Moving in Stereo
Author: @deadbranch Pairing: Alex Keller x fem!Reader [University AU] Summary: You’re relaxing by the pool between terms when you run into someone who needs your help. Despite your reluctance to provide it, you find yourself opening to other ideas. Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: Flirting/banter, complicated emotions, tense conversation, no y/n used A/N: This story takes place while Alex is at university, in ROTC, prior to taking his tangential career path in Delta Force, and prior to being recruited to CIA’s Special Activities Division. In other words, Alex is only 21 in this story. I usually write for a military!reader but I’ve written this to be a civilian!reader. I wrote this for @glitterypirateduck ‘s Alex Keller challenge. The following prompts were used: “Where do I know you from?” “You can do better than that.” “Just play along.” “Is this what you wanted?”
ALEX KELLER MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST (all @deadbranch fanfic content)
MOVING IN STEREO
Maymester exams are over, and so is your motivation.
Your roommate was right. As much as you didn’t want to leave your apartment, feeling the sun on your skin is a nice change of pace. It feels good. You’ve got one week to empty your brain, decompress, and get some extra sleep before you start again with a new round of courses. You’re still hurting from statistics. Fluid dynamics will supposedly make you rethink your engineering track. Whatever. Just a series of step stones until your internship.
You have a magazine propped against your thighs as you lounge poolside. You turn the pages absently as you tell yourself not to worry about next term, but you’re doing exactly that.
Pretty pictures of pretty people wearing pretty clothes in pretty places…
The girls to either side of you and around the pool start hooting and hollering at the same time.
Upon lowering your knees and laying your magazine against your chest, you scan the area for the source of the sudden commotion.
It’s the ROTC cadets. The ones that bother to hit the gym, anyway.
A dozen of them must have entered the pool area moments ago. By the look of them, you can guess what the catcalling was about. They’re all stripped bare down to their bathing suits. Three of them are wearing garments that leave very little to the imagination.
With mild disappointment, you draw your knees up again and return to leafing through your magazine, as though you’re reading.
Part of you wishes the ice cream truck had pulled up next to the pool rather than the resident douchebag parade.
They are good looking, but they’re not much better than most fraternities. A frat with close-cropped hair and a penchant for using unnecessary military jargon.
Accustomed to tuning out voices and surrounding noise, you decide you should have brought a textbook or two to get a jump on the next term. As you shake your head and close your magazine, you notice someone at the pool’s edge, in your line of sight, just to the left of your knees.
He’s resting his chin on his forearm.
It’s one of the ROTC guys. Vivid blue eyes, sandy hair, and skin that’s likely seen the sun almost every day since spring break.
“Hey,” you blurt out, not knowing what else to say. You were tempted to say ‘what?’ but decided against it. Weird snap decision that you may come to regret, perhaps.
You can’t help but smile as he does. He shades his eyes with one hand as he looks up at you from about two yards away. Your jaw clenches subtly before he gets even a word out.
“Where do I know you from?”
“We’ve never met. I don’t know you.” You’re determined not to let him have any of the usual handholds that shallow flirting attempts to create.
“No, I…I’m certain we have at least one class together.”
You scoff quietly to yourself, but he hears it. His posture stiffens a little, but his friendly demeanor persists.
“I doubt it.”
He’s undeterred. He smiles.
“You can do better than that.”
You’re not sure if you heard him correctly. You roll your magazine in your hands subconsciously.
“Excuse me?”
“Tell me to buzz off, and I will. If that’s what you want.”
“Or what?”
He looks confused. After a moment of consideration, he responds with a careful tone. You could swear his eyes are a darker blue, even in the blazing sunlight.
“I’ll only ask you this once, then I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
Lowering your sunglasses, you give him an impatient glance that you hope will cut the conversation short. In truth, you’re curious what he’s about to ask, but you wouldn’t be surprised if his buddies made a bet with him that he wouldn’t ask you something disgustingly misogynistic.
He suddenly lunges upward out of the water, using both arms to hoist himself above the cement pool ledge. You have difficulty swallowing for a moment as the muscles in his arms bunch and flex before he props a heel on the ledge and pushes himself into a crouched position on both feet.
You expect him to tower over you, but he instead takes a seat on the brick walkway and folds his legs, crisscrossed in front of himself.
Oh yeah. He’s one of the ROTC guys who hits the gym, alright.
“We shared the same math class a few semesters ago. You’re good at this, right?”
“Good at what, math?”
“Good at college. All of it…not just math.”
You hesitate. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Well. I’m not. That class we shared? I’m taking it again now. I failed it once, then dropped it the second time. This coming semester is my last chance to pass the class, or I’m dropped from ROTC.”
“Why don’t you ask one of your buddies to help?”
“They cheated through most of their classes. They can’t help me.”
You hate to say it, but you know what his next question will be if you don’t. You tell yourself to just play along, but you tire easily of such games.
“Then get them to show you how to cheat,” you enunciate the last word with enough subtle venom that you hope it ends the discussion. You’re not having fun with this. Well. Perhaps you might be. But where could this go that won't end in disappointment?
In your peripheral vision, his expression informs you he wasn’t expecting you to react this way. People have always made assumptions about you. It gives you no small satisfaction to surprise someone when the opportunity presents itself, especially if it means you get to relieve someone of their smug position.
“Would you be my math tutor? I’ll pay you.”
It’s your turn to look off-balance, but you won’t give him the satisfaction. His easy smile is making this difficult.
“I’m busy. Check the tutoring boards. I’m sure you'll find some other girl to mack on while you pretend to learn.”
He stands up, casting a shadow over you. You can’t see his face anymore as the sun glows around him, his features cast in darkness.
“I’m sorry someone burned you. Must’ve hurt. I get it.”
“You don’t know me," you interject neutrally, refusing to acknowledge his change of tack.
“I know I don’t. But you don’t know me either.”
Silence fills the next few moments. You lower your gaze, tired of squinting into the eclipse between you. You don’t mind letting him have the last word, as long as he leaves you alone.
He squats down next to your legs, his eyes level with yours. His skin is no longer beaded with water. Time passes more slowly when you feel like you’ve lost control of a conversation.
His hands are dangling midline, his elbows propped on each knee as he looks into your eyes.
He may not be touching you, but you’re far from unaffected. His words cut through some invisible layer you didn’t realize you had.
“Is this what you wanted?”
Again, you have trouble swallowing. You clear your throat. “How do you mean?”
“To do this alone? All of this.” He gestures around you, symbolically. His voice has taken on an intimacy that cuts you again, but this time he’s holding the figurative blade above your skin, waiting for you to make the next move, to direct where the blade goes next. His big, soft eyes practically beg you to consider this carefully.
“You don’t know me," you repeat softly, almost uncertainly.
If your reply had been much above a whisper, it would have revealed the tremor that’s coiled behind your tongue, just waiting to bite you.
He repeats his previous assertion.
“And you don’t know me. That’s okay though. I just need a tutor. We don’t need to trade life stories. Just need your help. And I’ll pay you more than the standard tutor’s rate. Please.”
You break eye contact. You had pretended not to remember sharing a class with him. You don’t recall his name, but you remember him glancing at you from across the lecture hall, in more than one class.
His eyes soften again when you look up. You tell him your name.
“I know. You’re on the Dean’s list every term.”
You shake your head with mild regret. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name."
“On Saturday nights, I don’t know my name either. Lucky for you it’s Saturday afternoon. I’m Alex.”
“Alex?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
You wince inside at the unexpected formality coming from the mostly nude handsome man in front of you.
“No partying tonight. Bring your course texts, a pencil, and your graphing calculator to the library. Meet you in the south wing near the water fountain.”
You part ways with intent to meet at six.
If you didn’t know better, you’d say there was a little extra spring in his step.
For all you know, that’s just how Alex Keller moves through this world.
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