His Own Little Piece of History.

A/N: A one-shot written for Sheepie as a belated Valentines gift. She gave me select things (phrases and items) to incorporate. I think it worked out pretty well…

Anyway, enjoy Sheepie! Let me know what you think!

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"My name is Miles, I'm 37 years old and I enjoy a good book, a cozy fire and…" Miles paused, gulping a bit as he stared around the room of undesirables. He had come to this meeting circle with one hope and that one hope was to get a date. He wasn't a club kid and never had been, he didn't like the smoky bars and abhorred the idea of cruising a coffee shop for men who were all undoubtedly younger than him. So here he was, resorting to paying $19.99 to attend a dating group at the local gay and lesbian community center, on a Friday night, when everyone who someone actually wanted was out about the town.

Staring out over the circle, he felt a bit guilty calling then undesirables. After all, he was one of them right? Damn, that realization stung when he looked over at the overweight fellow in leather digs, then the too thin fellow with the thickest glasses on he had ever seen and then, of course, there was the elderly drag queen who kept giving him eyes. God, he wasn't particularly unattractive even if he was rather plain - something he had come to terms with long ago - with his mousy brown hair and wide green eyes. So what the hell was he doing here?

Oh yeah, he was insanely lonely. And every year his students got younger and younger and each class liked to remind him of how old he was. Little bastards… he loved them though. Loved teaching Ancient Civilization and loved watching the few students who were actually interested and the way their eyes lit up when he began talking about-

"Miles?"

Blinking and then flushing hotly at the reminder that he was still standing up and looking like a complete idiot, he sat down. No use trying to finish some nonsense speech he had hastily made up in his head when he had already showed himself to somewhat of a lack wit.

"Right well," the coordinator said, trying to get over the awkward silence. "That was Miles, everyone. Remember to mark your card if you're interested and leave it blank if you are not. Jenson, you're next."

Miles knew that beggars couldn't be choosers but sitting there and watching how many men jotted a check mark at the coordinators words had him wincing. There was no hope for a love connection tonight or even something more physical. Miles knew from experience that outer beauty was not what made the man but Lord, there had to be 'something' attractive about them.

With that in mind, he discreetly excused himself as if to go to the restroom. Instead, he grabbed his coat and headed outside. He needed to figure something out. He needed a life. A life that did not include scanning the internet for deals on antique to medieval swords he had taken to collecting in the absence of companionship.

Speaking of swords, dear God! He was expecting an email from a gentleman down on his luck and eager to sell a Scottish basket headed broadsword dated back to 1730 that was in superb condition. It was a sword that was generally priced at $5000.00 on a good day but usually sold for thousands more. Miles considered himself lucky to have found a man so tight on time as to not have time to auction the sword off for a higher price and was instead selling it for a mere $2000.00 as long as the money was in his hand before Tuesday afternoon.

Money was not something a man in his career line was accustomed to having but having been left a house by his parents he had only to worry about taxes and general bills. His car was paid for and ran just fine so he didn't see the need in getting a new car and paying on it just because it was shinier. He didn't go out normally except for select museums and the occasional zoo or theatre and he enjoyed eating in where he could be perfectly aware of what was being put in or on his food. In addition to this, he had no boyfriend or even family to spend money on so there was really nothing for it to do but sit in his bank account.

He made a decent living as a professor at a rather high end college that actually managed to pay their educators more than a humble salary so he always had money left over after paying his bills up. Because of this he was able to buy at least one sword each year, sometimes even two or three - depending on the price and state of the sword, of course. Why, just year before last he had met with an aging fellow who had nothing but daughters with an interest more in shopping than family history and because of this the man had sold three well kept Viking/Norse broadswords, one of which was successfully dated back to the 10th century! That had made his year and made a wonderful addition to his living room turned showroom. And why not? It wasn't like he had many guests and what was the point in buying real-life history only to hide them away in the tiny guest room or even his office? Ser-

"Un!" he grunted and snapped his head up as he, quite literally, walked right into someone. His very nose smashing into the person's shoulder where his head had been ducked down in thought. Grabbing his nose and squeezing it in an attempt to ease the mild ache he stepped back, an apology ready on his lips. He was momentarily halted by the tall, strapping fellow he's run into.

The fellow looked… intimidating. He was much taller than Miles's 5'9 frame, broad shouldered and muscular. On top of that, the man's shaggy black hair and face that, thought handsome and clean shaven, seemed just a little rough around the edges making him not at all cute or even remotely pretty. Rugged. That was the word. Ruggedly handsome. He looked like some medieval Viking to Miles's pageboy appearance. Hell, he was a valet at best. Well, maybe a friar perhaps. Oh wait, if he was a Viking then no way Miles could be a friar… perhaps a stable boy? Well, he didn't really have a body that screamed the handling of horses and… He probably looked like an idiot sitting here imagining the fellow as a Viking and he an underling. Speaking of Vikings, the guy looked none to happy about being run into and his frown showed it.

Miles held back a squeak and lowered his hand. "S-Sorry. I guess I wasn't watching where I was going."

"I noticed," the man said, his voice low and insanely deep. For some reason Miles imagine wood - and not the kind that stirred in his slacks - but like a very large, very old oak tree.

Not sure what else to say, Miles gave an awkward smile and glanced around in an attempt to locate his car. Spying it, he dipped his head at the man and mumbled an apology once more before scurrying off to his car. He didn't notice the dark blue eyes that followed him as he eased into the seat and then down the street.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"What's up, Old man Wallace?"

Miles winced at the name. It was already Monday and what a great way to start the week - by being called old. "Nothing much, young man Morris," he told the man in the same tone. Though it probably came out without quite as much umph. Though his voice was unabashedly male, it was also naturally low and soft. Yet another one of his many flaws.

Morris looked around and leaned over his professors desk. "Saw you at the center Friday night," he didn't elaborate which and didn't need to. "My boyfriend works there coordinating dating events and such. Come on, Professor Wallace, you're better than that."

Miles didn't know whether he was shocked because the seemingly womanizing John Morris was gay or shocked because he was so overcome by embarrassment over the fact that one of his students had seen him stoop so low as to attend a dating circle. Face flushed, he hadn't a clue what to say.

"I mean, to be an older guy, you ain't bad to look at," John tried and then, realizing he only made the teacher more flustered, stood and scratched the back of his very blonde head as he tried to figure out what to say to keep his teacher from being more embarrassed. "You're way too good for old drag queens and hairy daddies."

"W-Why Don't you take a seat, Mr. Morris," Miles finally said, secretly wishing he could just cancel class today and go home and hide his face in shame. One thing was certain and that was that he was never - ever - going back to the Gay and Lesbian Center anytime soon.

John winced and nodded. "Sorry, I didn't mean to mess you up. I mean, if you like that sort of thing-"

"I don't," he told him. "I just… I was bored and- Never mind. Just go sit down." Relieved to see that the young man finally paid attention to him, he turned scanned his eyes over the class to see if his class was all here before starting his class. "Okay, so um, ahem. Let's go over the basics of what we learned last week."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"It's exquisite," Harrison, an antique appraiser and one of Miles's only friends and one he only had due to his expensive hobby, said with a but of awe. "This guy wasn't lying when he said it was dated properly. I can't believe he's selling it to you for two grand." He shook his head in disbelief.

"He's in a bind, I suppose," he said with a shrug. When he had first hired Harrison to appraise his purchases he had always had a nervous feeling that the man would attempt to outbid him. The fear had gotten so terribly that even he, after many failed attempts, he finally got up his nerves and formed an agreement with the man that anything he found was his. No bargaining. Harrison had seemed surprised but readily agreed and asked the same courtesy of Miles.

Harrison set the sword back in the case and closed it before carefully handing it back over to Miles. "You're a lucky man. You know, if you decided to auction off all those swords you've collected I swear you'd be a millionaire."

Miles shrugged. The idea of selling off his treasures didn't appeal to him no matter the cost. "Alright. Well, I'll see you next time I find something. Oh, did you talk to that fellow about that broadsword? You know the one?"

The man nodded. "Sorry, Miles. His older brother shut down any notions he had of selling. Good thing to. Not for you but for the fellow. People should cherish history like that. I mean, if my family had managed to stay true to their heritage and have the discipline to preserve an ancestors sword for hundreds of years then I damn sure wouldn't be trying to sell it for profit."

The man seemed generally disturbed by the thought and Miles couldn't blame him. The only thing his family had ever been good at saving was money and there was no history to that. "Well, as interested as I am. I have to say that I am very proud of the older brother for bringing the younger man to his senses."

"More like beating the sense out of him," Harrison laughed. "The fellow works next door-"

This surprised Miles. "But, Harris, your neighboring business is a tattoo parlor."

"Yes it is," he said, not bothering with Miles's questionable surprise. "Anyway. He older brother works next door and caught his brother trying to bring the sword in for appraisal and actually caught him by the nape of his neck and sent him home minus the sword. I have to admit it was a somewhat humorous display."

"You're just an old gossip, Harrison," Miles smiled at the 50-something year old man.

"Damn straight. I love antiques but most of the time it's boring as hell in here."

"Then why do it?"

"Because of customers like you. You have a passion for history and a visual need to see it preserved," the man answered honestly. "You'd have to anytime you spend thousands per sword several times a year."

Miles smiled, feeling complimented. "What do you plan on doing if the fellow comes back in here trying to sell the sword?"

"Not sure. Could use the money it would bring in but it doesn't really seem right after seeing how perturbed my neighbor was over the fact."

"Good man," Miles said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, I'm off and for real this time." Giving one final wave, he exited and headed for his car. Popping the trunk, he sat his precious cargo in a makeshift padded box he like to keep in his trunk. Closing the trunk, he moved to driver's side door and paused at an image in the parlor window that rested just next to Harrison's store.

Verily, it wasn't even in the parlor window to be exact but on one of the display cases that faced the window. But Miles could see it clear as day. An odd, heart shaped Sporran colored in blue and green plaid, his Surnames historical family colors with two, or at least what appeared to be, two Scottish Basket-hilted broadswords crossing blades behind it. It was so uncanny that it had Miles hitting the lock button on his vehicle and walking into the parlor as if in a trance. He didn't even hear the bell above the door, so lured was he by the image. The closer he got, the more he felt the need to see it, to touch it, to have it on his skin?

What? He blinked at the thought. He had never gotten a tattoo in his life. Was he seriously about to let a fleeting fancy turn into a lifetime choice? Staring at the heart-shaped sporran, and it's amazingly detailed fastening, he knew the answer.

Stepping to the side towards side where he fleetingly remembered seeing a reception desk, he still could not bare for his eyes to part company with the lovely tattoo, and as such his inattentiveness found him stepping into another person- again. Ah well, he mused as he finally turned to apologize, at least he hadn't taken a hit to the nose this time. Only when he turned, he quite literally froze. This could not be happening again.

The same Viking warrior- erm - guy from before was there again. Looking very tall, very gorgeous, and very daunting. "Um…"

"You going to apologize and run off again?" the same asked lowly, a black brow raised. He looked so arrogant that Miles was sure the man would have no problem blending in with the Vikings of old.

"N-No. I, well, I…" he paused and took a deep breath, swallowed and tried again. "I saw this image in the window, you see," he turned and gestured towards the lovely image. "And had to come in and get a better look at it. I assure you, sir, had I seen you I would have, um, well…" He felt like an idiot and wasn't sure why he felt the need to call a man who, despite his self-assuredness, was no doubt in his mid twenties 'sir. But he did and, God bless him, he couldn't get a full sentence out without stumbling over his own tongue.

"You would have what? Avoided me?" The man's expression suddenly turned somewhat humored, his legs spreading and arms crossing, a pose that showed his body in a beautiful light.

Miles quickly averted his eyes. He had no wish to get his ass kicked for ogling a man who was no less that twelve years his junior. "No, of course not. How rude. Um…"

"Do I make you nervous?"

The older man sighed and finally met the other man's eyes. "Insanely so."

The man considered it for a moment before murmuring, "Good. Now come on." That said, he led Miles back and had him sit on a padded table before he was handed a clipboard. "Read and sign, I'll be right back."

Despite how silly it seemed, Miles only understood that the same man he had bumped into twice was a tattoo artist. A tattoo artist who was currently getting ready to put a tattoo on him. Dear God, could he go through with it?

The fellow came back with the drawn image and walked past and disappearing in the back before he came back holding what looked like a see-through piece of paper. "Take your shirt off."

"I beg your pardon?" he gasped, nearly forty years of manner showing through in his surprise.

"I can't ink you through your shirt, so take it off."

"Ink… me?"

The man sighed before setting the stencil down and grasping the hem of Miles's shirt, tugging it over his head as if he were two. A sweep of those hard blue eyes down his smooth, if a little skinny, chest, he ordered the older man to lay on his stomach.

Stiffening at the wetness as the man wiped down the area of his back the fellow had apparently decided to tattoo, he then felt the stencil being pressed on. Apparently satisfied with the positioning, he watched as the man then turned to preparing his gun and inks.

Miles wondered what he'd do if he just got up and ran for the door. Would the Viking- uh - guy yank him back and force him into it? The decision was taken from him moments later when the man approached him again, his hands covered in blue plastic gloves and holding an evil looking hand machine that had him gulping and burying his face into the plastic beneath him.

A full two hours later, Miles finally relaxed. That had hurt like the blazes but he hadn't even whimpered once. He already knew he looked like a whelp it would do no good to whimper like one. Especially in front manliness personified. He was a little shocked though. Even the experience of feeling the ink etched into his flesh, he couldn't believe that he had actually gotten a tattoo.

Waiting for the man to roll back in his chair, he hesitantly stood and moved bare-chested past another artist inking away at someone's flesh to the full length mirror. Presenting his back to the mirror, he turned and tried to peek over his shoulder at the tattoo.

"Use this," his artists gruff voice said as he held him a large hand mirror.

Nodding in thanks, he held the mirror up and angled it just so - Ah! It was… exquisite. Even the swelling didn't deter from the sheer perfection that came from the image. It looked so perfect nestled between his shoulder blades.

"Happy?"

He lowered the mirror and smiled. "Very much. This is my first tattoo, you know."

"Congratulations. Now come back over here so I can cover you up."

Moving back over to the man could cover the ink with a bandage of sorts, he listened intently to the instructions and even bought a recommended brand of Tattoo Goo whilst he was paying for the tattoo. Tugging his shirt over his head as he was led to the door, he turned back and smiled awkwardly at the man, "Thank you. The swords in particular look sublime. Quite like the Scottish broadsword I am purchasing."

The man, who Miles still didn't know what name he answered to, tilted his head to the side. "You the guy my brother was trying to pawn my family's sword to?"

Miles flushed. "No… not directly." Oh, why couldn't he have lied? Honesty was so hard. And just watch, that honesty was going to get him cursed out or worse. "Harrison, you're neighbor, was going to purchase it and I was going to purchase it from him. I mean, I didn't know it was your family sword or-or, uh…" he paused, gulping.

God, he felt pathetic. A 37 year old man and he couldn't stop rambling like a dimwit in front of a larger man.

"Relax, Loki is an idiot. That mishap is on him, not you or my neighbor."

"Loki?" he couldn't help but blink at the name and then the odd coincidence that this Loki character was actually trying to sell his families age old Norse sword.

"My brother," he reiterated.

"Your brother is named after the mythological Norse God of Mischief?"

"Rather suits him, I would think," the man said with a shrug.

Staring at the tall man, no doubt of Scandinavian descent, he gathered his courage and asked, "What's your name?"

"Odin."

"Odin?" At the man's nod, he smiled. "You and your brother are named after Norse Gods?"

"It's a family tradition," he shrugged. "Every generation is named after some God or Goddess, lesser or otherwise. My sister's name is Freyja and my father is Thor. I could go on but I would imagine you get the point."

"That's fascinating…" he admitted. "How many generations has this lasted?"

"What difference does it make?"

The man's gruff question had Miles flushing. "I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"Yes you did." The man stared at him for a long moment before, "Meet me Tyr's hall in Midlothian tomorrow at seven." It was an order and was no sooner given than the man turned around and went back to clean up his tattoo station.

Miles wasn't sure what say to that so he just turned around and walked back out to his car. Making a brief stop at his band - which he luckily got to fifteen minutes before closing time - he made a quick stop by Mr. Forbes's and paid the man, bringing with him a contract stating the sale of one antique relic.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Miles spent all day wondering just why the man had asked, well, ordered him to meet him at a restaurant. The only thing he could come up with was that the fellow was going to allow him to research his family sword and history. Well, what he assumed to be his family. After all, the name of the place - and coincidentally the name of the owner as well - was Tyr, Norse God of War. He certainly didn't even consider the idea of the man wanting to discuss the sale of the sword he had called his brother an idiot for attempting to sell.

So when his last class ended at six and he began a slow walk to his car, it was with a notepad and a pencil that he did so. If he was going to be studying a man genealogy he was going to need something to take notes with. He had an open mind that was always ready to learn but even he could be forgetful and considering the man he was about to meet, he really didn't want to have to ask the man to repeat something. Arriving at the front door to the Norwegian cuisine restaurant at precisely five minutes to seven, he was rather surprised to see Odin off to a corner. Odin, who immediately rose and gestured for Miles to join him before seating himself.

"Your early," that deep voice reminded him.

"Um, is that a bad thing?" he asked softly. "You're rather early yourself."

"Perhaps I'm eager," he said with a shrug.

"Oh, right then." Opening his notepad, he nudged the silverware to the side and rested it on the table. Poising his pencil, he smiled at the man. "I'm ready."

Odin gave him an odd look, "What is it you think you are doing?"

Miles blinked. "Taking notes?"

"Of what?"

"Your genealogy, of course."

"You hope to get that much information on a first date?"

"Of course… Wait. What did you say?" he asked, eyes widening. "D-date?"

"Don't play coy, Miles," he had learned the other man's name from his neatly penned signature on the tattoo release form. "I know you fancy men. You've been ogling me enough," he said in a no nonsense tone.

"You're… gay?" The last came out a low squeak.

"One would assume so being as I am, in fact, on a date with a man," Odin said, leaning back in his chair to watch the older man fluster.

"B-but you're a… well, you're," A Viking, he wanted to say but knew he'd sound even more silly than he already did. "I'm old," he blurted out.

"What's old?"

"I'm 37 years old, Odin. You can't possibly-"

"Spare me the age speech," he said curtly, holding his hand up to silence the man. "I fancy the look of you and that is all that matters. Now order," that said, he waved a young blonde girl over to take their order and leave them with twin glasses of cool water.

Miles thanked her and sipped the cool liquid and then brought his hand up to cool his face. Lord, he must look like a tomato his face was so hot! He was so embarrassed he felt the veritable need to walk off. Surely such a man as Odin could not be interested in him! He was too old, too thin, too… everything.

"What do you do for a living, Miles? Other than collect expensive swords," Odin interrupted his thoughts, leaning back in his seat to stare intently at the man.

"They're not just expensive swords, they're pieces of history," he said before clearing his throat. "Well, I'm single, I teach Ancient Civilization." Should he tell him where? Would he be stalked? This whole thing certainly seemed off enough for such a thing to occur. "My parents died a few years ago and left me a house… um. I'm not really sure what you want to know. I'm afraid I haven't been on one of these things in ages. Oh, a date I mean."

"What were you doing at the Gay and Lesbian center last Friday?" he asked.

He wanted to ask the same question but just shrugged. "I tried something new and it didn't work out."

"Are you always this nervous?"

"Well, you do make me this way," he admitted. "But I'm generally, well, a dork, if that's what you mean."

Odin merely grunted. "I'm going to be honest with you, Miles. I want sex."

Miles nearly choked on the water he had taken to sipping. "With me?" he asked around a deep cough.

Ignoring the stupid question, Odin went on. "I want no emotional attachments or commitments. I want a lover who I can fuck when I feel like it leave be when I don't. I think you're suitable for that. I fancy your build as I could handle you the way I please in bed. Are you interested?"

Did he look like an idiot? Okay, don't answer that… Taking a deep breath, he pushed through his embarrassment and let his cock speak for the first time in years. "God, yes."

Odin grinned then, a lifting of one side of his mouth that made him appear both sinister and insanely sexy. "Then eat up, lover. You'll need your strength."

-.-.-.-.-.-

Miles couldn't believe how amazing he felt. He had been tied to the bed on his belly for a good hour now, a pillow propped under his groin as to hoist his ass up in the air. And ass that had been spanked with the flat of one very large hand, rimmed with one very skilled tongue and, hopefully soon, would be fucked with what looked like a very thick cock with a surprising addition in a sleek, curved, grey barbell plunged through the head of his fat cock. A cock he had seen first hand when Odin had gripped his hair, jerking off in his face before plunging his length in Miles's mouth and giving the demand to, "Drink my cum!" He had, of course, and quite greedily. And after seven straight years of celibacy, he loved every minute of it.

"Are you hard, Miles?" the man's hard voice came from somewhere in the shadows of the room where the older man could not see. "Are you ready for your Norse God to fuck you?"

Having never been one for this BDSM crap, Miles was beginning to reevaluate a few things. For one, if spanking felt so good then why the hell had he cried so often as a child? Two, giving up control felt magnificent. And three, if calling someone Lord or Master got you in bed with a 6'4" Viking, well, he'd gratefully become a modern day serf.

"Yes, My Lord. Please," he called out, voice raspy from the rough pummeling of his throat earlier.

"Say it!" The order was curt but the voice closer.

"Please," Miles whimpered. "Please, fuck me!"

So he did.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Somebody had a good night last night."

Miles paused in hobbling behind his desk and turned a red face to greet his most annoying student this year. "Mr. Morris, that's enough."

Of course the kid didn't get the hint and go sit down so he could start class. No, instead he took advantage of his peers chattering noisily to lean close to the man. "Told you didn't need that desperate ass group at the center. A guy like you could handle his own and obviously did. Bravo, Professor Wallace!"

"Mr. Morris!"

"I bet whoever's tapping it's got it going on like Donkey Kong!"

Flushing - and honestly unsure what to say to such a ridiculous remark - he simply pointed to the desks and watched as the kid finally gave up - after offering a sexy wink - and went to sit down. Following suit and settling behind his desk, Miles decided to give the kids a break and let them study amongst themselves before dismissing them early. (See: Avoid lecturing as to not make it clear to his students that his ass had been thoroughly pummeled the night before by the way he was creeping about).

He had no sooner done the latter and released the class then his phone rung. His new lovers name flashing across the screen. Odin. Nothing else, no last name. And, indeed, nothing else was needed, just that one name had his blood pounding and his packing of his materials halted as excitement rushed over him.

Clearing his throat, he pressed the proper button and answered the phone. "Hello?" Had his voice always sounded so breathy?

"Where do you live?"

"Excuse me?" Silence. Clearly, Odin was not going to repeat himself, so he answered accordingly. "May I ask why you want to know?"

"Be home in half hour. No later." With that he hung up.

Miles stilled. His door was locked, was the man going to break in? Oh! Perhaps, he was to meet him there in a half hour. Well, better to get there now and tidy up as best he could and since he only lived a good ten minutes away from the University, five on a good day, he could make it home in no time. Moving quickly, he did just that and twenty minutes later, he was at the door not even giving the man a chance to knock. Odin was true to his word and was there precisely a half hour after he had called.

Odin walked in, pushing the smaller man backwards as he did so. His large body, his very presence, dwarfing everything in Miles's home. The man made to move closer to Miles but a sight off to the left caught his eye and had him turning. Brows furrowed, he walked thought the small door that led from the hall into the sitting room and looked about. "In here, now!" he called.

Miles immediately hopped to.

"Strip. I'm going to fuck you in here among all the history you love so much," he said with relish. "And you are going to love every minute of it."

He certainly didn't have to tell Miles twice. The older man was stripped nude in a matter of seconds.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Their affair quickly turned from days to week to months and despite his hardest not to hold on to any emotional attachment, Miles was at a loss. He had lost his heart to the gruff, domineering, sex fiend he shared his body with no less than four times a week. He knew it was doomed to fail and that the moment he said a word would be the moment their affair ended. But at this point it wasn't the words he was so scared of saying, he knew he could hold his tongue. Hell, all he seemed to do was scream, for the most part, during sex anyway. No, it was his body language that would give him away. Just lately he had begun to cuddle, felt the need to latch on and ask the man to spend the night. He had even invited the man to a makeshift dinner claiming he had cooked to much food. Out of all of his unconscious attempts, it was only the last that Odin accepted from him, the strapping man never one to turn down a meal. particularly one he didn't have to cook. But his seeking of cuddles and comfort was for not. The moment he went to do such was the moment the younger man pulled away. The second he murmured about the man sleeping over was the time when Odin didn't call and make arrangements to meet him somewhere for sex.

He knew he was a fool and it was clear as day that Odin wanted nothing more than a physical relationship. He had said that exact thing before they have even begun their affair. And not only that, what need of a relationship did a young twenty-six year old have of a man eleven years his senior? Oh, he'd done it now. Only he knew - knew! - deep down inside that once this thing with Odin was over he was going to forever be alone. He'd never been in love before, lust sure, but never love and he was nothing if not loyal. Even if the handsome modern Viking moved on and never spoke to him again, he knew he would forever think of him.

And so Miles determined it was best to enjoy their affair as best he could. Take each time they had together and store it as a memory to keep with him and hold on to. Remember every touch so as to have it as company when he no longer had any.

A loud grunted atop him turned his thoughts away from his own pity party. Casting his green eyes up to meet dark blue one's he smiled.

Odin frowned, "Where are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do I have to spank your ass every time we fuck for you to pay attention?"

Miles flushed red. "No, Sir."

"Then humor me and pay attention to what I am doing to your body," he growled.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"You don't look so spiffy today, teach. Everything alright in the loooove department?"

Miles glanced up from his desk, he couldn't even bring to life the usual likable-annoyance he felt towards the other man. He was just too depressed. He knew what he wanted but knew he was destined to lose the man he loved the moment he spoke of it.

"Damn. It's like that, huh?" John sighed and leaned against the desk. "You've been looking so happy lately, I figured you'd found 'the one'."

"I have," he begrudgingly admitted - and only then because there was no one else in the classroom.

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'm older than him," he tried.

"So?"

"He doesn't want a relationship," he sighed.

"So give him reason to."

"What do you mean?"

"When I met my Rain -"

"Your boyfriend's name is Rain?" he laughed.

"Don't judge me!"

"You're right. It doesn't matter, continue."

John eyed him for a minute before starting again. "When I met my Rain, we hit it off like mad. But it wasn't our attraction to one another that kept him stuck on me long enough to fall for me."

"Then what was it?"

"It was the chase. Anyone can be fuck buddies. But it's those fuck buddies that care if you have any other 'buddies' that turn into more permanent fixtures in your life," he said matter-of-factly.

"You mean, find him some competition and make him realize his own feelings?"

"Exactly! Next time he calls, tell him you have other plans. Mention you have to meet with someone but don't explain why. That sort of thing. And if he doesn't show any feelings then it's obvious you should move on."

"I cannot believe I am going to take advice from you, of all people," he sighed. God, he was pathetic.

John snorted. "Whatever. Listen to the master and pretty soon you'll be like 'Shake your grove thing, shake your grove thing, yeah yeah!'" He sung the last, doing a little silly dance with it.

"How do you manage to get an A in my class? I would swear you're mentally retarded."

John had the grace to laugh. "Mentally ill in some form, maybe, but not that."

Miles mused on his students words of wisdom as the remainder of his students finally started flooding in. Could it work? Was he just setting himself up for more disappointment?

And image of his strong, Viking warrior drifted through his mind's eye. To hell with it, anything was worth a try with the prize being Odin - anything!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It took Miles three days to finally get the nerve to turn Odin down. Three days he had tried and immediately failed. But not today, today he was giving it a shot today he… God, was he going to ruin this already? No! He shouldn't have said anything. He should … It was too late. He'd said it.

There was a long silence on the phone. "What exactly do you mean 'You have other plans'?"

"W-well, I met Frederick last night when I got off and, well, he asked me out. I'd like to go," he groaned inwardly. Who the hell was going to believe he met someone with a name like 'Frederick'?

Another pause. "And you didn't think that you might be upsetting my plans when you made this date with this 'Frederick' person?" he asked, voice low.

"Well, um, you usually call rather sporadically and I wasn't sure when you would call so I just made the date." He was such a terrible liar.

"I always call on Fridays."

"Oh? I hadn't realized." That was more like it! He would have grinned at that perfect reply had he not felt so shitty lying to the man he loved. Of course he knew Odin always called on Fridays. They always ate and Tyr's and went back to Odin's to fuck - before the man sent him packing around eleven or so after Odin had had his fill of him.

There was a growl heard on the other end of the phone before silence. Pulling his phone away to make sure the man hadn't hung up, he was surprised to see that Odin had done just that. It was so… unlike him. Nothing ever upset Odin. Sure, he was surly by nature but he never got really angry or annoyed.

Three days passed before he got another call and Lord knew Miles wanted to go. He wanted to see his lover, be held, kissed and fucked like he hadn't been in three long days. But he wanted more than friends with benefits. He wanted love. And the sooner he found out if he could have it, the sooner he could move on with his life.

God, he hoped he hadn't wasted the last eight months of his life on a man who would never care for him.

"I want you. Here. Now." Came the voice he knew so well.

"I'm sorry, Odin. I have Frederick over just now and I-"

"You're inviting this man over to your house now?" It was the closest Miles had ever heard Odin come to yelling, it gave him a secret thrill. "What else are you inviting him to do?"

"W-Well," he stammered. Something he immediately corrected when he heard a grunt on the other end of the line. "I had leftovers."

Silence again. "You invite me over when you have leftovers."

"I'm sorry. We were talking and I offered before I thought about it." He said, nibbling on his lower lip and cuddling into his snuggie.

"What is it you think you are doing, Miles?" Came next, a hard demand for answers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he whispered, barely getting the final word out before the phone was hung up yet again. Only this time there was no call back three days later.

A week quickly came and went with no word and when a month passed Miles started to despair. He was such an idiot, he had listened to a twenty-three year old and had ended up alone. Middle aged and alone. No Odin to admire, no amazing sex, and no random calls to random places. He had fucked it all up and all because he longed for more than was in his lot to have.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Here you go, Professor, I brought you something to make your day better."

"I really don't want anything else from you, Mr. Morrison. Your advice has ruined my life enough," Miles groaned.

"Whatever. That guy was an obvious asshole and an idiot on top of that if he let you go, now here. Something for your days and," he waggled his eyebrows, "Something for your nights."

Miles sighed and unwrapped the plain blue wrapping paper. Maybe a gift would brighten his day. He smiled when he saw a Rainbow Bright coffee mug, John really was an idiot. That smile melted into a grimace when he saw what was rolled up in it. "Are you out of your freaking mind?" he hissed, snatching the gay porn magazine out of the cup and quickly stuffing it in his briefcase.

"What? It's leather daddies. Though you might like that sort of thing."

"Of course not! And beyond that, did it occur to you that this is a classroom!" he said, wanting to beat the man over the head with the magazine that was currently hidden away. "Inside a University. A University that will fire my ass merely for having that," he pointed to his briefcase, "On my person on school grounds!"

"Chill out, let's think cricket. Mellow cricket… derp, derp… derp, derp," he attempted to joke.

"Mr. Morrison. If you don't go sit down right this minute, I cannot be responsible for what I do next!"

The kid got the message and scurried over to his seat while Miles plopped down in his and buried his face in his hands. God… Maybe Harrison was right. As much as it pained him to think it, all his treasures at auction would give him enough to retire and live a decently comfortable life. Maybe somewhere warm where he could relax and stare at muscled surfers while trying to forget about the cold as ice love of his life.

Yeah right, history was too precious to be traded for warm climate. Ah well, it was worth a thought he supposed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A week later Miles was trying very hard to come to terms with his idiotic decision to push Odin away in order to keep him. Oh, he was still hurting and knew it was the kind of hurt that never really went away but was smart enough to chalk it up to life's lessons. After all, every story couldn't be a love story right?

God, he wished that weren't true.

This particular night, whilst talking himself through a million and one reasons why it never would have worked out to begin with as he polished his swords, there was a rather insistent knocking on the door. Okay, well, more like a banging that clearly stated that if the door was not opened and now then he wouldn't have it anymore. Taking a moment to set the sword he was currently working on carefully in his holder, he scurried to the door.

"Where is he?!" Came the surly voice as Odin shoved past him and stormed into the house.

"O-Odin?" Miles said with a gasp as he watched the man look here and there.

Not finding anyone, the younger man came back and scowled down at him. "You didn't call back."

"What?" His heart was beating rampantly, he didn't know what the hell was going on!

"I hung up. One whole fucking month ago. And you couldn't have the common courtesy to call YOUR LOVER back!" He yelled. Not raised his voice, but actually yelled, face reddening with the effort to do so.

"But you usually call me. I've NEVER called you. I thought…" he gulped. "I thought you'd broken up with me."

"Did I say we were over?"

"N-"

"Because we sure as hell are NOT!"

Miles took a deep breath, "Odin, I just, well I- I don't understand what is happening right now."

"What is happening is that you pushed me to the side for some guy named 'Frederick'. What happened is that you-"

"There never was a Frederick," he interrupted, bowing his head.

Odin was silent for a long moment. Then, "Explain yourself."

"I-I've fallen in love with you. I didn't want to give it away and have you end it so I just… I tried to make you jealous in hopes that you might come to love me too. I know, I'm pathetic," he said, voice low.

"You played… a 'trick' on me in hopes I would come around?" Odin's voice was so low that Miles could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. "You've made me - and yourself from the looks of it - miserable for a full month over some damned façade?"

"I didn't see it as a trick. All I was looking for is a way to make you love me," he raised watery eyes then. "A way to keep you past whatever lust you feel towards me."

"Oh, you little idiot," Odin finally sighed, head shaking. "Do you really think I would have kept you with me for eight months if I didn't want you? Damn it! I fucking love you! Didn't I tell you that every time I took you?"

Miles flushed. In truth, he wasn't thinking any time he was taken. Well, at least not about anything but his own release. "So… you love me."

Odin scowled. Refusing to repeat himself.

"And I love you."

"So you say."

He smiled then, bright and sunny. "Then we love each other."

"So it would seem."

Body shaking, the need of contact with this person so overwhelming him, that all he could do next was throw himself in the man's arms and seal their declarations with a kiss.

Miles had spent his life collecting history, he never would have thought that one day he'd grab hold of his very own modern Viking. But he had and was just as humbled today as he was the very first day he'd, quite literally, bumped into him.