A/N: Thank you so so so so much for your kind support and endless patience, dear Faaaabiiiii I love you very much and I hope you enjoy this one!
Summary: Why can't a professor do his work in peace?
Words: 1.6k
Records: After incorporating three drops of my blood, the fluid evaporated into golden smoke and dissipated with a single breath—the new blood draw will be 25 milliliters instead of three drops. The expected results are—
Knock. Knock.
The sound struck like a fracture through crystal.
Anaxagora's pen stopped mid-stroke. Ink bled slightly into the paper, a tiny, ugly imperfection. His jaw tightened as his mind tried—and failed—to immediately recover the thread he'd been following.
He exhaled sharply through his nose. If he ignored it, he was sure—
Another knock. Louder, insistent.
His fingers curled around the pen until the metal creaked softly in protest under the pressure. The information he had been holding so carefully slipped away, scattering like startled birds, and the loss made something hot flare in his chest.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, his voice low and edged. "Hyacine, I thought I said I did not need anything right now and—"
"Professor, I got a new Dromas plushie!"
His eyebrow twitched at the sound of that voice.
Him again?
Anaxagoras didn't look up at first, the pen hovering just above the page as if sheer willpower could make everyone on the other side of that door disappear. How many times had it been today already? Once would've been tolerable. Twice, unfortunate. But this… this was deliberate. A pattern that existed solely to disrupt him.
Of course he would choose now. Of course it would be during the most delicate phase of his experiment. His fingers tightened around the pen with even more force. Was that idiot simply incapable of recognizing when one was being busy?
He pressed his lips into a thin, rigid line, his eyes fixed on the page even as the words began to blur. The words he was about to write were slipping further away with each passing second. Irritation curled in his chest.
Perhaps, perhaps, if he ignored it, the problem would resolve itself. If he stayed perfectly still, pretending to to be asleep, or dead, surely even an idiot would take the hint and leave.
"Professor Anaxa~"
The sing-song tone of his name snapped the last remaining bit of concentration in two. The pen went down against the desk with a sharp click as Anaxagoras pushed back from it, the chair's legs screeching in protest against the floor. The sound echoed through the room, violent and overwhelming loud.
Slowly, he rose. Every movement tight, restrained only because he was not in the mood to murder someone that night, but now that he thought about it, this damn idiot would probably be a good subject for his experiment.
He opened the door harshly. "It is Professor Anaxagoras for you, damn idiot," he said through gritted teeth. "Can you explain to me just why you keep interrupting me as if I did not have anything else to do but to entertain you?"
He felt even more irked when Phainon grinned at him, showing him a blue Dromas plushie that looked fluffier than what was humanly possible.
"You've been working too much, Professor Anaxa," he said, pushing the plushie against Anaxagoras's chest and making his way into the room. "I think it's time you took a break, don't you think?"
Anaxagoras was speechless. He had given his foolish student too much freedom; he even invited himself into his room as if it were his own house. The professor squeezed the Dromas plushie as he kicked the door shut, his onesie's hat falling off as he turned to face Phainon again.
The idiot was grinning like—like… like a damn idiot!
"Who let you in?" he barked, his eye slightly wide. "Do you think you own this place?" he asked as he watched Phainon take a seat in the chair where he himself had been sitting just a few minutes before.
Phainon stared at Anaxagoras's experiment table as if he could understand something of what was there, he even tried to read Anaxagoras's report notebook, but Anaxagoras closed it before he could.
Phainon laughed like someone who cared about nothing but being an annoying person. "Professor, don't be like that," he said, feigning innocence. "I just want you to rest, that's all!"
Anaxagoras growled. "Are you my mother?" he demanded, trying to pull Phainon out of his chair—not before tossing the Dromas plushie onto his bed—and kick him out of his room. "I don't need you telling me what to do. I do what I want when I want and—hah!"
An offended gasp escaped his lips as Phainon sighed and pulled him by the wrist, making him sit on his lap. Anaxagoras's back was pressed against Phainon's bare chest. How dare he come to his room wearing only sweatpants?! Did he have even a shred of dignity?
"Let go of me! What do you think you're doing-ack!" Phainon's arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him tightly against him as Anaxagoras tried to break free, kicking and flailing his arms.
"Calm down, Professor," Phainon said, resting his chin on Anaxagoras's shoulder and nuzzling against his cheek like a cat. "Relax~"
Anaxagoras tensed up, but feeling the warmth of Phainon's cheek against his own, and the strong arms embracing him tightly, yet gently, he couldn't help but begin to relax against Phainon's chest.
He hated this. He hated that Phainon was such a pain in the ass, but at the same time, he managed to make even him relax with his stupid antics.
He let out a soft sigh, giving up completely. "You're so annoying."
Phainon chuckled against his ear. "Oh, I know, Professor, but you still put up with me, don't you?"
Anaxa snorted; opposites really do attract, huh?
They stayed like that for a few moments, enjoying the silence and each other's warmth... until Phainon's restless hands began to move.
"Is this the onesie I gave you last month?" Phainon asked with a small smile, and Anaxagoras huffed, rolling his eyes, and pretending he didn't feel the heat swirling in his cheeks.
"It is. Don't you recognize the gifts you give?"
Phainon laughed softly, his fingers tracing the lines of the onesie's seams along Anaxagoras's side, his other hand gently resting and squeezing the top of his thigh. The professor gasped softly, trembling under the gentle touch, his skin prickling beneath his clothes.
"It looks great on you," Phainon whispered, smirking as Anaxagoras arched his back slightly at the feel of his fingers on the side of his ribcage and traveling towards his inner thigh. "That color really suits your skin, Professor Anaxa~"
"I-It's Anaha-Anaxagohoras!" he retorted, squirming slightly in Phainon's lap. "W-Whahat do you th-thihink you're doing, you b-brahat?!"
Phainon chuckled. "I'm not doing anything, Professor, just... conducting my own experiment."
"What- No! Hehehey! Agh!" Anaxagoras couldn't stifle the giggles that escaped his lips as Phainon suddenly slipped his hand between the buttons of his onesie and his short nails scraped the delicate, warm skin of his stomach.
He bent forward slightly, but Phainon's other hand squeezed the tender spot near his crotch, and Anaxagoras pushed back against Phainon's chest, laughing loudly.
"Wahahait! Y-Yohou rahahascal! Do-Dohohon't tickle mehehe!" Cursed be the day Phainon discovered Anaxagoras was ticklish.
He hasn't let it go since. No matter the time of day or even the place, Phainon's hands were always on him, poking and prodding the spots he knew were terribly sensitive on Anaxagoras.
Phainon giggled. "No? Why not?" he asked, his fingers inside Anaxagoras's onesie moving upward to tickle his ribs. "Didn't I just tell you I'm conducting my own experiment?" He laughed again as Anaxagoras threw his head back against his shoulder. "Want to know what it is?"
"Nohoho! I wahaha- I wahant you to stohohop!"
"Fine, I'll tell you," Phainon said with a smirk, and Anaxagoras groaned between laughs, his legs closing tightly to prevent Phainon's hands from squeezing that spot again, but it was useless. "How much more ticklish can a sleep-deprived teacher get?"
Anaxagoras's cheeks flushed at Phainon's words, and he tried to escape with more force, but he was trapped, weakened by the tickling.
"Ahahaha! Wait! W-Wahahait!" he begged, arching his back and trying to pry Phainon's hands out from under his onesie and between his thighs. "I hahahate you so muhuhuch! No mohohore! N-Nohoho mohore tihihickling, you idiohohot!"
Phainon laughed, nuzzling his face in the crook of Anaxagoras's neck, planting soft kisses there, adding to the ticklish sensation.
"My hypothesis is: too much," he whispered in Anaxagoras's ear, the fingers inside his onesie digging into one of his hips. "But tell me, subject number one, do you think you feel more ticklish after not having properly slept?"
Anaxagoras squealed with laughter, mortified to the core and flatly refusing to answer any idiotic question coming from Phainon's mouth, not that he could either way from how much he was laughing... but he supposed that the brat wasn't entirely wrong. After all, he did feel more ticklish, and weaker to defend himself against those evil fingers that felt as if they were all over his body.
"You know what, professor," Phainon purred, tickling Anaxagoras's ribs with both hands, "we could stop this and just... go to bed, hmm? Doesn't that sound nice?"
Anaxagoras nodded, completely overcome by the tickling as he laughed like a madman. Phainon chuckled softly and kissed the professor's cheek before lifting him in his arms, one supporting his legs and the other his back.
Anaxagoras didn't even try to fight him as he lay limp in Phainon's arms, trying to catch his breath while soft giggles escaped his lips.
"You're a stupid brat," he sighed, and Phainon smiled broadly.
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pretendo crear un verbo, una realidad a partir de tierra, que la fenotipia no nos detenga y  la gula de nuestras carnes nos nutra las retinas , un verbo que nos mutile y empaque comprimidos con densidad suficiente para flotar sin alas , un verbo de con alfabeto a velocidad luz con letra sobre otra impercetible ilegible inquebrantable al mugrir al intento un verbo que sea y actue itinerante de tinturas y tus dientes.
construida de perspicacias quebradas mentes, del arte, con sonidos que el vivir inframundianiatico del infierno  escucha mirando las notas en el alto nuboso dulce nubar, y que este mutante con la suficiencia y despertar basto, sublima en sus paladares. no me estaciono si no que colapso sobre velocidad con iris de ojo dilatado hasta la retina y hasta que me sobreexponga quedo ciego pero ciego del mirar arquetĂpico por que mire al sol directamente a sus gargantas y las saboree con algodĂłn de azĂşcar azul y ese sabor lo tengo grabado a quemadura volcánica en mis intestinos.
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tomando juguito se veia magnficentica y pauestirizipistica se levantaba sus cinectipisticas carnes hacia mi horrondosiastica faz, mientras con agujososios mirartes nos apuñalabamos los irises de los ojososos, sonreia el pasto de crecer bajo tan cachilupistasticos babosos.
