Akari often forgets that Hirato is six years his junior. The commander has experienced things that would mature even the most intransigent of adolescents, after all.
There are times, however, when Hirato is no better than said adolescents. In fact, he's always been an odd mixture of impish and dutiful. This contradictory nature has baffled the doctor since they met.
All Kuronomei holds Akari-sensei in awe. The staggeringly young lecturer is a prodigy of incalculable genius. He's also known throughout the academy as a frustratingly tough instructor whose capacity for tolerance is directly relational to the intellectual prowess of his interlocutor. Despite this, students crowd his classrooms. The professor's lectures are legendary. Lingering just beyond the searing brilliance contained therein is wittiness only perceptible to the most astute. Furthermore, he possesses an enigmatic, otherworldly beauty that inspires all manner of daydreaming.
Akari recognizes as much, of course. Actually, his standoffishness is a farce designed to repel besotted students. This strategy rarely fails until he's asked to guest lecture for the Circus Course.
The strawberry blond has gone through the finer points of emergency ID repair when he notices that one pupil appears entirely too engrossed in a hologram for note-taking. His presentations may be masterful, but they're certainly not mesmerizing. Clearly, this disrespectful idiot is passing messages in class. Akari slinks forward, hands clasped behind his back, vermillion gaze trained on his inky-haired target. Suddenly, he slams his palms against the irredeemable lout's desk. Wily violet orbs widen behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"Am I not entertaining enough for you?" he inquires. Absolute silence abounds.
The youth smirks. Small though it is, this gesture causes the researcher's fingers to curl against dark wood. In response, a confident hand settles atop them, thumb brushing along his skin playfully. Novices might have bristled; Akari's only tell is the minute tightening of his brows.
He's wondering why this insolent… bastard is audacious enough to flirt when the fool speaks. "Quite the contrary, Akari-sensei. You are positively riveting." Inappropriate but politely-articulated. Exceedingly so on both indices.
Gasps resound. The blond ignores them and looms over Hirato threateningly. "Then pay attention," he growls, feeling rather unsettled at such forwardness. "Or get out."
Some things never change.
Akari is reporting to Round Table. In his periphery, Hirato surreptitiously drops an ink pen and ducks to retrieve it. Roguery is at work, the physician knows, but he continues, bemoaning the fact that he is now bereft of writing instrument.
Below, Hirato's hand circles his ankle. A gloved thumbnail scratches along delicate flesh with enough force to momentarily derail genius thought processes. Next, he senses that electric touch gliding up his clothed leg. The doctor clears his throat and stifles an exasperated sigh, realizing precisely how scandalous this looks: Hirato under the table, Akari losing his composure, and Tsukitachi grinning lasciviously.
Once they're dismissed, he rounds furiously on his lover. "Do you ever grow up, you childish jerk?" He's determined to rage mercilessly when Tokitatsu's text message interrupts:
Should I separate you and Hirato next time? ;)
Immaturity is a genetically-determined trait, Akari concludes. He has the evidence to prove it.
NB: For maripas, who requested a training academy flashback. I know this isn't a prolonged flashback, but I hope you still like it.
Also, pardon the fail editing. I've been wakeful for 30ish hours now.