Chapter 14: Study Throne
The walk to the library was a blur of cool night air and the distant sounds of campus life. Rohan’s mind was still reeling, the number one-point-two million echoing in his skull like a stuck buffer. He kept glancing at Arjun’s profile, illuminated by passing streetlights, looking for some sign of the seismic shift he felt. But Arjun was just Arjun, humming a tuneless song, his hands shoved in the pockets of his team jacket.
“You’re quiet,” Arjun said, his voice cutting through the hum of Rohan’s thoughts.
“Just… processing,” Rohan managed. “Algorithms are easier. They have predictable outputs.”
Arjun laughed, the sound easy and warm. “People are predictable, too. You do great work, you get rewarded. Simple.”
Nothing about it felt simple.
The library’s automatic doors hissed shut behind them, sealing them in a tomb of quiet. The air was dry and carried the scent of aged paper and lemon-scented cleaner. Their footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet as they made their way to the reserved study rooms in the back. Arjun swiped his card and pushed the door to their usual cubicle open.
Before Rohan could step inside, a strong arm hooked around his waist. He was lifted, the world tilting, his textbook clutched uselessly to his chest. In one smooth motion, Arjun sat in the worn swivel chair and deposited Rohan squarely in his lap.
“There,” Arjun murmured, his breath warm against Rohan’s ear. “My little wife needs her study throne.”
The word wife sent a jolt through him, equal parts embarrassment and a strange, secret thrill. “Don’t call me that,” he whispered, though he made no move to get up. The solid warmth of Arjun’s thighs beneath him was anchoring.
“Why not? You’re fussy, you need looking after, and you’re ridiculously smart.” Arjun’s arms wrapped around his middle, holding him close. “Seems accurate.”
Rohan let out a shaky sigh and cracked open his algorithms textbook. The pages were a sea of dense pseudocode and graphs. He tried to focus on the problem set, on the flow of Dijkstra’s algorithm, but it was useless. Arjun began to press soft, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck, each one a tiny, distracting circuit breaker.
His concentration shattered. The lines of code on the page blurred into meaningless symbols. “Arjun,” he breathed, his pen slipping from his fingers. “I have to… this is due tomorrow.”
“So work,” Arjun said, his voice a low rumble against Rohan’s skin. He didn’t stop. His lips traced a path from the sensitive spot behind Rohan’s ear down to the collar of his shirt. One hand slid up from his stomach to rest over his heartbeat, which was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
“How am I supposed to concentrate on graph theory when you’re doing that?”
“Multitasking. It’s a key skill in the modern workforce. Consider it professional development.” Arjun’s teeth grazed his earlobe, and Rohan shivered, a full-body tremor that had nothing to do with the library’s air conditioning.
He leaned back into the solid comfort of Arjun’s chest, his head falling against a broad shoulder. The textbook was a lost cause. He watched Arjun’s free hand, the one not splayed across his chest, idly tracing patterns on the denim of his own thigh. Those hands could rewrite a multi-million-dollar ledger system or effortlessly lift him off the ground. The dichotomy was dizzying.
“That contract,” Rohan started, his voice barely a whisper. “The crypto one. Was it… hard?”
Arjun stilled his ministrations for a moment, considering. “The code was tricky. Their security was a joke. But the logic? It was just a big, messy puzzle. Like that knot theory problem you explained to me last week, but with more zeros at the end.” He resumed his lazy kisses, as if discussing a seven-figure payday was as mundane as commenting on the weather. “It’s just patterns, Rohan. You see them better than anyone.”
The praise, so casually given, warmed him more than the physical contact. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation. The frantic pace of his heart began to slow, settling into a steady, synchronized rhythm with Arjun’s breathing. The hum of the library’s ventilation system faded into a distant white noise.
For a long moment, there was only the soft sound of their breathing and the gentle pressure of Arjun’s lips. The anxiety about his new job, the shock over Arjun’s wealth, the immense, shapeless future waiting for them both—it all receded, quieted by the simple, physical reality of being held.
Then Arjun shifted, his voice a soft murmur against his skin. “We should get you a better chair for your new desk at Aether. One that spins. This is good, but the mobility could be improved.”
Rohan let out a weak, breathy laugh, his eyes still closed. He knew the studying was over. The algorithms would have to wait. Right now, the only code he could process was the one being written by the press of Arjun’s lips and the steady, grounding beat of his heart, a silent, compelling function that promised, for now, to handle everything.