Cherevaty sits at a desk, his eyes darting across his lecture notes. It's a bit noisy in the staff room, and he tries to focus, attempting to hammer huge sheets of text into his brain. It feels like he's already memorized every word, but the moment he steps into a classroom, half the topic crumbles in his head into disjointed phrases.
"Hey there, young blood! What's up?"
Cherevaty looks up from his papers and nods politely, taking in the man who just entered. A black T-shirt and sweatpants stand out starkly against the formal style of the other professors, and Vlad instantly realizes exactly which subject this stranger teaches.
"So, you're the one, huh? Vladik?" the man chuckles without malice, throwing Vlad into confusion.
"Excuse me?.."
"Maxim, stop embarrassing the poor guy!" A kind-looking woman looks up from the coffee machine, with which she has been waging an active war for the last fifteen minutes in an attempt to extract her drink. She turns to them with a smile, noticing that after her remark, Cherevaty withdraws even more.
Vlad feels out of place in this tight-knit team, and he's also slightly angry at the circumstances: if even other teachers don't take him seriously, what can he expect from the students?
"Oh, come on," Maxim waves it off. "The students are already buzzing about the new Stats guy." He turns back to Vlad. "Max Levin."
"Vladislav." Cherevaty stands up slightly and shakes the firm hand, unsure how to react.
A teacher without a patronymic? Definitely the PE teacher!
"Yeah, I guessed that much," Levin laughs. "Otherwise, our guys would have nicknamed you something else."
Vlad smiles politely and finally understands the "Vladik" comment. It seems he still has a long, long way to go to earn any authority.
"Maybe I can help you?" He stands up fully, addressing the woman and trying to shake off the awkwardness.
Maybe if he can conquer the coffee machine, he might rise in his colleagues' eyes, at least a little.
"Thank you!" the brunette looks at him with almost pure admiration. "I'm Victoria, by the way. Victoria Raidos."
She introduces herself overly formally, but for Cherevaty, that actually makes it easier. Vlad smiles, genuinely this time, realizing she was clearly desperate for that long-suffering cappuccino, and in her eyes, he has suddenly transformed into a savior.
"By the way, it's better not to try and memorize all the materials so hard," Raidos advises gently. "The very first question from a student will ruin your entire well-thought-out plan."
Cherevaty lowers his eyes, realizing that Victoria is absolutely right. He wants to ask for another piece of advice from the clearly experienced professor, but Raidos dissolves into gratitude as she accepts the long-awaited coffee from his hands and almost immediately rushes off to her class.
"So, how are you settling in?" Maxim finds the right register on the shelf and perches on the edge of the desk where Vlad has settled again.
"Little by little," Cherevaty shrugs.
Despite the teasing at the start and the age difference, Levin somehow gives off the impression of being a kindred spirit. He behaves simply, looks at Vlad in an almost fatherly way, and Cherevaty finds himself involuntarily engaging in the dialogue.
"Listen..." Maxim continues. "If you need anything, just ask, don't be afraid. Our staff is alright in general. Though they are all kind of uptight. I don't get it."
Levin chuckles, and Vlad catches himself thinking that he stops seeing this simple guy as a professor at all. It seems the PE teacher has found a perfect balance: he looks powerful and confident due to his physique, which surely commands respect from students, but he communicates with such ease that Cherevaty himself would happily run to his classes.
Vlad is even a little envious. He is far from possessing all these qualities, and his brain stubbornly advises him to focus on professionalism at the very least. But Cherevaty wants to gain both recognition and sincere interest in his subject from the students quickly, so he can stop wasting a colossal amount of energy on feigned confidence and finally feel it inside.
"And what are the students like here?" Vlad asks with slight awkwardness, even though the conversation has been flowing freely for fifteen minutes. "Is it hard with them?"
"Depends on who," Maxim shrugs. "Most are normal, but you get some difficult characters, of course."
He laughs, and for some reason, Vlad recalls the arrogant brunette from his very first lecture a few days ago.
"Have you taught the fourth years yet?"
"Yes, I had a lecture on Tuesday."
"I assume you've already met Sheps."
Levin chuckles, and Cherevaty swallows nervously at the familiar surname.
"I have..." he answers gloomily and listens carefully to what Maxim says next.
"Typical rich kid. Daddy bought his way in, but apparently cheaped out on the degree itself. That's why he walks around all grumpy, trying to entertain himself with whatever he can during boring classes. With guys like that, there are only two options: either shut them down or make friends."
"Did you choose the second?" Vlad asks with a chuckle.
"I handled the first." Levin's tone sounds almost proud. "But for now, I advise you to try finding common ground. He's a manipulator in a league of his own..."
Cherevaty starts getting angry inside again because he doesn't consider himself weaker than some spoiled brat, but he doesn't have time to object.
The door opens, and an unfamiliar woman with a frowning face peeks into the staff room.
"Maxim, finally! You are impossible to find!" she throws discontentedly. "Come up to my department, please, while you're free."
"Of course, Angelina," Levin answers in a fawning tone and leans in toward Vlad, dropping to a whisper. "Better not to mess with her either. She's a total witch!"
Cherevaty stifles a laugh into his fist at his colleague's expressive face and conspiratorial tone, while Maxim gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder and quickly follows Izosimova.
Vlad's gaze returns to his notes, but Victoria's advice surfaces in his mind, and he decisively gathers the sheets into a pile, shoving them back into his folder. There is still a little less than an hour until the next class, and Cherevaty decides that taking a walk in the fresh air would definitely be more useful. He leaves his things in the office and, grabbing his coat, heads outside.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
"What a day!" Krasnov lights up the moment Oleg, stepping out in front of him, opens the door to the street.
"I should've bet that you'd get your ass ridden in every class today," Sheps laughs with satisfaction. "So, am I gonna hold the door forever?"
Artem rolls his eyes and steps aside, stopping on the porch and blissfully exhaling smoke. A sharp gust of wind rushes in noisily, bending the tree branches closer to the ground, and Vlad almost chokes on the nasty clouds blowing right into his face the moment he steps out of the faculty building.
Cherevaty grimaces and breaks into a cough, glaring at Krasnov with anger, failing to notice Oleg freezing in anticipation behind the glass door.
"Sorry..." Artem says, sounding somewhat doomed.
He's had enough adventures for today, and running into yet another professor is the last thing Krasnov wants.
"By your fourth year, have you still not learned where the designated smoking area is?" Vlad asks in a stern tone after clearing his throat. "I don't remember your surname, but..."
"But do you remember mine?"
Cherevaty flinches at the familiar voice coming from behind him. He takes a deep breath and slowly turns around to meet Sheps's eyes.
The student stands before him with that same arrogant smirk, ostentatiously taking a drag from a thin cigarette and exhaling the sweetish smoke somewhere to the side. Vlad is actually surprised that, given his reaction, the smoke wasn't blown into his face again, because that's exactly the kind of insolence he expected from Oleg, who is clearly trying to provoke him. But Cherevaty thinks the guy just saved them both, because he is barely restraining himself from clenching his fists and betraying his emotions.
"I have too many students to remember," Vlad answers in a level voice. "And so far, you haven't distinguished yourself from the others in any way. Maybe at least during the practical, you'll show what you're capable of."
"I'll show you, don't worry," Sheps narrows his eyes slightly, trying not to show that the damn professor managed to bruise his ego after all.
Cherevaty nods indifferently and walks down the steps, throwing a final remark to Artem over his shoulder:
"Move to the smoking area."
Oleg follows him with a long gaze from under furrowed brows and jerks when Krasnov's fingers snap a few times right in front of his face.
"He owned you again," Artem smirks happily. "By the way, don't forget to take the car to the wash before the exam. I want it clean when I get it."
"Fuck off," Sheps snaps, tossing his half-smoked cigarette right onto the steps with a sharp motion, while Krasnov just laughs, riling his friend up even more.
Oleg trudges to the smoking spot after him, trying to come up with a new provocation the professor definitely wouldn't have an answer for, but that stern voice still echoing in his head makes it hard to think straight. Sheps doesn't want to admit that he isn't the only one setting the rules in this game, but he can't deny that this dynamic only turns him on more.
"You're gonna chew your lips off," Artem mocks openly, pulling his friend out of his thoughts. "I don't even want to imagine what you're thinking about."
"What are you smoking today?" Oleg locks his gaze on the cigarette in Krasnov's hands, ignoring the jab.
"Bond Blue..." Artem frowns in confusion. "Why?"
Sheps pats his pockets, pulls out a pack of expensive cherry cigarettes, twirls it thoughtfully in his hands, and then holds it out to Krasnov:
"Wanna swap?"
"I don't know what you're planning," Artem breaks into a wide smile, "but I already want to see it."
They exchange packs, and Oleg's eyes light up again, letting his friend know that the last class of the day definitely won't be boring.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
Cherevaty hates the smell of cigarettes. He never understood what people find in this stupid habit. How people choose to ruin their health is, of course, their own business, but Vlad desperately loathes it when that personal choice starts affecting others.
He walks into the nearest coffee shop by the faculty, hoping that at least a sweet coffee can drown out the nasty bitterness at the back of his throat. Cherevaty was pissed off by the inconsiderate student who couldn't be bothered to take a few steps away from the entrance with his damn cigarette, but he was even more pissed off that Oleg saw him in such a state.
Vlad doesn't want to show a single drop of vulnerability. Not to anyone, but especially not to that damn Sheps. He remembers Levin's words and knows for sure he won't choose the second option. Be friends with a rich kid who tries to humiliate him and get the upper hand at every opportunity? No way! Cherevaty is sure he can beautifully put the student in his place, and he really hopes he can contain the irritation that explodes inside him the moment he sees that arrogant smirk on the other man's lips.
By the start of the next class, Vlad calms down completely. He checks the schedule again, sees a practical seminar with the fourth years, and goes up to the third floor with only one thought: the professor hopes this isn't Sheps's group.
The noise in the small classroom gradually dies down as Cherevaty enters right at the bell, as always. He scans the students and, noticing that smoker from the porch, lets out a barely audible sigh: it is that group after all. But the chair next to Krasnov is vacant.
Vlad says hello, looks over all the desks again, and, convinced that the source of his nervous tension didn't show up for this class, relaxes. He approaches his desk, but doesn't get a chance to sit down: the door opens, and Sheps saunters into the room.
"Sorry I'm late."
The phrase sounds insincere and almost mocking, and Cherevaty realizes he can forget about any peace for the next hour and a half. Oleg shoots him a sly look and leisurely heads toward the front row, but Vlad takes a step forward and decisively holds out his hand.
His palm presses against Sheps's chest, and the student slowly looks up, feeling his breath hitch instantly. They are standing almost flush against each other, and both feel trapped. Oleg can't move because the other man's hand feels burning hot even through his shirt, and Cherevaty curses his impulsiveness, having absolutely no idea how to get out of this situation in front of a whole group of students.
"No one enters my class after the bell," he grates out coldly, not breaking eye contact.
Sheps looks at him somewhat unusually—a bit less brazenly, but with an almost insane fire in his eyes—and Vlad suddenly notices the dark pupils dilating opposite him.
"As you can see, I came in," Oleg manages a forced smirk.
Panic rises inside Cherevaty. He feels over a dozen pairs of eyes staring at them in shock from the side, and only now does he notice that Sheps reeks impossibly of the nasty smell of those hated cigarettes.
His free hand clenches into a fist, and Vlad tries with all his might to suppress the insane desire to punch that arrogant face.
Oleg waits impatiently for his answer but has absolutely no idea how to continue his provocation because his head is empty except for thoughts of a kiss. And when Cherevaty finally yields, Sheps doesn't understand who actually lost.
Vlad slowly exhales and lowers his hand, his palm sliding down the other man's torso. His fingers accidentally graze the waistband of the trousers, and Oleg visibly flinches, while Cherevaty instantly tilts his chin up, like finding new strength for the struggle ahead.
"Well then..." he smiles condescendingly. "Since you lack manners, maybe you'll at least gain some knowledge. Take a seat."
The professor gestures for him to take the empty seat, and Sheps turns away sharply, angrily licking his dry lips. He almost collapses into the chair next to Artem, glaring from under his brows at Vlad's back as he already writes the topic title on the board. With sweaty hands, Oleg unsuccessfully tries to open a water bottle to take at least one sip and come to his senses.
Cherevaty desperately wants to turn around and see Oleg's reaction to his bold gesture, to understand if he imagined what those light eyes were almost screaming. He grips the marker tighter in his hand, writing letters on the board in neat handwriting, and tries not to think about what to do next if he really is the target of all Sheps's provocations.
Vlad gradually immerses himself in the lesson and even feels a certain satisfaction that Oleg, sitting in the front row right before him, is solving problems along with everyone else, no longer trying to mess with him.
"Do you get any of this shit?" Artem asks in a whisper, leaning toward his friend, but he doesn't react, staring intently at yet another formula.
Krasnov elbows Sheps in the side, forcing him to tear his eyes away from the notebook.
"What?"
"Ask your Vladik how to solve this," Artem frowns in annoyance. "I don't need any extra problems."
Oleg looks at him for a few seconds and breaks into a smirk, lighting up with a new idea. He looks around, makes sure everyone is staring at their notes with suffering expressions trying to solve the next problem, and decisively raises his hand.
"Is something unclear?" Cherevaty asks quietly, trying not to attract the attention of the whole room.
"Could you help with the formula?"
Sheps asks somewhat timidly, looking with innocent eyes, and Vlad is thrown off completely when he hears an uncharacteristic "please" added to it. He has absolutely no idea what to expect from this guy, so Cherevaty doesn't risk calling him to the board. He clearly sees the mask on that perpetually arrogant face and feels that this is just the calm before another storm, but he can't act unprofessionally and refuse to help a student.
Artem reluctantly peers into his friend's notebook and prepares to listen carefully as the professor stops near Oleg and leans in slightly, reading the problematic formula.
"You mixed up the variables," Vlad starts explaining calmly, trying diligently to ignore the cigarette smell soaking the other man's shirt. "It should be the other way around here."
He takes Oleg's pen, draws a small arrow on the page, and suddenly freezes, shooting a shocked look at Sheps. A hand slowly slides up the inner thigh of his trousers, moving higher from the knee, and Cherevaty panics, trying to figure out how to react so that not even Krasnov notices.
"But why is it the other way around?" Oleg asks without emotion, staring blindly at the notebook and trying not to get distracted by his own skyrocketing pulse.
"Yeah, I don't get it either," Artem pipes up and immediately raises his eyebrows, noticing Vlad jerk at that exact second.
"I covered this in the lecture," Cherevaty squeezes out with difficulty and quickly retreats to his desk, trying to process what just happened.
They don't look at each other, but Sheps bites his lip in satisfaction, realizing the provocation succeeded brilliantly. He returns to the problem and doesn't look up again, even when he hears his last name during the roll call at the end of the class.
Immediately after the bell, the room begins to empty quickly. Krasnov feels like his brain has literally boiled from these formulas, and he is one of the first to leave for a smoke, not waiting for the leisurely Oleg.
But Sheps hesitates. He tries to figure out if he can handle his own maneuver, because the desire to touch Vlad again—and much more openly this time—is almost eating him alive from the inside. His light eyes follow the last students crowding at the door, and Oleg rises from his chair, deciding to leave after all.
Cherevaty slowly packs his things, in a daze. Sheps's latest stunt left no doubt that in his very first week on the job, Vlad has found himself in the most absurd situation. A student is openly sexually harassing him, but doing it so sophisticatedly that Cherevaty has absolutely no desire to run and complain to the Dean. He doesn't consider himself a gambling man, but he can't help feeling a frantic desire to tame Oleg himself.
He wants to prove to this golden boy that not everything he desires will just fall into his lap. And that far from everyone falls for such provocations. Although Vlad, of course, is falling for it—just not in the way Sheps wants.
He snaps out of his thoughts, noticing that Oleg is already heading for the exit, and narrows his eyes slightly, peering at the black silhouette. Cherevaty smirks, takes a few wide strides to overtake the student, and abruptly turns around near the door, planting his hand against the doorframe to block his path.
Sheps recoils at the unexpected gesture and looks up with intrigued eyes, meeting a confident gaze.
"Stop acting like you're allowed to do whatever you want," Vlad starts sternly, and Oleg instinctively adjusts his shirt collar, feeling a sudden flush of heat.
"If you didn't like it, why did you just stand there silently?" Sheps asks venomously.
"I said, stop it."
Cherevaty's voice drops lower, and Oleg slowly licks his lips, breaking into a brazen smile.
"Have you finally dropped the formalities, Vladislav Vitalievich?"
"Listen here, rich kid," Vlad leans into his face, speaking with open disdain and grimacing slightly at the smell of cigarettes, while Sheps can't think of anything but the other man's lips, staring at them without even hiding his gaze. "My advice to you: don't play with fire. You'll get burned."
Their eyes meet for just a second, and Cherevaty leaves instantly, having the last word, leaving behind an insanely aroused Oleg in the empty classroom.
──── ♛ ♙ ♛ ────
"Irisha, where are you rushing off to?" Sheps catches up to the petite brunette, lazily draping his arm around her shoulders.
He's still shaking slightly after the talk with Vlad, but Oleg thinks this state plays right into his hands at the moment.
"Home," Ignatenko smiles, looking up at him playfully. "Got any better offers?"
"Just a question for now," Sheps replies, matching her tone. "Does the best class rep happen to have Vladik's number?"
Ira is slightly surprised and slows down, peering intently into his burning eyes.
"Well..." she drawls mysteriously. "Let's say I do."
"Mind sharing?" Oleg asks in a sultry, low voice.
"Actually, I don't give out professors' personal numbers..." she says with feigned seriousness, then adds a bit quieter: "...just like that..."
Sheps chuckles and stops in the middle of the hall, smoothly sliding his hand down to her waist. Oleg noticed back in their first year that Ignatenko had the hots for him. He paid her almost no attention, but the girl never lost hope, and every few months, after breaking up with yet another boyfriend, she would start flickering before Sheps's eyes again.
Oleg isn't interested in girls like her. Cute face, body's nothing to complain about, but sadly, she evokes zero emotion. Plus, Ira herself looks at his car with much more admiration than at him, which makes Sheps even more bored with her.
"And what is it you want?" He presses the girl a little closer, playing his role perfectly.
"Dinner," Ignatenko answers with a clear hint, tilting her head coquettishly to the side.
She hasn't given up her consistent attempts to finally drag the handsome rich guy into bed for a long time, and she isn't going to miss a single opportunity, using this chance that just fell into her lap.
Oleg runs his eyes over her strict, short dress, deliberately delaying his answer, and it seems to Ira that after a look like that, she definitely won't hear a "no". The girl straightens her shoulders slightly, already anticipating a sultry evening, unaware that inside Sheps's head there is only a snow-white turtleneck and those damn lips that force him to continue the game using any means necessary.
"Okay," Oleg answers on an exhale. "Text me your address. Be ready by ten."
He smiles and heads for the exit, tossing carelessly over his shoulder:
"I'm waiting for the number."
The message with the coveted number arrives almost immediately, the moment he gets into his car. All the way home, Sheps runs through options for his next move in his head but can't settle on a single one. Vlad reacts unpredictably, managing to throw even Oleg off balance, and he has no idea how to win the next round. And today, Sheps became thoroughly convinced that this game wouldn't end nearly as quickly as he had assumed. Neither of them intends to give up, and that only adds a wild thrill, which for Oleg is now almost inseparable from arousal.
He finally chooses a new strategy and kills the entire evening preparing and trying to calculate possible outcomes. The guy doesn't believe for a second that Cherevaty will simply ignore him.
A phone call distracts him from the gripping chess match in his mind, and he chuckles, looking at the screen. It's just past ten.
"Yeah, Irisha."
"Sheps, what the hell is this?!" The voice on the line sounds irritated.
Ignatenko stands in the middle of her living room in a sheer robe, practically snarling with rage. She wasted hours on makeup, hair, carefully choosing lingerie, and arranging tacky candles all over the room to create an intimate atmosphere. In her hands, Ira holds a delivery bag from a restaurant that a courier just handed to her.
"What do you mean?" Oleg asks with a laugh. "You asked for dinner, so I ordered it for you. Bon appétit."
A stream of choice profanities bursts from the speaker, but Sheps, pleased with his stunt, immediately ends the call. He returns to his plan and decisively opens a chat on his phone with the contact saved as Vladik.