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“Class dismissed.”
Behind Seonghwa, students clamored out of their seats and crammed their assignments marked with red X’s into their backpacks, or glanced over the scribble in the margins spotlighting all the reasons their paper was lackluster and crumpled it into the trash can beside the door as they stomped up the stairs and grumbled to their friends about how bullshit the grading was.
Everyone left. Except Seonghwa.
He uncrossed his legs, slowly, reveling in the feel of the fabric of his skirt skimming his upper thighs, lingering in the position with his knees pointed outward while he gathered his things and stood up at the same time Professor Kim turned his back to him and busied himself anywhere else.
Clouds of chalk dust fell from the green board, sprinkling his crisp dark blue dress shirt. Professor Kim brushed it off, then unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs, rolling them up his forearms until they fit snug under his elbows.
“I know you’re there,” the older man said, erasing the last of his sloppy handwriting detailing next week’s exam. “I imagine you’ve prepared an hour long speech about how unjust your grade was and how I should persuade my fingers to enter one a smidge higher when I log it in online?”
Seonghwa didn’t reply, opting instead to simply shake his pages and pages of research stapled together on the whims of late nights stressing red veins into his eyes and the accompanying bags under them.
Professor Kim dropped his head back and sighed. The eraser was tossed on the metal tray and he shoved his hands in his pockets before turning around to acquiesce Seonghwa’s face, slackened in disapproval.
“I’m here to discuss why you think I’ve earned this when I understood the assignment just fine and wrote a, quite frankly, wonderful, well-versed, and well-researched paper detailing the similarities in the plays down to the themes in how women treat each other, the direction beats on stage, and use of Germanic language in the seconds acts.”
There was no use in sending Seonghwa away.
Stiffly, Professor Kim shuffled to his chair and fell into it, scooting it up to his desk and sitting so snug the wood edge dug into his solar plexus. Only then did he remove his hands from his pockets and clasp them under his chin, resting his elbows on the manila folders littering his desk next to the upturned mug of spilled pens crowding his mouse pad.
He regarded Seonghwa with his blank stare - if not tinted pink across his nose - and goaded him with all the boredom in his tired voice after his lecture, “Well, let’s hear it.”
Professor Kim may have looked Seonghwa in the eye, but it seemed to him like the older man had trouble doing so. Like when someone averts their gaze to hide the true thoughts inside their brain from being seen, heard.
Or similar to when someone spots a person they don’t like from across the room and strives to ignore them at all costs, despite taking quick glances to ensure that that person was looking back too.
Or when both parties think they are innocent gazelles, but one is actually a lion stalking the thin reeds of swaying yellow grass.
Professor Kim’s presence dominates the class whenever he’s in session. After? When it was just the two of them? Park Seonghwa always managed to get what he wanted.
“Well, considering I can’t read your wise remark under the very first sentence, let’s start there,” Seonghwa posed, eyebrows raised.
A childish groan emitted from Professor Kim’s throat. Ceased abruptly when Seonghwa turned on the ball of his foot and strutted around the desk to the chalkboard. He picked up the stub of chalk that had been used that afternoon and wrote his comparisons in an easy to read bullet point list.
Professor Kim’s eyes followed Seonghwa parading around his domain, behind his desk, touching his belongings. Assured in his cocky tone when addressing him, acting like he had done it dozens of times. Because he had.
Tracking every graceful movement, Professor Kim spun in his chair to give Seonghwa the attention he wanted. But not before adjusting his trousers over his lap, deciding to lay an arm over that part of him while he cooled down.
It didn’t work.
Seonghwa wrote sentence after sentence. Long loops of words. Vocalized in a purr to his ear. A delightful rumble in Professor Kim’s chest as he hummed along. A growing desire forcing him to sit awkwardly.
He surrendered. Seonghwa’s back was to him. Professor Kim stuffed his right hand in his pocket and grabbed the thing seconds from embarrassing him and wrangled it flat to his palm.
The smirk twitching at Seonghwa’s lips was smothered as he moved on to his next point on the board. He pretended as much as he wanted; act aloof, be a hardass during class - Professor Kim was wrapped around his finger.
Absolutely no one dared approach Professor Kim after red-inked grades were handed back. He never changed them. He never gave extensions. His office hours were spent alone, as was his lunch.
Unless Seonghwa was there.
As he often was.
If only Seonghwa’s classmates got word that all they had to do to improve their grades was wear a short skirt, a blouse missing its top buttons, and thigh high stockings.
Professor Kim had his weaknesses. Seonghwa ruthlessly exploited them.
His speech was punctuated by bending over, underlined by the flounce of his skirt hem swinging to and fro while gesturing at the bleeding red notes shouting about how his interpretation of the text was wrong. Emphasized by his automatic coyness to lace his hands in front of him when Professor Kim was defending his ruling, his tits creating ample cleavage the professor only wished he was strong-willed enough to stop his eyes from darting to when stumbling through his rebuttal.
Poor professor. He shifted in his chair and admitted defeat at the tilt of Seonghwa’s head and the batting of his lashes. Fight it as he did, he always acknowledged Seonghwa’s argument in good faith and raised his points in the spreadsheet that determined his worthiness as Pass or Fail. They weren’t egregious changes. Just enough to score a C.
Seonghwa beamed and thanked him for his time, clapping the chalk dust from his hands and giving him a sickly sweet smile before ascending the steps and leaving.
In a way, how Seonghwa charmed the tent in Professor Kim's pants was its own reward. Though it seemed his vibrator required charging again after leaving Professor Kim’s class.
The following week, Seonghwa sat at his table in the front and held one of his usual discussions with Professor Kim. Well, at one point it was a discussion. For months, this routine quickly delved into talking about other topics, then surface: what Seonghwa did over the weekend, what Professor Kim’s hobbies were, reciting poems or lines from plays they were studying in class. All around laid back conversations. Always with Professor Kim’s sleeves rolled up, his hair a disheveled mess like his desk, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, and that goofy grin on his face.
It was criminal how he made Seonghwa laugh when his personality during class was so opposite. No other student had this rapport with him. Naturally, this trivial fact inflated Seonghwa’s ego. Being able to interrupt Professor Kim’s lectures by uncrossing his legs and watching the man’s cheeks flush. He was such a simple guy.
Seducing him to hide his blatant erections behind his desk fueled Seonghwa’s lifeblood. Torturing him by tugging at his shirt collar and testing the limits of his buttons crying out for relief over his lacy bra. Professor Kim was so obvious, it was cute.
The shorter man unbound his fingers from behind his head to read his watch. “Shouldn’t you be on your way?”
Seonghwa tapped a manicured nail on his phone to check the time. “Seems so.” Stashing away the worn paperback he was conferring on him about for his dissertation, he walked up the stairs, passing rows and rows of tables and hard plastic chairs. “Have a nice evening, Professor.” He paused at the door, attempting to read his expression from across the room.
He raised a hand and waved goodbye. “Lock the door on your way out.” Seonghwa obliged, depressing the lock on the handle and closing the door behind him.
Hongjoong waited for the click, the jiggle of the handle. He had requested Seonghwa to perform the task many times in the past. So many, in fact, he no longer tossed him a questionable brow before leaving.
Penetrating the silence of the empty classroom were the heels of Seonghwa’s shoes clicking down the hallway for a few steps until they faded away altogether.
As soon as the echoing was far enough, the top drawer of Hongjoong’s desk ripped open - banging on its metal slides - as he grabbed a bottle of lotion and laid his phone sideways. Smacking the drawer closed, he ignored the rustling of his things jumbling into one amalgamation inside. Lotion, box of tissues, phone. He shoves his mouse pad aside as he lures in the mug of pens closer to use it to prop up his phone and proceeded to go through his gallery.
“I thought I saved them…” Hongjoong grumbled to himself. At this point, the ache sending a dull pain to his stomach should’ve told him it wasn’t that important, but he opened Instagram on his second account and navigated his way to Seonghwa’s profile with one finger, all the while he was hunched over and trying to unbuckle his belt.
On Seonghwa’s profile, he scrolled down to find his favorite post. A photoshoot from Seonghwa’s summer vacation. Many pictures. Many angles. Many pouty looks at the camera wearing a layer of sand and a trendy micro bikini. The sand provided more coverage.
He swiped to a photo he hadn’t masturbated to in a while and finally! His hands were free.
His leather belt was threaded through the buckle, button steered through the loop. His zipper cascaded over his rock-hard cock warming his palm, wrestled from the confines of his boxer briefs.
After holding back for an hour, he needed it. Wanted it more than anything.
He smears two pumps of lotion over his fingers, waving tissues in the wind of his grunting. His skin was hot all over, uncomfortably so. Simmering blood wound rivers through his tense muscles, the boiling lust compelling his eyes to ravage the image, not deciding on which aspects the hormones in his brain liked best: the side of Seonghwa’s tits, voluptuous ass, or plump pussy peeking out from writhing on his stomach on the beach towel. Arching everything so perfectly for him it was as if Seonghwa was made to please him.
The rest of his concentration was spent fucking his hands.
Long inhale, shuddering exhale.
The rhythmic beat of sins pulsed in his ears, taboo quickening his pace. The thrill-seeking adrenaline coasts his twitching fingers over his reddened tip. The groan stirring in his chest unearthed all the restrained affection he had for Seonghwa; it was demanding to be released. To moan Seonghwa’s name where no one could hear him.
But he had to keep it stamped down. Try as he might to not show favoritism in class, his gaze wandered to Seonghwa far too often. He chose him to stand and declare his snarky answer to his question while he hid himself behind his desk. The times Seonghwa showed up early to see him and he made him write out the day’s lecture on the chalkboard - since his handwriting was legible compared to his.
All benign excuses to reel him in.
Mornings spent hanging out. Evenings spent arguing over his grades. Not like Seonghwa was a bad student; his exams were what almost secured his position for passing the class, it was his papers that needed work. Riddled with disjointed thoughts, meandering points, and leaps in logic so incredible it could win gold at the Olympics.
None of it detracted from Hongjoong’s allure to him. Quite the opposite, actually. It gave Seonghwa a reason to hang on to his every word, stay around after class, talk to him like a peer, and the familiarity of knowing each other on this level gave Seonghwa the boldness to squabble with him during class.
To set his face aflame when Seonghwa had the gall to wear those short skirts, legs opening and closing when speaking to him. Making him slip his hand in his pocket under his desk when Seonghwa challenged him.
No one could hold his interest like Seonghwa did.
No one .
Hongjoong pumps his dick faster, using a clean knuckle to swipe to the next photo. One with Seonghwa’s tits on display for the camera. It was cruel how the strip of fabric over Seonghwa's hard nipples caused his jaw to tense and his nostrils to flare. His tits in the photos, his tits bouncing under the thin fabric of his shirt when he sauntered around his desk, his tits slick with Hongjoong’s eager kisses, his tits covered in his come.
Damn Seonghwa for tempting him. And damn him for encouraging it against his better judgment.
He was in too deep.
The thick vein along the underside of his cock throbbed. His body went taut.
Release. Relax.
Hongjoong gathered the tissues, pumping once, twice.
“Ngh!” he stifled the moan, eyes flitting from working his cock to the photo of Seonghwa. Devouring the contours, curves, dips, and swells of his body. Picturing Seonghwa naked under him. Twisted in pleasure. Shouting his first name.
He circled his fingers, guiding them in smooth sprints over his cockhead, each graze of his digits sending him to the precipice of the cliff.
Fuck.
He emptied himself into the tissues, milking his cock dry in long, slow strokes while staring at his phone.
The cleanup was made in haste. Tissues disposed of, a wet wipe on his hands as if it would wash away his delinquency, briefcase packed, and spent cock tucked away for another time. He checked his watch; he should still be home in time for an unloving, resentful, cold dinner left for him on the kitchen counter and moving boxes strewn about the living room couch where he slept.
Walking alone in the dark parking lot gave him time to think. And thinking allowed the insidious venom of self-loathing to replace the endorphins tingling his nerves.
He developed feelings for one of his students. And he yearned for more than inappropriate hours he scheduled to be with Seonghwa. More than the hours he expended in pondering their interactions, and the exhaustive state it left him in after he dumped his energy into idyllic scenarios with Seonghwa.
Oh, how he reveled in it.
Seonghwa was his escape, and he was not about to change that.
Seonghwa drummed his nails on the underside of Professor Kim’s desk; supporting his weight on it, ergo, bringing his chest together bracketed by his elbows to help persuade the professor to bump his grade up two points. That was all. Two measly points.
“Oh no, looks like the program’s not responding,” Professor Kim replied with a lopsided grin, running his mouse in circles and chuckling at Seonghwa’s frustration.
“Professor,” Seonghwa whined.
Professor Kim unglued his eyes from Seonghwa’s chest after imagining his cock leaking between the other man's breasts and redirected his attention to his computer screen. He furrowed his brows. Clicked around. Shook his mouse vigorously. Frowned some more.
“What is it?” Seonghwa asked.
“It’s frozen.” He tapped keys on his keyboard.
“C’mon.”
“No, really,” he said, angling the screen at Seonghwa and demonstrating that the program he used to log grades was static and the cursor was sitting in the same spot, unmoving.
Seonghwa leaned over and spammed random keys as if by some miracle the computer would respond to his fingers and not the professor’s.
Professor Kim was entranced. His cleavage was nice, yes, but his cup of pens... One pen stuck out further than the others and its pointed cap was tracing Seonghwa’s nipple, coaxing it erect.
The sheer power of his fixation scorched Seonghwa like the sun on a cloudless day. What a simple man. Tease himself on one of the professor’s belongings and he would cherish it forever.
Seonghwa pouted his luscious bottom lip, arched his back, and nudged the pen around his nipple until he was satisfied that the professor could not take it anymore. His breath was light and tone airy, “Want me to take a look, Professor?”
“Great idea.”
Fuck.
That husky voice, heavy with arousal, imbued those two little words with a spell that bound Seonghwa to them.
Professor Kim pushed himself away from his desk with his foot, crossed his ankles, and shifted one hand to his pocket, the other on his armrest supporting his head. His expression was that of expectation. Seonghwa’s was blank-faced trepidation, the sort of foreboding ingrained in his very bones telling him to comply, obey.
It was not like the professor to be this serious when it was just the two of them. And it was equally unlike him to return even an ounce of Seonghwa’s flirting. Not to this degree. When it was just the two of them, Professor Kim would drop all pretenses of having authority over Seonghwa, but now, the fierce lust in his eyes warned that if Seonghwa did not respect his commands, he would punish him. The thought of which sent a zing of excitement straight to the apex of Seonghwa’s thighs.
He walked around the desk - any other day this would include him tracing a sleek finger along the edge and a little swish in his step, however, at this moment his brain was in a tizzy under Professor Kim’s watchful gaze. Giddy at the tendons flexing in his neck. Fascinated by his cutthroat stare appraising Seonghwa’s body like it was for sale.
Bending at the waist, Seonghwa mashed the control, alt, and delete keys. Harrumphing when nothing happened on screen.
Awareness prickled the hair on Seonghwa’s nape at the sound of the professor’s chair creaking and an object disappearing from his peripheral. Whatever it was, it was forgotten when he gandered at the cables leading from the keyboard and mouse down the hole with the rest of the wires connecting from the computer to underneath the desk. They bulged oddly. He groped them, tugged.
His suspicions proved correct as they dangled in his hand. “Sir, they’re not plugged in.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Professor Kim cooed behind him. “Care to rectify that for me?”
“Y-Yes, sir.” Submissive. Quivering. Anticipating. Wishing. Hoping. Seonghwa crouched under the desk and peered into the dark. The wood panel on the front blocked all light from entering. Kneeling, he ran his hand up the back of the tower, prodding fingertips through dust, hunting the empty USB slots in pitch black.
Hongjoong could not be happier.
Seonghwa was on his hands and knees in front of him.
He opened the camera app on his phone - snatched from his desk when Seonghwa was not looking - and started recording a video.
The phone was tilted down to his lap. He had threaded his cock through a hole cut out in his pocket and bunched the fabric of his trousers so that his engorged tip was visible outside. Swollen and in search of a reason to create new scenes in his memory bank. This time by his own accord.
On his phone screen played a close-up of his cock encircled in his thick fingers. He stroked for a few seconds, a fistful of himself before panning to Seonghwa. Face down, ass up. A strip of white cotton wedged between his cheeks like a blaze leading Professor Kim to the parts begging to be licked, to be sucked. Adorning a wet spot where it stretched tight over his cunt. Seonghwa could not have known this particular pair was the professor’s weakness. They were most visible in his dimmed classroom; the black lace pair became obscured in the shadows of his thighs. The crisp, stark white? Professor Kim bathed himself in their radiance when Seonghwa gave him a peek.
His heart pounded in the wide expanse of the room. He had his excuse prepared since the moment he concocted this plan over the weekend: if Seonghwa turned around, he would hide his cock and click on the flashlight on his phone, like he was helping him see all along.
But Seonghwa did not turn. He did not look. He was not curious if the professor was up to anything. He was too busy gagging at the dust under his nails as he tried to line up the cables with the ports.
The chair creaked again. Professor Kim shifted to the edge of the seat. Knees angled out on either side of Seonghwa’s ass. Stroking his tip faster. Seonghwa’s heat inches from him. Heavy breaths linking the space from his cock, to his phone, to Seonghwa’s panties.
Metal dinged metal. Cables knocked cables. Seonghwa must have thought he was an idiot. He probably was. Swimming in the murky waters of student-teacher relationships. Antagonizing him to bicker, asking him to help file papers in his cabinet. Becoming too bold, too stupid in pushing boundaries.
But if he were drowning, so was Seonghwa.
He had found the USB ports minutes ago. Actually, it was already plugged in, but teasing Professor Kim like this... Hearing the rustling of fabric the more he wagged his hips back and forth. The pure debauchery of the air cooling his soaked panties should have sentenced him to a lifetime of shame. It did not. It felt fucking good knowing the professor was looking. Captivated by him.
Seconds passed.
Seonghwa arched his back to an agonizing degree.
Presented himself in all his glory.
The shame did come. When Professor Kim did not act upon his cravings.
He never did. Something held him back. It always did. But it felt like this time was different... Despite Seonghwa’s efforts week after week, Professor Kim was a lost cause.
Enough playing around; Seonghwa crawled backwards from under the desk and stood, tapping away at the miraculously working program to change his score and hit enter.
The wheels behind him squeaked. Professor Kim’s knees bumped into the back of Seonghwa’s, causing his to buckle, bend. “Oh!” Seonghwa faltered and caught himself on the desk, spinning to face the professor at the same time he decided to rise from his chair.
He used his body to box Seonghwa in.
Surprised in the tangle of shoes knocking shoes, knees gone weak, Seonghwa clutched onto Professor Kim's his tie - earning a strangled cough from his cinched air pipe - and the professor’s arms fell to either side of Seonghwa’s body, pinning him between Professor Kim and the solid piece of wood that was the desk. The edge of which dug into Seonghwa’s plush ass.
The silkiness of Professor Kim’s tie rivaled the softness of his pink lips hovering over Seonghwa’s. The hardness of his charcoal black eyes boring into Seonghwa’s rivaled what was pressing into Seonghwa’s stomach.
“Sorry.” Seonghwa’s whisper was so shushed his voice cut out as he let go of the tie and smoothed his hand down the professor’s chest, his stomach. “The computer’s working now.” Radiating body heat sweltered in the mingle of their two bodies united as one. Words were stolen. Excuses were lost in the passage of time. Impure thoughts raced. Ones saved for empty classrooms and toys that did not come with baggage and consequences if caught.
The coarse fabric of Professor Kim’s trousers grazed Seonghwa’s upper thighs as he advanced forward. Laying his chest on Seonghwa’s to better reach his mouse snug against Seonghwa’s ass and close the program on screen.
Months of seducing this man led to his unresolved desire brushing over Seonghwa’s mound. If he just tipped his hips it would apply pressure to his needy-
His half-closed gaze perceived Seonghwa’s ruse. Strong forearms enclosed Seonghwa’s waist, no longer shy about expressing what he wanted. Seonghwa was not the lion in the reeds. He was the sheep and Professor Kim donned the wool over his eyes.
The professor’s wolfish grin tweaked at Seonghwa’s innocent mouth agape at his forwardness. His mischievous lips graced words, “I dismissed class over an hour ago. Why are you still here prancing around in front of me?”
His pride curled over the shell of Seonghwa’s ear, swept the length of his neck, snaked down the collar of his shirt. Smugness coiled his tongue, innocuous words worked like a spark to dry leaves, inciting an inferno to the areas of Seonghwa insisting to be touched, ruined.
The longer his lips deemed Seonghwa worthy, the more he knew this was what he wanted.
Gaining some autonomy, Seonghwa shifted his hand from admiring the professor’s abs up the planes of his chest to his round shoulder and down his arm, skirting over his rolled up sleeve to the forest of coarse hair standing at attention under his guidance. He reached his wrist and settled his hand on top of his.
His left hand.
The older man mouths at Seonghwa’s throat, breath down his dewy cleavage. His lips rests on his fragile skin; just resting, not kissing. They were privy to Seonghwa’s drumming pulse, certain it was caused by him. The twist of Professor Kim’s mouth stopped short of the smirk it was forming.
A sense of dread overcame Seonghwa’s embrace.
The low moan in the back of Professor Kim’s throat stopped. His body went rigid in places it was not before.
It was all too sudden when Professor Kim reeled back with panic in his eyes, his vocal cords poised, suspended in time. He prepares to create words of warning, or maybe an explanation for his earlier boldness.
Seonghwa’s fingers explored even further. Roamed over his knuckles, through mountains and valleys of protruding veins. He slipped down the slope of the man's left ring finger.
Nothing.
No bump of metal.
When did he stop wearing his wedding ring?
“Class was dismissed over an hour ago,” Professor Kim repeats in a haunting whisper, an octave lower and devoid of emotion. The self-loathing at his impulses was evident in each shaky inhale. He used his imposing height as its own threat, bending Seonghwa’s frame to his will, fingers gripping the desk with white knuckles of restraint, claiming the slice of air separating them as his own. The firm length prodding Seonghwa surged against the pleats of his skirt with a cowardly roll of his hips. Testing the feel of him. Introducing his urges to Seonghwa’s, and hating that he had to stop there. “You should leave.”
He wound his fingers in Seonghwa’s skirt above his thigh, refusing to let go of the fabric. To let go of him. The stubble on his cheek stabbed the sensitive skin of Seonghwa’s face as he bowed his head to speak directly into his ear, “Go.” Heavy as the burdens he endured, he let Seonghwa’s skirt slip free of his grasp. His arm hung limp at his side.
He was dismissing Park Seonghwa.
Though Professor Kim said as much, he left Seonghwa little room to actually go. His body was overtaken - pinned down by the professor’s inability to surrender to his vices, nor give them up completely.
Seonghwa wiggled out from under his looming presence, flourishing in the flattery of his sharp inhale and groan when Seonghwa lurched his hips to drag along him, savoring the unmistakable sensation of his professor’s cock following his lead.
How insulting. Nothing would break this man. And it was another knife to Seonghwa’s inflated ego.
He climbed the stairs in a rush, laying his hand on the handle. The cold metal seared into his hot palm, though the heat dissipated quickly from the professor’s lingering warmth. The chill seeped into his skin, mocking his affinity for the man, erasing the weight of his chest pressed against Seonghwa’s from memory.
Maybe it was better that way.
Surely ripe for punishment, Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder. One last look before the winter break. A final impression of what he meant to him. Would Professor Kim wave? Tell him to lock the door? Wish him a happy holiday?
Professor Kim was at his desk. Standing in the same position as before, though slightly altered. His lush black hair hid his face from view. Hands curled into fists, arms like pillars keeping him from collapsing completely as his shoulders hunched further.
Utterly destitute.
Good.
Seonghwa twisted the handle.
He didn’t move. Didn’t address him. Didn’t explain, apologize, nor act in the ways Seonghwa hoped.
He denied him.
The lock clicked behind him as Seonghwa left.
The grandiose holiday gave way to the lukewarm reception of classes resuming, then to an all-out stomach-churning response to Professor Kim’s lectures. Seonghwa stopped arriving early, and Professor Kim stopped asking him to stay late. Seonghwa stopped speaking up in class, and Professor Kim repressed any compulsion to interact with him. Seonghwa ignored him. He ignored Seonghwa.
A wonderful arrangement that lasted all of two weeks before one of them broke.
Professor Kim allowed his eyes to wander over Seonghwa’s frame as he entered the room on the day graded papers were handed back, and Seonghwa found himself packing away his things slowly after everyone else had left.
In their time apart, Professor Kim had graduated from grumpy teacher to full-on curmudgeon - scaring off students in record time with a single glare from behind his disorganized desk - but the giant red F bleeding into the crevices of Seonghwa’s paper just wouldn't do.
“...So, in conclusion,” Seonghwa ranted, circling two points on the board until the poor stick of chalk in his tight grip chipped to a stub, “I believe my interpretation is perfectly logical and that you, my astute Professor, could make an exception and bend the rules just the tiniest amount and raise my grade to a C, at the very least, as I deserve.”
He faced Professor Kim for the first time since he sauntered up to the chalkboard. It was a good sign he didn’t immediately ask Seonghwa to leave, but his only contributions to the conversation were in the forms of hums of disapproval or one-word rejections. So, when Seonghwa turned to him and he beamed his usual impish grin - legs straight out and crossed at the ankle, sleeves rolled up and arms tucked behind his head as he swiveled in his chair - he was unnerved, but grateful.
Silence fell thick between them. Professor Kim’s eyes went unfocused, considering something in his head. Seonghwa dawdled at the board, scrutinizing his points, seeking counter arguments for anything Professor Kim might throw at him. Anything to get his mind off the way that gaze rendered him to the very nerves that summoned the gumption in him to wear his shortest skirt that morning after two weeks of wearing jeans.
Professor Kim cocked his head. The silence broke. “I’ll bend the rules if you bend over my desk.”
Boldfaced shock slackened Seonghwa’s jaw. “ What?”
“It’s what I deserve,” Professor Kim asserted, using Seonghwa’s own choice of words. “It’s only fair.” He jerked his chin twice at his desk, smirk pulling taut at his lips. “Bend over it and I’ll consider changing your grade.”
Seonghwa hesitated. His face lashed with visible uncertainty, tension as palpable as morning fog sticking to his skin. A gulp in his throat boomed loud in the two feet that kept him from falling into the professor’s lap.
“Bend over your desk,” Seonghwa repeated in a monotone voice. Somewhat composed on the outside, but his head swam in amusement, making it difficult to keep a shimmy out of his shoulders when he clinked the chalk on the metal tray.
He didn’t believe Professor Kim for a second.
His shoes clacked on the wood-paneled floor as he walked to the oak desk, rapping his knuckles on it. Knocking on it the same way he should be on his skull to check where his brain cells had gone off to. Professor Kim had never made advances. Never followed through with him. What could have changed?
He slid his pupils to the professor. He remained statuesque. Watching Seonghwa, rapt. Seonghwa tilted his head, pitched his voice in light innocence. “Going to give me a D, sir?”
“Stop talking and find out,” Professor Kim said, invoking compliance in his deep rasp.
His threats were all bark, no bite. Not until he made certain of them. Wastes of air on paltry promises. But surely, once Seonghwa obeyed him, he would not be able to resist. Please, God, don’t resist. He needed to be fucked by him.
Seonghwa pivoted. Spreading his feet, he lined his hips with the edge of the desk and leaned until his fingertips made contact, his clammy palms arching like suction cups on the surface of the well-made, durable desk.
Scratches and divots in the wood grain tickled his fingertips as he dropped his chest, his hard nipples excited by the cool veneer gliding along his thin blouse. His hamstrings woke up, stretching gaily from their long nap. At the end, he crossed his arms and rested his chin on his forearms. Getting comfortable. A sharp right angle bent over the desk.
“Going to spank me with a ruler?” Shuffling alerted him to Professor Kim sitting up in his chair; the menacing rubbing of his calloused palms together drew nearer and nearer. His warm sigh blew on the back of Seonghwa’s legs.
“After you’ve teased my cock for months on end?” Professor Kim ran his knuckles over the goosebumps on Seonghwa’s thigh with one hand, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly with the other. “Not a chance in hell I’d stop there.”
Professor Kim dove his hand into his pants, grasping his swollen lust determined to be released over his boxer briefs. Not now. Not yet. He had to ravish Seonghwa first.
His hands cascaded up, groping Seonghwa's ass. One cheek in each. Giving them a hard squeeze and laughing at Seonghwa’s pitiful whine. “Sweetheart,” he said hoarsely, “you’ll have to stay quiet if you want to have fun.” He reared his left hand back and smacked. Seonghwa muffled his cry. His right hand slapped ripples in his soft flesh.
“Mmph!” At least he had the decency to hush the tears sparkling the corner of Seonghwa’s eyes by following them up with a gentle caress.
Rolling his chair up to him, his knees inserted themselves between Seonghwa’s and his need was about even with Professor Kim’s face. His breath graced Seonghwa’s stinging skin. A shy touch of his lips on the sore spots as an apology. And yet, he raised his hand and spanked again. Harder. Echoing in the empty room along with Seonghwa’s cry.
“Professor!” The motion flung him forward, dragging his nipples over the rough texture of the askance mousepad. Knocking over the mug of pens, he arches his hips even more, exhilarating sensations tingling from the top of his head to his curled toes.
“Shh.” His useless shushing lasted all but seconds until his puckered lips relaxed, then curled wickedly. Professor Kim clamps down on his flesh. Teeth, nails, fingers digging for purchase, his canines bruising.
His hands roamed where they wanted. The front of Seonghwa’s thighs up to the point of the desk impeding him, massaging the tight muscles responding to his dire affection. Climbing his legs to cup his buttcheeks and bring them to his mouth for more love bites, tasting, all the while running his thumb along the length of Seonghwa’s white cotton panties. He pries his thighs apart, smashing them together, coaxing his pussy to swallow the fabric in response to his kneading.
Seonghwa had grappled the edge of the desk to anchor himself there nice and steady while Professor Kim had his way. His excruciating, aggravatingly slow way.
“You want my lips somewhere else, baby?” he asked after Seonghwa huffed a wordless complaint and swayed his hips, not at all subtle in his longing to have Professor Kim’s mouth on his wet heat. “Need your professor’s tongue to treat you well after failing your assignment?”
What a cruel man to fan flames of embarrassment to Seonghwa’s already burning, panting state; bent over the desk and begging him to finally fuck him after he had the audacity to roll up his sleeves and taunt with his obvious massive erection casting a mouth-watering shadow across his lap.
“Please.”
Seonghwa’s shaky utterance of that single word evoked something within Hongjoong.
Hongjoong’s quivering lips pressed to the arousal-soaked cotton of Seonghwa’s white panties. Tender, grazing but a moderate kiss over the fabric that riled his cock, concealing what he coveted most.
Hongjoong’s teeming excitement exhibited itself in the way he kissed Seonghwa’s cunt. Controlled kisses waning sloppy with the use of his tongue. Short flicks at first, darting over his lips. Then full licks up the slit, tracing the outline and nudging the fabric stiffer over his bundle of nerves the more he opened his mouth and introduced him to his skill. His nose to the entrance and his tongue exploring down, down, down the slope, over the curve in pursuit of the reason Seonghwa moaned his title so sultry and feebly it sent a throb from his balls to leak from his cock.
“Professor,” Seonghwa sighed, fingernails denting semicircles in the underside of the polished edge of Hongjoong’s desk. Rising to his tippy toes in order to elevate his hips and grant the professor access to feast where he desired.
And hungry Hongjoong was. Starving. Weeks, months, years without a good meal to satisfy his cravings.
The tip of Hongjoong’s tongue traced the bump of Seonghwa’s clit, held prisoner by his panties. Caged, locked away from him. He sealed his plush, full lips to it, gathered Seonghwa in his mouth full of thick saliva, and suckled. The gratification was immediate. Seonghwa’s thighs clenched around his face. He shoved backward in desperation. Stomped his foot. His too-loud moan traveled down his spine to the deep hum vibrating from Hongjoong’s throat to his clit.
When Hongjoong spoke, he carefully enunciated each word, projected the plosive P’s. “Poor girl,” he jested, words muttered on Seonghwa’s swollen need. “Can’t handle a few minutes of teasing after you’ve done the same to me? Pleading for my cock. Prancing around here begging for me to fuck you.”
A single finger slipped under Seonghwa’s twisted panties. He went pliant.
“Bad girl,” Hongjoong groaned, shoving them to the side.
“Bad girl,” he lauded, wheezing at the beautiful display of wanton lust glistening for him.
“Bad girl,” he praised with conviction, spanking Seonghwa’s ass so hard his vision went cross and vestiges of stars danced in the foreground of the rows of tables and chairs.
“Fuck!” Seonghwa groaned to the back of his hand, quieting himself.
Hongjoong performed a full body roll from his jutting cock to his supple tongue fawning over Seonghwa’s clit, up to savor his arousal, planting harsh kisses where he saw fit. Ragged breaths sent chills to the warmest intimacies of Seonghwa’s body, gone vulnerable in the professor’s craze as he removed his panties.
Seonghwa’s pussy was free from its cage.
Hongjoong let himself go.
His arms weighed heavily on the dip of Seonghwa’s back, hands rubbing soothing circles while he flexed his biceps; capturing Seonghwa in his vise, hiking his hips, tilting them further. Ensuring Seonghwa’s quaking thighs could no longer jerk away from his benevolent mouth. He waited too long for this. Agonized as the seasons morphed and Seonghwa reaped the benefits of his undivided attention. Took advantage of his fondness, only to deprive him of it when, at last, he almost gave in to his sins. He was so close. So close to taking him then. But he didn’t. And Seonghwa made him pay dearly for it.
Now Seonghwa had to endure his consequences.
The precious resource of Hongjoong’s erudite tongue honed in on Seonghwa’s undressed clit. Twitching the tip over it. Smoothing the whole muscle to cherish it. Pausing to swoon at what Seonghwa spilled for him, lapping it up, and returning at once to adore him in kisses and sucking until Seonghwa was gasping, writhing, squirming from his talent. Legs shaking past the point of holding his weight. Humid huffs panting over the wood desk where Seonghwa’s cheek stuck to it.
He mustered what little voice he had left to stutter out a sigh of, “Sir.”
At Seonghwa’s brink, Hongjoong stopped.
He commended him with an everlasting blissful lick before tormenting him in suspense, stopping just short of his peak, and instead offering a lazy kiss as he adjusted his chair and pushed himself away - then crashed his knees into the hinge of Seonghwa’s, forcing him to flounder and fall into his lap.
His sudden switch in activities foretold his plan. Seonghwa had a very long night ahead.
Orgasm delayed, Seonghwa tried to tense his thighs to give himself some scant amount of pleasure, enough to build the waves of impending release again, but Hongjoong’s legs between his was not an accident. His dark chuckle in Seonghwa’s ear told him as much. He designed this from the start.
He nipped at Seonghwa’s neck, heartbeat pounding pulses to his clit. “Does your professor’s cock feel good?”
Seonghwa forced his focus from the professor’s overbearing hands ripping the buttons from his blouse and the palm curving over his mound to pull him along his robust length situated between his ass; the heel of his palm shaping just over where he wanted it most. Hongjoong’s briefs was soaked with Seonghwa’s fluids, acting as a barrier from entry as he grinded him up and down, pussy lips straddling the older man's cock.
“So good.” Seonghwa dropped his head to Hongjoong’s shoulder and kissed his strong jaw, both of them battling for control in moving hips and greedy lips. “I love my professor’s cock. It feels so fucking good.” He ground on his length, tipping his hips at the end to send the professor’s palm over his clit, arching to his fingers prodding under his bra. It spurred him on. He picked up speed. Delivered sultry gasps and moans to his neck. “It’s so big, Professor, please fill me. I need it.” He pouted his bottom lip and kissed the side of his sly mouth. “I’ve been bad. Punish me.”
“Oh, I’ll punish you-”
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Under the desk.” Hongjoong ushered Seonghwa with a slap on the thigh like an unruly animal he had to herd, and damn him for liking it.
Like a leaf caught in a raging stream, Seonghwa slid from the professor’s bouncing legs and landed on his knees. He crawled into the darkness obscured by the wood panel on the desk and spun around to look up at the approving smile on Hongjoong’s face, provoking a matching one to carve Seonghwa’s lips as they shared a bubbling chortle escalating into a smothered roguish laugh.
“Shh!” Hongjoong held his finger to his lips, shoulders jerking, suppressing the child-like devilry taking over his body at the sight of Seonghwa down there. In the pause between another thump on the door, he rolled his chair in and Seonghwa backed up, giving him room to open his legs around his body. Before Hongjoong averted his eyes to the door, he beheld Seonghwa in a promise: this interruption would be short-lived. A brief respite. Then he’d make it up to him.
“Come in.”
The words reverberated off the enclosure of Seonghwa’s hiding spot. Rang in his ears. The doorknob squeaked. Turned downward. Hongjoong sat flush with the desk, securing himself to the edge and blocking his lap from view in a large shadow.
How often did he sit like this while in class, hardly able to contain his erection from witnesses? Seonghwa couldn’t keep the noise from escaping; he pressed his lips together and exhaled faintly through his nose, but Hongjoong heard his moan.
He heard Seonghwa’s disobedience and reprimanded him.
Hongjoong ordered Seonghwa to be quiet once more by pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and index; his thick fingers sparking the most sensuous harm to Seonghwa’s mouth - the same as he did to his hurting ass. Pleased by his mute respect, he let go and settled his large palm on his thigh, his trousers struggling to bear the constricting muscles and his briefs tenting a cock featured most prominently in Seonghwa’s eyeline.
The door swung open.
Hongjoong’s body slumped. Though Seonghwa couldn’t see why, the professor’s sudden change in mood resulted in his frame curling in, and his wonderful, painful hand with fingers Seonghwa was seconds from sucking on abandoned his thigh to lean on his forearms and stare down the one who invaded his privacy.
Leisure footsteps descended the stairs.
He grabbed a pen from his top-heavy mug that spilled at the slightest bump and expelled energy by removing, then replacing the cap. Clicking the end again and again.
Whoever it was, whatever they were here for; it affected Hongjoong. Going from energetic and lively - if not unabashedly horny - to exhausted and hosting a quiet growl of misery when the trespasser ruined his self-indulgence one step at a time.
He needed to be consoled, and Seonghwa knew the best way how.
He settled into position, knees spread, and wrapped his hands around Hongjoong’s ankles. The professor shifted at first, wondering what Seonghwa was up to, but relaxed when he started massaging up his legs. Hard caresses of his thumb into the calves. Squeezing his fingers. Watching the tension seep from the professor’s body; the weight pulling his chest concave lifting as time went on and Seonghwa tended to him.
“You left your copy of the paperwork on my kitchen table.”
Seonghwa deflated as his stomach dropped.
Hongjoong clicked the pen. My table, he sneered.
The voice belonged to a woman.
Her table.
He left something at a woman’s house?
Seonghwa cupped his calf and brought his knee in, favoring it in many kisses. Quick pecks turned to gradual open-mouthed hushed touches of his lips on the professor’s trousers. Claiming him. He responded to Seonghwa’s affections. He filled his chest with fortitude and plunged his hand under the desk, blanketing Seonghwa’s which was rubbing along his firm thigh.
“It’s important,” she chastised. “Might want to keep track of it?” She landed in front of his desk.
Seonghwa kissed his professor’s inner thigh, using teeth when necessary to divert more of the man's focus to him; accumulate all of his attention and hoard it like a shiny treasure. This woman didn’t deserve it. When Seonghwa spoke to him that way it was in jest and he reacted in a lighthearted way. When this woman berated him in her nasally voice, it was to put him down.
His fingers swept over Seonghwa’s. His thumb slotted itself into Seonghwa’s palm, infusing an otherworldly calmness into his temperament. Holding his hand when he was facing a point of contention in his life.
“Why’re you even here?” Disgust erupted from the pit of his diaphragm. “I gave you your keys weeks ago.”
Something was tossed onto the desk above Seonghwa’s head then.
Hongjoong’s hand left his. Cold and lonely. Then scalding hot with desire when he pried Seonghwa’s loving strokes from his thigh and guided his deft fingers to his lap. To the opening of his trousers, folded over and peeled away to reveal his cock.
He enclosed Seonghwa’s fingers over it. Tapped once. Seonghwa understood.
“And you should’ve taken it with you then. I found it in the mess you left behind under a stack of schoolwork dated from last year. I shouldn’t be surprised you’re so disorganized after all this time, but you still manage to amaze me. I mean, just look at your desk.”
Eavesdropping shouldn’t excite Seonghwa like this, but the sheer magnitude of pressing a gentle kiss to Hongjoong’s tip over his briefs and watching his stomach jump, and draining the insecurity from his meek voice was its own unique reward. Especially when he had just started and already, those strong hands were grasping his thighs in effort to stay collected under the woman’s narrowed eye scrutiny.
Stuffing his mouth, gorging, a total glutton for Hongjoong’s still-covered length, Seonghwa stretched his lips over his girth and sucked on his tip. Cradling the underside and praising it in delicate rolls from the back of his tongue, drawing back to drench his head in himself and Hongjoong - tasting his precum and swallowing to hoard it as well with his focus and attention.
“Seoyeon,” he exhaled; a grand undertaking to make it sound bored and not at all like he was seconds from moaning his student’s name, “unless you have something important to say, leave.”
Seonghwa wound his hand around the opening of Hongjoong’s briefs and unveiled his present.
Hongjoong cleared his throat and shuffled his feet to cover the jangle of his belt buckle falling to the side.
His cock. His glorious cock with its leaking reddened tip and impressive size tempted Seonghwa as much as it daunted him. Warming him up to his tongue, Seonghwa lapped the precum cultivated just for him to enjoy and honored him with a silent kiss before delving in. Wetting his lips. Stretching them over him. Slowly. In no rush to have his hollowed cheeks break suction and bring the wrong kind of attention upon himself.
It was difficult enough as is swallowing more than the first three inches. He wanted it all. To slather him in appreciation. Not to admit defeat and pump his hand the rest of what his mouth could not handle without risking a moan of pure euphoria when he twitched, filling him whole.
“Are you ever going to explain yourself? Apologize to me?”
“You were the one who decided this in the first place. I have nothing else to volunteer, nor disclose.”
She shifted her weight. Bounced her heel. Clack, clack, clack on the floor.
Hongjoong scooted to the edge of his seat, shoving his hips forward. It was a true miracle Seonghwa did not gag on him and blow his cover then and there, but by the glory of Hongjoong’s thumb sweeping over his sunken cheek, he unhinged his jaw and accepted his tip at the back of his throat with all the patience of a Saint.
“You should leave,” he said, scribbling nonsensical shapes on the important document in front of him. “I’m a busy man, as you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Always here. Never home.” She tutted, whirling around to the direction she entered from, briskly crossing a few steps before stopping at the stairs. “Bye.” A tremor of hope laced her voice. He eviscerated it.
“Bye.” He flapped his hand in a childish wave, doing his best to keep the smugness from coming through, and failing. If she heard it, she ignored it and climbed the stairs for the door.
Hongjoong’s thumb dug into Seonghwa’s cheek, his index on the other side prodded into his gums. Cupping his jaw, he cranks his mouth open to his whims, using it as leverage to abide by his wish. Gaping, welcoming his untamed urge to relieve his professor of the stress this woman caused.
Her footsteps faded.
Seonghwa became brave. Overcome in the moment to challenge her in an unknown race. His mouth versus her stride.
Hongjoong ruts like an animal, micro-thrusts of his pelvis at the edge of his chair. He quickens the pace the further she walked away from him and his life, then released his iron grip on Seonghwa’s mouth and combed his fingers through the boy's hair instead, ensnaring the sensitive strands above his nape.
His heaving chest should’ve been a warning.
He shoved Seonghwa down his cock. Driving him to the point where his hand stroking him in tandem was useless, instead using it to fist his trousers in frightful clutches. He could not hold back anymore.
He moaned. Cried, even. Tears building at the dam of his eyelashes.
“Lock the door on your way out,” he called to the woman.
She did as she was told. Depressed the lock. Clicked it shut behind her without a follow-up question as to what caused the masturbatory gestures of his arm under his desk, what the sounds were of Seonghwa choking on his cock, nor the high flush on his cheeks.
Hongjoong rolled his chair back and Seonghwa followed his lead, stumbling forward on aching knees. Still attached to his professor's perfect cock.
He slouched, lulled his head to the side, observing Seonghwa’s face buried in his lap, his wet eyes meeting his. His kind hands brushes Seonghwa’s hair out of the way with a sympathetic graze of his thumb on his temple while his other hand wiped away his tears. He guides his head up and down, bobbing on his length, tongue pacifying his haughty nature after his spat with the woman. She was gone and Seonghwa worked his charm on him.
“Such a naughty girl.” They locked gazes; his prideful and Seonghwa’s agreeingly submissive. “That was fun.”
Eager and vicious, Seonghwa sucked from base to tip, swirled his tongue over Hongjoong’s throbbing head and placed a kiss on the very tip, smearing his precum on his lips. Something that spoke to the primal beast within him judging by the way he squirmed in his seat and his pupils bloomed black. Breathing heavy but silent.
“I love your cock so much, Professor, I’ve wanted you to fuck me with it for so long.” He laid Hongjoong’s cock on his face so he could kiss the thick vein buzzing against his lips while begging, eyebrows pinched and overstating his pout by clasping his hands to his lap to prop up his cleavage. “Please fuck me with it.”
He pulled Seonghwa up by his chin, doubling over at his waist to close the rest of the distance between them. He lifted Seonghwa’s skirt, groped his ass, slid his palm over it, fingers exploring further to his sopping wet cunt, earnest in its need to be punished.
Two fingers slipped in. He tasted the sweat on Seonghwa’s neck. Stretched him with a third. “You sure you’re ready for more, sweetheart?” he asked once he met resistance.
“I’ve been ready.”
His gruff voice, steeped in want, ordered him, “Then, bend over my desk.”
“Yes, sir.”
Returning to the position he was in before he was so rudely interrupted, Seonghwa flattened his chest to the desk, wiggling his tantalizing ass at Hongjoong. The professor wrested his cock from his briefs, shoved all fabric away from hampering him, and threw his tie over his shoulder. With Seonghwa’s skirt flipped to expose him, Hongjoong's rough hands ran over his curves, eyes drifting in their stead, admiring how Seonghwa offered himself up so willingly - and how he crumbled under the tease of his thumb gliding the length of Seonghwa’s needy cunt. He placated him in slippery circles over his clit, craving the friction Seonghwa deserved after servicing his cock.
Tempting each other to the edge of relief, but never letting themselves fall.
“I’ll be taking these.” He gave Seonghwa no pause to guess what he was referring to. His panties were tugged even further down his thighs until it fell to his ankles, where he stepped out of them, and they were safely tucked away in the top drawer of Hongjoong's desk.
“Fuck, babe,” Hongjoong groans, his raging cock nestled along Seonghwa’s entrance, clapping his cheeks to enclose it there. He drags Seonghwa’s hips, rolling his slow, sensual. Relishing the connection, the bond of his cock and Seonghwa’s enthusiasm - no longer settling for his hands with a bit of lotion.
Seonghwa’s mouth, hands, pussy - all crafted for Hongjoong’s pleasure.
He should be commended for his ability to not bust with Seonghwa giving him a blow job under his desk earlier. He should be exalted for not cumming on his back like he was near to do with just a few more unruly thrusts-
Whilst he was busy dwelling on the topic of Edging versus Self-Imposed Torture, Seonghwa couldn’t help but notice the manila folder stuck under his boobs. The white papers fanned out over the top of the desk, his heart raced, shouting at him to peep, take a gander. Who was that woman and what was she here for? He peeled back the edge of the folder.
Hongjoong panted out a string of tangled cherry-picked syllables to arrange between the jumbled consonants spilling out and punctuated them with a moan of Seonghwa’s name. “So fucking- So fucking good. You feel so fucking good.”
Hongjoong’s lubed cock was so slick it slipped down Seonghwa’s cheeks, his tip prodded his entrance. A silent plea to allow him to fuck. To come. Finallyl. Please let him come.
“You’re fucking me on your divorce papers?” Seonghwa snorted. “That was your ex-wife?”
His scalp suddenly tingles, hair snatched in Hongjoong’s mighty grip. His cunt throbs even more, receiving but only half of him, muscles frozen, body carved to accommodate his professor.
He presses his chest to Seonghwa’s back and shoved the file, flinging it to the floor, raining white sheets of paper. Pens clattered and metal paper clips pattered, carnal heat warming Seonghwa’s chilled skin was all that mattered.
Again, Seonghwa’s jaw belonged to him. His mouth? His. The drool pooling over the edge of his bottom lip? Also his. Seonghwa’s moan when he pitched his hips, slapping them to his ass, mouth gaped in surprise? Most definitely his.
His smirk blurred before Seonghwa’s half-lidded eyes - stinging from the initial thrust of his cock. “Knew you couldn’t handle me; I’m not even in all the way yet,” he rasped in Seonghwa’s ear, grazing his teeth over his pulse. He kissed him gently from ear to chin, removing his hand-muzzle to place his lips at the junction of Seonghwa’s, forehead pressed to temple, eyes soft, but intense. “You’ve been a naughty girl, going through your professor’s belongings,” he murmured. “You need to be taught a lesson.”
The world spun on its axis, Seonghwa’s back landing on something solid. His legs stuck up in the air, being manipulated not of his own accord. Disoriented, Seonghwa willed himself to zero in on Hongjoong’s face: wild, erotic, and so blatantly aroused at his captivated self, legs wide open, and addicted to his touch.
He loomed between Seonghwa’s legs encircling his waist. A tower of suspense reached the end of its rope, snapped. His cock was a pillar of pent-up urges leading to the end of his marriage.
And Seonghwa and his soft body. Laying under him. Yearning for him to use it, ruin it, and have him coming back for more. Someone who wanted him as he was. Who returned his passion. Returned the new-relationship lust he so missed; starting something new and preserving the flames, not letting them snuff out, leaving him bereft, alone in the dark.
Seonghwa’s eyes were shining, longing, staring up at him. Subdued, Hongjoong watched Seonghwa want him even more.
One by one, Seonghwa unbuttoned the rest of his blouse, finishing the job meticulously and pointlessly, considering the rest of the buttons were ripped off and lost to the shadows on the floor. The shirt fell away in stark halves as he exposed his shameless naked skin. Chest rising and stomach falling, he rolls onto his elbows to unclasp his bra.
His shirt and bra are thrown to the litter of paper, pens, and metal paper clips. Seonghwa’s face, heated under Hongjoong’s adoring gaze, flattered.
Hongjoong’s thumb worked itself in consoling swipes on the curvature of Seonghwa’s thigh to ass. Perhaps as an apology for pulling his hair. Perhaps communicating that this moment meant more to him than he let Seonghwa believe. Perhaps to stall for time so this wasn’t over in a matter of seconds.
Seonghwa waited.
His unwavering gaze took Seonghwa in piece by piece. Observing features previously hidden, though he felt like he knew them by heart from Seonghwa’s promiscuous photos. Now he could study his favorite subject in all its glory. Memorize the dip above Seonghwa’s clavicle until he could stand it no longer and switch to fathoming the contours flowing from his breasts instead, down his stomach, over his bunched skirt, and to Hongjoong’s hand lurking near the sharp peak of Seonghwa’s sex kissing his.
He etched Seonghwa in his mind for future references.
Goosebumps skittered in the wake of his docile trail over Seonghwa’s pelvis. Eventually, he woke from his reverie and became aware of Seonghwa’s thinning patience, and the ever-present Siren’s song of his tits calling to him. A striking downfall.
“Going to stand there and drool over me, or are you going to fuck me?” Seonghwa grinned, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. “I thought you were hellbent on punishing me, Sir.”
Fuck his tits. He could have Seonghwa contorting under the pleasure of his tongue any other day. Tonight was about him. And about Seonghwa paying him back for all the favors he owed him.
Vengeful hands guided their way up Seonghwa’s writhing body, fitting sensitive areas to his palms. Chasing the heady high he evoked in the simplest brushes of skin on skin contact. Seonghwa’s body opened up, greeted his, arms embracing him. Hands grasping, and fingernails tracing his spine to cradle the back of his head to Seonghwa’s neck.
He drew his hips back, cock sliding over Seonghwa’s clit to rest the lipped edge of his tip perfectly where he requested. Seonghwa’s thigh squeezed around his middle, back arched, hard nipples imprinted on his wrinkled work shirt.
“Sweetheart.” He petted Seonghwa’s hair away from his face with a trembling hand, licking his lips, a rush of recklessness overcoming him. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll get straight A’s for the rest of the year.”
He kisses Seonghwa’s cheek. Maybe an apology. Maybe something more. Maybe to give him a dose of wide-eyed preparation before reality split him in half.
“Fuck!” Seonghwa cursed him, all muscles seizing onto the man who wrecked him like a spiteful God. Expelling expletives, he gasped at Hongjoong’s evil, smitten laugh shaking his core so violently. “Professor,” Seonghwa whined.
He bottomed out. One powerful pound of his hips to Seonghwa’s pillowy ass. The desk drawer rattled. The computer monitor swayed ominously. His tie swung from his shoulder in the sudden exertion, he threw it back flippantly.
This was his everything. His shaft hugged Seonghwa. His tip leaking to the man's very depths. Sore cunt stretched to its limits.
“Call me by my first name when you’re under me.”
There it was; that dangerous edge of gleaming tenderness in his gaze beholding Seonghwa in the threat of his command. How dare he press a kiss to his temple like a lover when he was wrought with pain.
“Hongjoong.” The feral moan after Seonghwa whispered his name transferred from his chest to the other man, mingled in the knot of nerves in his belly.
“Professor Kim,” Seonghwa repeated, more confident. He had been craving his cock. He wanted him to show why that was a bad thing. To show why he was a bad student for seducing his teacher for gain.
Hongjoong used his strained muscles to push himself off Seonghwa. Laggard, prolonging the magnificent sensation of Seonghwa’s fingers latching themselves in his hair, tugging it. But they fell away. Dropped his hold on him, his arms to the desk, like fine silk amongst trash Hongjoong should’ve tossed ages ago.
Seonghwa surrendered to him.
Hongjoong rolled from his forearms to his hands on either side of Seonghwa, flexing under the duress of not moving his lower half. Steeling the primal voice in his head that shouted at him to take it all. Take it now. Fast. Hard.
Soon, he would. Soon. But he had more foreplay in store.
His insatiable fingers skimmed the peach fuzz standing erect on Seonghwa’s ribs, up to his chest. Walking each digit to the spot Seonghwa hypnotized him with on days he forgot to turn on the heater during the winter, or on Fridays when Seonghwa forgot to wear a bra and knew he bombed his exam.
He traced Seonghwa’s nipple. One finger, two. Pinched it lightly. Pinched in harder. Fluttered his eyelids closed at the way Seonghwa struggled to clench around his cock.
His other immoral hand sought lower. One finger, two. Rubbed down Seonghwa’s clit, up. Side to side. Circles. Whatever the fuck made Seonghwa squirm. Tense his thighs painfully tight. Clutch the air straight from Hongjoong’s lungs. He opens his eyes, massaging Seonghwa’s inner muscles along his swollen cockhead.
Both of them too far, not far enough. On the precipice. Toes hanging off the cliff side. Not jumping.
“You’re enjoying this?” Hongjoong’s hoarse voice cut through Seonghwa’s moans. Breaths twisted in the space between them in their own heated tango.
“Yes, God, yes!”
He watched Seonghwa, head tilted to the side, face neutral, flushed pink from his cheeks to under his collar. “Hm.”
He retreated his hips, unsheathed his glistening tip, admired how wet it was with Seonghwa’s want, and rammed it in; shivering in the near-orgasmic haze of Seonghwa’s gasp of his name. Once, twice. Unyielding to the water in Seonghwa’s eyes, he finds it rather adorable how Seonghwa’s fingers hooked around his like a tourniquet, not used to accommodating his size.
The water leaked from Seonghwa’s eyes. It slicked his palm, a sheen on his forehead.
Hongjoong cranked his head back one pant at a time; the ceiling being the last thing he saw through the black curls of his lashes.
Hongjoong starts thrusting into Seonghwa, relentless, burned the smouldering coals in his core. Long had it been since he experienced this fire with another person. One who lusted for him so obviously. Each smack of skin on skin and slip of his cock welcomed by Seonghwa’s warm cunt reminded him of what he so thoroughly missed: Contact. A bond. Fulfillment.
When Seonghwa opened his palm, Hongjoong inserted his fingers, lacing them with his. Easy. Automatic.
Intimate.
He opened his eyes and looked down.
His rhythm skipped a beat.
Attentive eyes beamed up at him; bright with passion, yet half-closed in ecstasy. Plump lips spouted encouragement to go faster, go slower, whatever the bundle of nerves stuck under his fingers ordered in between moans of his name and cries of pain-mixed-pleasure. Only now did it occur to him that he had stopped rubbing Seonghwa’s clit altogether - the drastic diminish of blood supply to his brain was affecting him.
It was hard to admit, but as much as he wanted this to be about him enacting a fantasy Seonghwa had woven for him since the start of school, to use him like an object to get off to before returning to their roles of student and teacher, the arching of Seonghwa’s back and tightening on his hand holding his swept him up into a whole host of confusing emotions he did not have time to comprehend.
It was all so appealing. And unattainable. Inappropriate.
His eyelids fell to slits, sure that Seonghwa’s bouncing chest at his punishing pace would be enough to come while drowning out those pesky feelings. He increased his speed. Pressed his fingertips to Seonghwa’s clit. Let the vigor of his pounding send them coasting over it.
Every buck of his hips sent the desk moving, rocking items in the wake of his eagerness. Each one a witness to a teacher fucking his student because he was owed.
His eyes screwed shut. Only the sound of his guttural panting and Seonghwa’s high-pitched moan-whines.
And his tie choking him.
And his shirt going tight.
And his torso being hurled forward.
He faced his reality inches from Seonghwa’s nose.
His tie was snatched in Seonghwa’s grasp, his calves clamped over Hongjoong’s hunk of ass, shoving his length to Seonghwa’s pussy. He grinded on his cock, rolling his hips in time with Hongjoong’s now that he shocked him to a slower tempo. Much slower... Physically close, mentally vulnerable. Seonghwa’s chest was curled to his, using Hongjoong’s weight as a counterbalance to ride him though he was the one in the dominant position.
Names held power. Seonghwa moaned his so freely and Hongjoong uttered his in full-body shudders.
His fingers said it in how they massaged Seonghwa’s clit. His hand said it in how significant Seonghwa’s fit to it. His cock said it in a twitch against the place he wished to revisit over and over again. His muscles said it in how they held his orgasm ransom, not letting loose until he fell victim to the darkest reaches of his heart.
And he said it especially loud when his lips landed on Seonghwa’s.
Shouted it, even, when Seonghwa’s back collided with the desk and Hongjoong followed suit, possessive over his mouth; absolutely enthralled with the knowledge of what Seonghwa’s lips felt like parting for his cock and, more recently, his tongue.
Their joined hands crashed to the solid oak, sliding up to Seonghwa’s wild spread of hair. Jutting elbows set off a chaotic series of toppling folders, knocking the mouse over the edge, shoving the keyboard, leveling a stack of index cards, and tumbling the mug of pens to an early grave - shattered.
Excruciating sprints of thrusts turned short and sloppy and sweet. Seonghwa’s swollen clit was caressed in quick strokes, Hongjoong’s thumb swept the glimmering trail where a tear journeyed from the corner of Seonghwa’s eye to his hairline in a jagged line. Kisses became too burdensome on his lungs, alternating between open-mouthed pants and held breaths reserved for when they made eye contact.
Seonghwa had let go of his tie. Let go of his tie to cup his cheek. He held him there and slipped out a moan of his name while staring lovingly at him.
“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa sighed. “I’m almost-” He was interrupted by a jerk of Hongjoong’s hips to change the angle, allowing him more room to swirl his fingers.
“Ah! Oh, fuck, Prof- Hongjoong!”
He tried harder. He tried faster. Seonghwa’s head lulled to the side and Hongjoong nuzzled. No teeth. No marking. No punishment. Just a simple rub of the bridge of his nose along Seonghwa’s jaw.
Seonghwa tensed around his fingers, inner thighs quivering against his waist.
“Come for me,” Hongjoong pleaded. He was at Seonghwa’s mercy. Everything in their vicinity was up for grabs. Seonghwa clung to him - his hair, the mousepad. Curved his body to his. Captured him. Consumed him. Stuffed his knuckles in his mouth, ran his tongue over them, drying the trail of spit with huffs of breath praising him.
“Haa- Mmm!” Seonghwa shook. Unfurled. Unraveled.
“Good girl,” Hongjoong mumbled into the crook of his neck.
He guided Seonghwa through the convulsions. Brought his hand from between his legs and cradled Seonghwa’s head, rocking him back and forth as his limbs regained consciousness and the pulses in his cunt milked the last of Hongjoong’s anticipation.
“Hold onto me, babe.” Seonghwa followed his instructions; clasping his shoulder with the hand previously yanking at his scalp. His other hand was still taken by Hongjoong’s, his thumb ever vigilant in its conquest to stroke any part he could reach beside Seonghwa’s face. He placed a firm hand on Seonghwa’s hip, planting it there to keep him still.
Seonghwa kissed his temple. All he could muster, seeing as Hongjoong’s face was confined to its hiding spot where it could escape the raw defenselessness of his gaze that showed all.
He picked his head up, and looked Seonghwa in the eye.
Seonghwa gave him a curt nod, signaling he was ready for the horizontal dance Hongjoong had in store. He offered a lopsided grin, telling Seonghwa he could not last for another song.
It began in quick steps; brisk slaps of his hips, short strides to the finish line. Seonghwa’s ebbing orgasm squeezed him in sporadic pulses. Cheering him on. Smiling at him. From under him.
Steps developed to loping leaps, bounding canters of his cock dragging along Seonghwa’s walls, base to throbbing head. He leaned on Seonghwa for support. His forehead on his. Nose nudging nose. Lips a hairsbreadth apart.
Seonghwa endured the mad dash to his climax. Gushing on his cock. His name on Seonghwa’s lips. His lips hovering above his. His eyes invoking more than lust.
Sweat dampened his shirt. The desk scraped the floor. Something clanged in the drawer. The monitor tipped.
Hongjoong caught it from crashing to the floor without taking his eyes off Seonghwa. To do so, he let go of the hand he was using to hold Seonghwa’s. The monitor was placed back safely on the desk. His hand was free, so was Seonghwa’s. Their wide eyes flashed in non-verbal communication, agreeing on the same thing.
Desperately, they confined the other’s face. Tracing, stroking, outlining, petting messy hair away, rubbing, caressing, and kissing. Oh God, so much kissing. Frenzied, unrestrained kisses. Disorderly, imperfect kisses where their mouths hardly aligned. Passionate, caring kisses fueled by moans.
A hard thrust. Another kiss. A short pump. Hongjoong took Seonghwa’s bottom lip in between his while rutting his cockhead deep. He ran his tongue over the bruised flesh, rolling his hips upward. Biting Seonghwa’s lip as the sweet spot hugging his cock clenched.
“Ow.”
“Sorry-” he panted.
One last thrust. Buried there to pour his soul. Spill his secrets.
His spasming muscles weakened his knees, tightness relieving itself from his core. The thick vein of his cock throbbed as it filled Seonghwa with cum.
“Babe,” he whined. He closed the gap of inappropriate yearning keeping their lips from one another. Seonghwa hummed an affirmation, gripping him in all the right places.
For not the first time, he could truly convince himself this was an act between two people without unfair implications. Not a favor done unto him. Not him failing to upkeep his morals as a teacher. Just two people having sex and being able to kiss during the height of it without emotional strings attached.
Laying there for some time, his kisses drifted to Seonghwa’s chin, his neck. His hands crafted intricate patterns, kneading themselves on Seonghwa’s thighs, cupping his legs and stripping their warmth away. Seonghwa remained draped over the desk like Hongjoong’s tie of his naked chest. Lower bodies joined. Nothing wanting to part their faces further than their lips could reach. Still, Seonghwa had studying to do. Sleep to catch. And Hongjoong had an apartment that was in need of unpacking.
Regretfully, he pulled back his hips, knowing he was not going to use the momentum to push his spent cock back in.
He grasped Seonghwa’s hands to lift him up, and Seonghwa grimaced. “As soon as I sit up everything will come out of me. Where’s my underwear?”
“Hm,” he drew out the sound and feigned a search. “Who knows.”
Seonghwa’s glare seared the side of his face, very obviously not looking at him. “Sure, right. I guess I’ll just freakin’ waddle.”
“I’ll walk you to your dorm.”
Seonghwa returned to his role of the sassy student who got on Professor Kim’s nerves. Hongjoong, however, had trouble submitting to his. The kiss they shared at the end felt so right. So perfect. Validating how he felt when they spent time together, manifesting from an emotional to a physical connection. And all the harm it would cause the both of them if someone found out.
Difficult as it was, Seonghwa put on a mask for him and denied his feelings before the professor could sense them.
“Oh, thanks. What a gentleman.” Seonghwa made the effort to roll his eyes and hop off the desk using his help. A profound groan exhaled from his nose in a mighty gust at the inevitable slicking of his thighs.
Yet Hongjoong’s hands remained holding his, a playful smile ticking at the corner of his lips. And Seonghwa tried so hard not to read into it.
“I should, uh…” Hongjoong gestured to his pants and briefs around his ankles, but his words died out in a horrified survey of his desk and the floor in front of it. He let go of Seonghwa to simultaneously pull his trousers up and reel in his keyboard and mouse that Seonghwa had so expertly plugged in for him the other month. “This place is a mess.”
“Yup,” Seonghwa agreed. He waddled around the desk at the sound of the professor’s zipper and the jangle of his belt buckle going secure around his waist. Hongjoong grumbled, checked his watch, and Seonghwa could not stop the offer before it left his tongue, tumbling out like his heap of discarded clothing on the floor, “I can come in early tomorrow and help you clean up. If you want to go home now, I mean. Or I can help you now. Uh-”
“You don’t have to do favors like that for me anymore. We don’t... We don’t have to do this again. I’ll just fix your grades, and-”
It was Seonghwa’s turn to cut him off, avoiding the professor’s nervous stare and the wringing of his hand on the back of his neck. He distracted himself by putting his bra on. “You don’t have to give me A’s. I know it’ll look suspicious. I’ll just... write better papers.”
They both sighed at the ceiling. This whole arrangement was a bad idea.
Hongjoong hated himself, as he should have. It had been years since his ex-wife gave him the time of day for sex. Much less the allowance to please her, give her an orgasm. She found excuses to reject him. He found excuses to stay late at work. She found reasons to text other men. He found reasons to leave the house early.
Done with admonishing his recent awkwardness around the professor, Seonghwa went to pick up his blouse, but there Hongjoong was, holding it out for him. In silence, Seonghwa thanked him and dressed himself. Feet shuffling. Fingers twisting around arms. Wincing.
“So...” Seonghwa started.
“So...” Hongjoong finished.
Seonghwa ducked away and grabbed his bag from his chair in the front row. He patted around, checking underneath the table. As he turned around, there the professor was, holding Seonghwa’s coat open for him to slide his arms into. He did, and thanked him without words.
The absence of words and eye contact grew as stale as the sweat drying on Seonghwa’s back. Hongjoong rocked on his heels, glancing at his desk. Imagining what happened on top of it. Seonghwa fiddled with the edge of his skirt and then just went for it.
He reached out, two hands snug around the professor’s tie, wiggling it back and forth. Squeezing, cinching it up. He fixed it for him, smoothed it flat against his chest. Brushed invisible dust off his shoulder.
The professor’s shaky inhale was Seonghwa’s only warning. Not that he required one.
Eyes locked onto his, a hand embraced his tilted head, arms crushing him to the professor’s chest; Seonghwa jerked him by the tie and their lips joined in a blaze. Their bodies lunging into one another, snapping tight. Cozied together in one bundle of limbs threaded through entangled limbs. Secure. Content.
Giggling, kissing, Seonghwa left wet smooches on the professor’s forehead, climbing the stairs backwards to the door, never taking his eyes off him. Exchanging flirtatious smiles.
Behind him, he grabbed the knob. Cold metal in place of the warm back he was clawing at moments ago. The knob swiveled down, clicked. The door was left in purgatory. Neither open, nor shut.
“Can we do this again?”
He asked, or maybe Seonghwa asked. Air, breath, words, thoughts, ideas, wants, needs, desires, futures, hopes, and dreams were all muddled in one.
“Yes.”
Wintry ice melted, spring petals stuck to the bottom of shoes carried by mud to dirty the floors of Hongjoong’s classroom.
Class was dismissed hours ago.
Seonghwa’s fingers ached from devoting exhaustive energy into his dissertation. So many hours spent staring at his laptop’s screen, brain stimulated by the copious amounts of disposable coffee cups flung around his dorm. Abhorrent, really, to put a student through this grueling work.
So why, oh why, did Hongjoong insist on having Seonghwa type up his emails when he could be at his dorm shoving a pencil through his eye?
“Spread,” he commanded after Seonghwa’s thighs encroached too far for his liking. His fingers started circling again once he was satisfied by the amount of prying open Seonghwa did for him; making his complaints known at the top of his husky voice as Hongjoong sucked on the flesh of his throat, eyeing the white box on screen to confirm Seonghwa was still responding to a student about his question on the lecture he missed yesterday.
“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa whined some more. He stabbed the backspace button, typed, retyped the same line again. The bruises Hongjoong left on his neck would be more obvious this time. Seonghwa started wearing jeans and collared shirts to help hide them because the absolute terror on his face when a woman standing in line behind him pointed out the teeth-shaped marks on the back of his thighs mortified him to an early grave. “Can you please give me a second to finish this?”
Hongjoong rolled Seonghwa’s nipple between his fingers. Calloused fingers rubbed over his soft, needy clit. Bounced his leg. Clenched his ass to rock Seonghwa up and down his lap. His rising chest pressing to Seonghwa’s shuddering back.
Too late. Seonghwa pressed enter.
“Now?” his tone turned insolent.
“Fine, hop off my cock, sweetheart.” He slapped Seonghwa’s thigh as punishment.
He widened his legs. Seonghwa slid his between them and stood slowly, missing the way Hongjoong filled him, but knowing he would not let him orgasm like this anyway.
Hongjoong shivered at the sensation of his cock leaving Seonghwa, cunt gllistening in the light. A prelude to the evening, warmed and waiting. “We’ll finish at my place,” he says, grabbing his keys from the top drawer of his desk. “I’ll make you dinner afterwards.”
Seonghwa smoothed down his skirt and pulled on his opaque black tights, toeing on his shoes with a disapproving slant of his mouth. “You’re only saying that so I’ll answer the rest of your emails later.”
He laughed. A hearty chuckle at Seonghwa’s demise.
Sauntering up to him, his smug grin taunted. The outline protruding from behind his trouser’s zipper even more so. He cradled Seonghwa’s aching hand, pulling the man towards him. He depressed his thumb in his palm to open it, curling his fingers to his throbbing cock, running them down its length as he moaned.
“Keep your hands and mouth busy and I won’t make you.”
“Fine.” Seonghwa bent at the waist, forcing Hongjoong to drop his hand from grabbing his ass to run through his hair, tugging it when Seonghwa pressed hard kisses to his twitching cock, jolting him away and his hips back lest he finish prematurely after hours of teasing. “But you make the bed in the morning.”
“Fine,” he croaked, agreeing to anything Seonghwa said. Wrapped around his finger. And Seonghwa around his when he suggested he start staying the night. Accommodated by the deal, Seonghwa stood and threw his arms around his neck, demanding kiss after kiss. “Let’s go before we have another incident like last time.”
Seonghwa turned to the cracked monitor sitting beside the desk. Screen black and barren.
“Yeah, let’s go.” He walked, hand in hand with Hongjoong to the door, grinning, taking sneaky glances at each other. Whispering dirty things they were going to do tonight all the way to his car. All the way to his front door. Using his key to get in. Sharing a kiss in the doorway. Shutting it behind him. Turning the lock.
Falling into the other’s arms. Completing the circle. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.
Bending the rules of student and teacher relationships.