it as Hershel reached Desmond's trousers, letting out a gentle moan and pushing the button out of the way.

They were soon both in similar states, slightly exposed, wet, and being teased by slight, gentle rubbings. Hershel, surprisingly enough, was the first one to cease the teasing, grabbing hold of Desmond through his undergarments and pushing his palm against Desmond's length.

He received a moan in response, a drawn out breath of ecstasy. "Her—Hershel, let's…" Desmond shifted in his seat atop Hershel, standing up and placing his hands on his sides, fingers hooked in his own trousers. Hershel was confused, at first, but understood as Desmond pulled his pants down.

As he stepped out of his own, Hershel tugged at his, arching in order to remove the two rather sticky garments from his body, allowing them to pool at his ankles. He glanced up at Desmond, his eyes catching the man's length. He stared—ungentlemanly, but he couldn't help it—until Desmond started to straddle him once more. Hershel's eyes moved up to Desmond's face, and he let out a held breath. He nodded, and Desmond understood, nodding in return.

"Give me your hand."

Hershel did, and closed his eyes as both of their hands came to tighter around their members, both already slightly slick with precum. Desmond's felt hotter, a lot hotter, and Hershel wondered how he was staying so calm right now.

"Move with me, Hershel."

Suddenly it was intimate again. Desmond's voice was low and close, and Hershel hitched his eyebrows at the feeling in his stomach and arms. A dull pain, that grew stronger with ever huff of Desmond's. Their hands moved in tandem, Desmond coaching Hershel as if he knew the status of his sex life—which wasn't too surprising, given the circumstances.

Hershel moaned Desmond's name. It was strange to hear it and know that he was the one that had mad that drawn out, thick noise, but that wasn't the least of his concerns right now. As their hands sped up, a line of precum added itself to their efforts, making the motions that much more enjoyable.

"O-oh…! Hershel…yes…" Desmond's voice was exceedingly needy. Hershel opened his eyes, catching Desmond staring into them, longingly. Hershel tilted his head forward, allowing Desmond to captivate him further. Their hands moved together, slowly gaining rhythm as they both started to grow hotter. Hershel wasn't as vocal as Desmond was, but he was enjoying it thoroughly, and that was all that mattered.

"A-ah…" Hershel gripped his hand a little tighter, feeling Desmond's hand tighten with him. Pleasure seared through both of their bodies, Hershel's other hand clasping tightly onto Desmond's side. "Des-Desmon…d!" The last part of Desmond's name came out as whiny moan, Hershel closing his eyes once more. Every moan of Desmond's featured Hershel's name—every breath a huff of enjoyment. Desmond was losing control, and that was enough to throw Hershel a bit closer to the edge, as well.

"Oh God, Hershel—I'm afraid—" Desmond's warning was cut off by a rather lengthy moan, and it startled Hershel at first. He stopped moving his hand, causing Desmond to drop his head into the crook of Hershel's neck. "No." The stern words were followed by nips and kisses, and Hershel was quick to move his hand once more with Desmond's, the feeling of the sticky cum on his hand and member causing his breath to hitch.

"Desmond…Desmond! More, pl-please…!" Their hands sped up, Desmond twitching from the constant touches he was still getting. The gentle moans and heavy breaths against Hershel's neck were extremely welcome—and Hershel had not known that Desmond could create a more pleasurable feeling between them in this moment.

That is, until Desmond moved to Hershel's ear. "H-Hershel…oh, my dear Hershel…" He gasped and shivered, hitching his eyebrows as Desmond moved away to captivate him with an extremely innocent kiss.

Hershel opened his mouth to moan, a gentle "A—ah!" coming out against Desmond's lips. His hand locked up and he twitched, unknown tears forming on the corners of his eyes as he came into Desmond's hand. His breathing stopped until he was completely finished, and when it returned every breath was heavy and laborious.

Hershel sniffed, opening his eyes slightly and looking up at a gloating Desmond.

"Oh, now!" Desmond clicked his tongue, bringing his hand to wipe a tear from Hershel's face. "What's this for?"

Hershel was dazed, and it took him a second to register the question. "I…I'm sorry. I hadn't realized…" Desmond stood, allowing Hershel to lean forward a bit and wipe the tears and emotions from his face. Desmond sighed happily, taking stock of the damage.

"We'll both need a new set of clothes."

Hershel looked up at Desmond, then down at himself. "Yes…I am afraid so."

Desmond leaned to retrieve his glasses, putting them back on and flashing Hershel a smile. "I'll get right on cleaning up these. Your shirt's a terrible mess as well—I'm going to need that."

Hershel was dazed, but managed to nod. His head was spinning and he was beginning to doubt exactly how drunk Desmond had been during their little…what had it been, really? Removing his shirt and giving it to Desmond, Hershel watched as the man gathered their clothing and took it away. Probably to Raymond.

Hershel shivered at the thought of Raymond knowing what had transpired here, but he supposed if there was anybody who should know, it was him. It was best that way, he told himself, and dropped the subject.

Desmond quickly returned, having managed to clean himself off and carrying a new set of clothes for both of them. He had a moistened towel in one hand, bringing it to Hershel and cleaning him off as well. Hershel grunted and moaned gently, watching Desmond with hitched eyebrows.

"Sensitive, still?"

Hershel merely nodded, his breathing returning to normal as Desmond moved his hand away. He was still dazed, and felt completely confused as to why Desmond helped him to stand. With help from him, Hershel managed to get dressed and laid back down onto the sofa. His hat would await him in the morning on the table, behind their two nearly empty bottles of wine.