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Charlie had honestly never understood the way people risked their entire futures over something incredibly stupid. A random dare for twenty dollars, a relationship destined to fail and that would ruin the lives of everyone involved, choosing temporary happiness over long term stability. It was fine to dream of such happiness and work towards it, but gambling had never been her strong suit and she’d never seen any reason to change that. Until now. Until him. Professor Malveaux. The reason she’d gone from just a single major to a double one. It wasn’t unheard of; pairing business and communications together, but in reality it was just an excuse to get closer to him.
Professor Alastor Malveaux was an attractive man. Anyone with eyes could see that. And intelligent, and charming, and funny. There were so many reasons to be attracted to him and plenty of the student body were. But Charlie was the first student to have netted the otherwise distant professor as her advisor in years. In no small part because she was also the first to major in communications in a while who was -at least on the surface- serious about it. And it wasn’t as if she wasn’t learning anything from her courses, they were actually very helpful in fact. But sometimes she felt a tiny niggle of guilt that she was majoring in something she had only half of a heart for. At least until she met with Professor Malveaux and heard him go over her academic plans, her assignments, etc. He’d even already hinted that the department was pressuring him to take on a TA and would she possibly be interested in the position when it opened up in the fall? (Of course she’d said yes, how could she possibly refuse?)
So she was close to him, closer than most. But still not close enough as far as Charlie was concerned. It wasn’t as if she was the only student on campus who had desired a professor, and if she succeeded she wouldn’t even be the only student on campus to have slept with their professor. But even with all of this in mind, a part of her was still nervous, chewing on her lower lip as she walked to the old brickstone building that housed the Communications Department and her advisor’s office. She was early, by almost an hour. But that was the plan. Knowing how punctual he preferred to be Charlie had been meticulous about her planning. Friday afternoon at exactly two o’clock. She had poured extensively over the schedule she knew, studied when his lessons were being held and which ones would likely take up the most of his time. Hence why she’d chosen today. Professor Malveaux had his introductory lecture right now, and she knew that while he often liked to take lunch with his colleague Professor Franklin; Fridays were the one day where their schedules overlapped and so he ate in his office, alone. Or at least that was the attempt.
Unfortunately for both Charlie and her professor, his other colleagues (Professors Hannigan and Machina were like clockwork especially on days like these) insisted on taking the meal with him and they’d been around long enough that the only recourse was just sitting there ignoring them until they had somewhere else to be. But today was different. Today was the day Professor Hannigan’s One-Act festival began and at Charlie’s “innocent” suggestion she'd roped Professor Machina into recording/live-streaming it. Two birds, one stone. Leaving Professor Malveaux blissfully un-bothered. Given that he had no other classes after this; he spent the rest of his time from his lunch until his prompt departure at 5pm holding “office hours”. At least, that’s what they were called. The reality of the situation was that he kept the door open just the tiniest crack and woe betide anyone who attempted to enter without a previously established appointment. Like her.
Their advisory meetings were a bit of a misnomer. Charlie had long since had her plan of study approved by the Provost and was well on her way to making everything work in her favor. Professor Malveaux’s check ins with her were little more than perfunctory aside from when she actually sought his opinions on things. And even then he seemed to push them as long as possible given her own schedule. At first she thought it was because he was thorough, or perhaps even just because he found dealing with her less troublesome than having to fend off other constant interruptions. But when the discussions continued to turn into digressions about any and every topic under the sun; it made her wonder. Professor Malveaux was a bit of a misanthropist, so for starters the animated quality with which they spoke at length was at odds with how curt he was when not lecturing. He also seemed to delight in the deconstruction and debate of her -as he put it- “naive and idealistic view of the world”. Most the time Charlie was too focused on keeping her ears open and legs closed to take offense at the slight. But even when other students did have an appointment to meet with him? They were told to reschedule since their advisory session was of more importance.
It was just one of many things that made her question whether or not he might feel the same as her. The way he seemed overly comfortable invading her personal space despite his standoffishness with everyone else. The way he seemed to notice when she’d had a bad day and would either give her good life advice or make her laugh with some stupid old-timey joke. A lot of little things that could just as easily be explained by her imagination running away with itself. Or could be true. One way or the other though, Charlie was sick of being stuck in limbo. If he felt the same as her, great! If not? Well, she could always finish out her college career online. No issues regardless! And so here she was, dressed in her most comfortable pair of yoga pants that just so happened to show off her ass in the best way, a nice red top (a favorite color shared by both of them) and an elastic secured at her wrist. Just in case.
The old Comms building had definitely seen better days. But Professor Malveaux and Professor Franklin had both settled in that building the day they made tenure and refused to be moved. Rumor had it that Professor Franklin had some sort of dirt on one of the higher ups that meant whenever they needed funding to keep up the essentials they got it but were otherwise left alone. That meant that in terms of most luxuries -such as an automatically locking door or security system more recent than 1985- they were pretty barebones. In other words, it was perfect. During normal operational hours the doors were always kept open and so walking in was a breeze. Charlie made her way up to Professor Malveaux’s office and was just reaching to put her hand around the knob when a voice stopped her,
“He’s not here sweetie,” Professor Rosalind Franklin -better known as Professor Rosie even if Charlie herself could never manage to use such an informal address- was in the middle of closing her own door, “Alastor’s got a class,” with an arched brow and a knowing grin she added, “But as his advisee you probably already knew that.”
Charlie swallowed hard, getting caught by anyone hadn’t been on her agenda, “I… that’s fine, I know I’m early but I wanted his opinion on my research paper and I… don’t have much of a paper to show him right now.”
“Mhm,” Rosie hummed, looking her up and down and seeming to take particular note of the fact that Charlie, normally well prepared Charlie who had a big and almost garishly decorated bag she carried everywhere, was empty handed, “Well,” she shrugged as she started to walk away, “Just be careful with those old doors this time of year,” Rosie paused and threw over her shoulder, “They have a tendency to stick.”
The squeak that responded was payment enough. She could already picture the blonde’s flushed expression as she stood outside Alastor’s door waiting for her to leave. Humming to herself as she pulled out an ancient looking device she paged Mimzy; seemed like if all went well Professor Franklin would be owed some big money by this time next month.
Charlie’s face burned as she watched Professor Franklin set off. The embarrassment of having anyone know that she was here, even if it was for an appointment, was almost enough to make her bail. But the prospect of waiting for another opportunity to line up, or even to think about spending years in this hellish purgatory gave her resolve. Charlie took a deep breath and calmed herself down. Anxiety and embarrassment were better held off on until she had an answer one way or the other. She reached for the knob and jiggled it, unsurprisingly it was locked. But the thing about old buildings was that they tended to have old doors with equally old locks. Luckily for her Professor Malveaux had trusted her enough to allow her to see precisely how to work the knob and doorframe to force entry without any damage. His office opened with a silent pop.
In order not to tip him off to her presence Charlie had forgone everything she normally carried save for the keys to her dorm. Her student ID which doubled as the keycard to her dorm building and her room key; both of which were safely stored in the otherwise useless waistband pocket of her pants. She closed the door back behind her as silently as possible, and took in the darkened space she’d spent so much time in already. Understated but masculine; with leather wingback chairs and shelves of books all backlit by the small streams of light peeking in through positively ancient looking blinds. Piles of books lines the shelves and free spaces, no personal touches beyond what was necessary for his work. In the center a large, solid mahogany desk with a typewriter definitely older than she was resting atop it. Of particular interest to Charlie though, was the desk itself. Polished and shiny and almost psychopathically neat. She only risked drawing the very tip of her long nails atop the surface, careful not to leave any obvious trails behind. When she swung around to the opposite side, the one he sat at, her smile widened. Bingo.
Alastor felt an ache in his cheeks and the beginnings of a migraine building behind his temples. Freshmen classes were the absolute worst to teach, mainly because so many of them were just using it to fulfill some sort of general education requirement. Thankfully, this was his last class of the day and he had a meeting with his advisee to wash the bitter taste of academic mediocrity out of his mouth. It was enough to make the tendons in his jaw relax. Ah, Charlotte Morningstar; the only Communications Major he had deigned to take on in the last decade of his tenure. An intoxicatingly addictive presence even despite her rather saccharine nature. An open book as far as her emotions were concerned and so delightful to tease because of it. After years of mundanity from the same group of hormonally charged idiots she was a breath of fresh air; her enthusiasm (or attempts at it) was like that one piece of tinder every long term educator soaked up like water in a desert. The love of learning, the desire to seek knowledge and growth, and a true investment in the topics she tackled.
But that was far from all there was to Charlie. Sweet, bubbly, and musically inclined. Always humming something under her breath or getting excited over something others would see as trivial. Truly a remarkable young woman, and beautiful to boot. But of course, that was all he could say about her without seriously risking his professional future. Still, that didn’t stop him from wanting; or mean he wouldn’t take every opportunity to spend time around her. The happiness of getting to end his day with her, discussing nothing of relevance to her majors or even of any real importance. And he would have to content himself with that. For now at least.
He passed by Rosie on his way back to his office and she waved him over, much like him she always had a smile on her face. Unfortunately for him that often meant she also had gossip she wanted to share. Deep breath in through his nose, Alastor approached,
“Oh Alastor,” Rosie hurried close, “And where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“To my office, as always,” Alastor shrugged, “Preferably before either Mimzy or worse spots me.”
“Oh come off it sugar, Voxxy’s harmless!”
“To you, maybe,” he grumbled under his breath, “I just want some peace and quiet for once Rose. And I have to prepare for my advisory meeting,”
“Oh?” Rosie’s grin turned sharper, “That’s right, and how is little Miss Morningstar doing these days?”
“Fabulously, as always,” Alastor replied without elaboration or thought, “Though I fail to see what this has to do with anything.”
“Oh come off it Al,” his companion nudged him with an elbow as they walked, “Everyone across campus has heard of the infamous Professor Malveaux taking on a student again. And you know how tongues wag…”
There was that migraine coming in again, but this one was fueled by rage. Still, he kept his smile placid, “And whom, might I ask, is wagging their worthless tongue about that?”
“You know a good gossip never reveals her sources Alastor,”
“They don’t need a tongue when we have these infernal cellular phones,” Alastor rebutted, “And anyone who dares to make such salacious assumptions about Charlie and myself clearly doesn’t deserve one.”
That he also wished such salacious assumptions were true was neither here nor there. If Charlie’s reputation was at stake he would shut it down without fail. He was a hardass, one of the worst rated professors on campus (in terms of personality) due to how seriously he took his field when compared to apathetic little snots who chose to spend their parents’ money getting drunk and collecting STDs like trading cards. He knew what he was like and had long since accepted it. Alastor was too well-established here for anyone to take those complaints as anything more than simple slighted egos. But Charlie…
“You’re very protective of her,” Rosie remarked, breaking him free of his thoughts. When had they gotten to the front steps? “And that’s part of the reason people talk.”
“They were always going to talk the moment I became an advisor for the first time in years,” Alastor waved her off, “It didn’t matter how protective I may or may not be over my protege; the fact that I had one at all is enough for them. Let me guess, the salacious rumors seem to imply her grades have been bought with something other than hard work?” her silence was all the answer he needed, “Typical,”
“It’s not the most baseless accusation, you do give her a lot of special treatment.”
“Do people really put me on the same level as Vox?” his question was bitter, but even the vaguest comparison to the man had Alastor’s blood boiling, “I do not dole out grades on the merits of how much physical pleasure I garner from a student.”
“I know that,” Rosie replied, “You know that. But people are morons, and morons talk. All I’m saying is to be careful with her.”
Alastor had decided to leave the conversation behind and enter the building, but paused, “And what is that supposed to mean Rosie?”
Rosie’s answering smile was positively carnivorous, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
When Charlie heard the door to the office open with a soft click she had to stop herself from making a sound and giving the game away. Every sense was heightened from her hiding place beneath his desk, and she was thankful that it was a solid piece of furniture with a solid back panel that faced the visitors otherwise she never would have attempted this. She was acutely aware of every movement he made, running through the mental checklist of things she had seen him do as he settled down to work. The creak of the door but without the soft click that meant he had closed it over just so, enough that had she not already broken in she would know he was there when she arrived for her appointment. The whisper of his tweed jacket being hung on the rack in the corner, the settling of his briefcase on the low table, followed by the hinge clicks of it opening while he rummaged around in it. Was it a bit creepy that she had watched this routine so many times she knew the associated sounds? Possibly, but it wasn’t as if she’d been able to ask anyone about it before. She knew what came next, the clink of heavy crystalware as he poured himself a finger of rye from the secret decanter he kept hidden somewhere on his bookshelf that she'd never been able to spot (in no small part because she was usually distracted by the momentary ability to drool over her professor and in particular his backside). When she heard two small thunks atop her she winced. He’d brought the decanter with him? Oh dear, it was one of those days. Clearly this was a better time to approach this than she’d thought.
At last, she heard the sound she’d been waiting for; the rhythmic clacking of fingers flying across keys. The satisfying ring of the typewriter’s typebars striking against the paper, and the audible pleasure of the carriage being shifted back into place for a new line to start. Even still, she waited. Waited until it sounded automated, like a pre-recorded sound. That was her signal since it meant that Professor Malveaux was now entirely absorbed in his work. She'd stumbled across him like this several times already; so concentrated on his thoughts that he was in another place entirely. All sense of time and obligation forgotten as the words neatly spread across the pages. Sheets of paper neatly piling up as paragraph after paragraph flowed like a river of malleable ink. The first time she'd been hesitant, nervous to interrupt him, so she'd stood there awkwardly standing in the doorway until he’d reached a natural stopping point and paused to check his watch. After that if she caught him in a creative flurry she would just pause to watch, every time creeping closer and closer until she was standing right by him and could see the way his long and elegant fingers moved with technical proficiency across the keys. Had she accidentally Pavloved herself into having an erotic association with the sound of a typewriter clicking? Maybe, but that was neither here nor there. What was of importance here was that he was preoccupied in a manner she knew it would take a while to break him out of. She stared unabashedly as he sat engrossed in his work, the line of his slacks perfectly tailored and she felt stupid and brave hiding out under here. But she was tired, tired of this weird gray area between them, tired of wondering if the things she felt reflected from him were all in her head, tired of being seen as nothing more than his advisee. One way or another, that was going to change today. As a test of how out of it he was Charlie skirted her fingertips along the strip of skin between where his slacks ended and his socks began. A slight twitch of the knee, an automatic response but no pause in the typing. Again, a featherlight fingertip, the same response. Emboldened, Charlie kept herself crouched and slowly crawled forward in the confined space.
With many years of writing in his field under his belts Alastor was a master of writing research papers of great structure and clarity while his mind was completely elsewhere. As of late, working at his desk, triggered a more… base response than he would have liked, especially with Charlie’s impending arrival. Ah, yes, this desk. A remnant of one of those periods where he'd tried to satiate his… proclivities in more socially acceptable ways. Carpentry and woodworking and all of it by hand. This piece had been the culmination of all he'd learned. Sturdy wood meticulously selected, shaped, sanded and stained. He’d even sprung for some intricate scrollwork along the outer corners. This desk had followed him throughout the rest of his career, something he was far too proud of to let go even if it was wildly impractical to drag along with him. As of late though, this desk had become little more than a setting for salacious thoughts about the woman whose arrival he anticipated more than he should. Thoughts of bending Charlie over the surface, scattering papers and small trinkets as he filled her; mouth, fingers, cock, while her cries of ecstasy echoed in the otherwise empty room. He'd wondered far too much about whether or not the rest of her skin was as soft as the palm of her hand in his own. If when she was embarrassed that adorable little flush spread all the way down. Every conceivable way he could think of to keep her close -short of failing her because he could never hurt her in that way even if it was for their own benefit- that wouldn't arouse suspicion. But so far she'd seemed only the tiniest bit responsive to his overtures. Then again due to the very nature of their current dynamic he couldn't be quite as concrete or clear as he normally preferred. Still, when he got a bit too direct, a bit too loose with his words and let fly an innuendo he knew she got but he pretended to be oblivious to just to see the look on her face… he thought. He hoped.
Charlie was an obsession, one he was all too happy to indulge. She stirred desire in him like no one ever had or ever would. A singular entity in his life that he was loathe to let go of. He was already furtively trying to find out when she was planning her semester (or year, he could definitely do a year) abroad just so he could conveniently take sabbatical in the same area. So long as he produced work at the end of it no one would bat an eye. And oh how splendid it might be to have her openly somewhere. Not to be a figure of authority anywhere but behind closed doors. Plans of increasing improbability began to fill his head, and the delight with which they incited filled him elsewhere. From her hiding space beneath him Charlie watched in awe as even while his trousers began to draw tight across his lap, where a very noticeable bulge was drawing her attention. Her mouth (and other parts) began to water. Did he know? Did he suspect? Was he even aware of what was going on? Charlie leaned in close and fanned a silent breath over him, not even a twitch. Flicking her tongue over her lips she inched slowly closer, closer. Until the heat of his body enclosed her from nearly all sides. Her heart thundered in her chest and she only barely resisted the urge to stick her hand beneath her waistband before they could even begin.
Alastor was about four, or was it five, fingers in at this point. His vision felt as bleary as if he’d removed his glasses entirely but he did notice that the mostly full decanter had dwindled to about half full. He wasn’t surprised. The freshmen had been particularly taxing today with their inane questions and glassy-eyed stares only just following him as he lectured. This followed up with inane questions like asking for a collective extension on their upcoming essay because they “didn’t understand the prompt”. There was no prompt and that was the point. They had his syllabus, they had his rubrics, they knew his expectations and couldn’t even meet the baseline of them. Ugh, he didn’t want to think about that. There were so many more pleasant things to think about, like Charlie. Alastor closed his eyes and dreamed for a moment of their impending meeting going very differently. He was far more intoxicated than he usually was when meeting with anyone, let alone a student, but after the day he had he needed something to take the edge off and unfortunately had already run through his allotted number of cigarettes for the week. So, alcohol it was. Alcohol and thoughts of Charlie; how nice it might be if she also noticed the attraction, if they both gave in and became something more.
Wandering thoughts turned to wandering fantasies, and Alastor wryly thought he might enjoy office hours far more with Charlie beneath his desk to keep him company. He could picture it now; Charlie flushed and wanting, fully clothed but not for long, hiding beneath his desk while dainty fingers reached for him. Skirting up and down the trouser leg, so realistic he could almost swear he felt it. The fanning of her warm breath against the bulge currently pressing at the seam, followed by delicate hands reaching for the buckle of his belt. The soft clanking and release of tension around his waist echoed in his head, the fantasy so vivid he was certain that he was acting without realization. The hand that felt too soft as it dipped below the band of his underwear and traced over the length of his cock, the sparks of pleasure that shot up and down his spine, all a part of his alcohol soaked delusions. A part of Alastor knew he should probably sober up and take care of his little problem before Charlie’s arrival, but by far this had been the most immersive his thoughts had ever gotten and he was determined to see it through. He closed his eyes and leaned back, inadvertently shifting the chair back just a fraction. One hand became two, fishing him out and stroking along the shaft. A groan slipped out of him, and the ministrations became more realistic, firmer but by no means painful. So wonderful he could have lost himself entirely. It was only when he felt the barely there caress of something else that he was slammed back to an awareness of his body that nearly chased all buzz out of him with the rush of adrenaline. Panicked eyes shot down only to find the object of his fantasies on her knees before him, laving at him with kitten licks while she held him steady.
Somehow, Charlie knew when Professor Malveaux realized what was happening. The tension that shot through him as he stilled so suddenly that she wasn’t even sure he remembered to breathe. Unwilling to be deterred she continued her ministrations; flicking her tongue along the head and lapping at the taste of musk and sweat and him. She barely restrained a moan of her own in response. When she placed a kiss to the tip of him he finally spoke,
“Ch-Miss Morningstar?” his voice sounded strangled, and she felt a swell of purely feminine pride. The normally unflappable communications professor, sounding utterly wrecked, and all because of her, “What is the-”
However he was about to finish the question Charlie derailed by finally going down, relishing in the sound of the chair arms creaking beneath his manic grip. She bobbed once or twice before pulling off, letting her hand take over for the moment,
“I thought that would have been obvious to a man as smart as you Professor,” her own voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse with desire and emboldened by the fact that he hadn’t yet wrenched her off him and kicked her out.
“It’s obvious to me what you are doing,” Alastor bit out, jaw tense as he tried to maintain some semblance of dignity. She was good, and he possessively wondered how she might have gotten such skill. No, he wouldn’t judge her for her past experiences, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy with knowing there were other men in the world who had seen Charlie in such a way and hadn’t been grateful for it, “My followup question is -ah!” he jolted when she lightly squeezed him at the base,
“Why? You don’t need extra credit, or a better grade, or even,” he was panting as she worked him, finding it more and more difficult to think as his brain caught up with his body and seemed to realize Charlie was here on her knees before him. And unfortunately for him, his body didn’t so much care about the whys behind such a blessing, “You know I would do everything in my power to help you succeed, all you have to do is ask.”
She hummed pensively around him and he nearly saw God. With an obscene pop Charlie released him again and set her cheek atop the free hand curled over his knee, “You’re right Professor,” she agreed, lazily continuing her motions like she wasn’t entirely upending his world and fulfilling every fantasy he’d never thought himself capable of before her, “I don’t need anything from you. I am capable, I am smart. So that means I’m doing this because I want to.”
Then she paused, staring down before looking up at him through her lashes, “Don't you want me to?”
The inflection of her voice asked two questions. The question of whether or not he wanted her to continue: he did. But also the question of whether or not he wanted her the way she wanted him: also an emphatic yes. Alastor sucked a breath in through gritted teeth, trying and failing to put together a thought that could turn into a sentence without turning into a mess of embarrassing noises.
“Yes,” he finally managed to respond, all articulation gone as he repeated himself, “Yes, yes, YES!”
Charlie found his vehemence incredibly arousing and dove back in with fervor. She kissed, licked, and sucked her way from root to tip. His reactions were like dry tinder to the heat inside her and Charlie found her hand beneath her waistband before she realized she’d even done it. The stroke of her fingers in rhythm with her tongue, giving and taking pleasure in equal measure. One of his hands wound itself in her hair, big enough to palm the entire back of her head. One small lucid thought managed to surface: how might such hands feel elsewhere? Immediately the rest of her was dragged back beneath the waves. Monosyllabic words were also a difficulty now, nothing more than the sounds he made through gritted teeth and a bitten lip.
All at once, she found herself yanked off by her tresses. The pain felt so good, the empty air like a balm to her overheated skin. Professor Malveaux sat letting the hand in her hair slide along her jaw and cup her cheek.
“Another time my dearest,” he answered her unspoken question, “Much as I might wish otherwise the soul is willing but the body is weak. And I simply cannot tolerate another moment without being inside you.”
Any response she might have been able to string together was immediately obliterated with the heat in his eyes and his tongue. Charlie clutched at his thighs, digging in as she struggled to regain feeling and strength in her legs. Professor Malveaux took pity on her,
“Up on your feet darling,” how was it possible for him to sound so composed when she felt utterly wrecked? It simply wasn't fair, “There we go,”
His hands had shifted to beneath her arms, clutching tightly as he hoisted her up. And if a palm happened to graze the side of one breast, well it wasn't the first time she’d had to deal with a grope or two, though it was quite possibly the only time she was hoping for more from one. With a fluidity and energy she couldn't believe he had; Professor Malveaux had slotted her into his abandoned chair and bounded to the office door, nudging it that smallest bit further until it closed with a soft click that echoed loudly in the otherwise silent room. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and it finally occurred to her that this was really happening. It wasn't a dream she’d wake up sticky and incomplete from. She was going to fuck her advisor.
Alastor knew that if he truly wanted to make certain this little liaison of theirs didn't ruin either of their futures he should take her back to his apartment where prying eyes were far less discerning. But he'd thought of Charlie bent over his desk far too many times to let the opportunity slip past him now. It was only when he returned to her that he saw it. Her hand down the front of her pants. His mouth watered.
For her part Charlie’s memory had faltered somewhere between daring to fulfill her own desires and being hoisted into a chair; only her professor’s words making their way through the cotton in her head. Not clearly, of course, but more the soothing cadence of his voice. He could be speaking absolute nonsense and she wouldn't know the difference. She did, however, register the chill of his absence even for the brief duration it lasted. Then suddenly a shadow was looming over her, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. The way her professor was backlit meant she could only barely make out the reddish gleam of his eyes from behind his glasses. Charlie felt more than saw his smile, the dangerous, predatory smile. She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very much like prey. Willing prey, but prey nonetheless.
Slowly, a hand reached out, manacling around her wrist and dragging out the hand from between her thighs. Charlie's breath caught in her throat, if she'd ever wanted to run she absolutely couldn't now. The intensity of his gaze alone felt like a snare around her, tightening with each second. Her heart pounded in her ears as she watched him with doe eyes. The way he held her wrist forced her hand to remain raised in his grip, knuckles curling with the gravity. Her middle and ring fingers glistened with her own slick. The only sound in the room was her sharp gasp when he stuck them in his mouth.
Never before had it felt like every single nerve in her body existed solely within her hands, in her fingers. Yet every single synapse seemed to light up as her Professor coiled his tongue around them, soaking up the taste of her with a relish she wouldn't have expected from the staid and straight-laced man. Finally, he released them with an audible pop that was far more lewd than it had any right to be, followed by a satisfied sigh. Then, with a harsh yank Charlie was on her feet and against his mouth. Was the expectation that good talkers were also good kissers? If it was a question with a factual answer Charlie didn't care to know. The fervor with which Professor Malveaux kissed her left Charlie dizzy and breathless. All she could do was hold on for the ride; but what a ride it was. She dimly registered the feeling of soft silky material coupled with the fresh press of clean cotton. Ah yes, it was definitely Friday. Fanciful Friday, where her already smartly dressed Professor dressed up even more. Rather than the typical sweater or cardigan Professor Malveaux instead donned a silk waistcoat to match with his smartly pressed oxford shirt. She wanted to tear it off him, uncaring if it caused buttons to skitter across the floor.
Charlie wanted to speak, but all she could really manage were hums and whines of pleasure while he moved her. Suddenly, her shirt was rucked up and her bra had been pulled down. Now when had that happened? She didn't have time to contemplate though, not when his hands and nimble fingers were intent on kneading and pinching and causing sparks to alight from his touch. While one hand plucked at a dusky peak the other snuck up her sternum to the hollow of her throat; wrapping loosely around her neck and turning her chin to meet his lips. She was being too loud, she knew it, but she just couldn't quiet herself. Blindly Charlie’s hands reached up, one wrapping around his neck and the other tangling in his hair. She felt the metal of his glasses dig into one temple and moaned into his mouth. The humming sound muffled by the slide of his tongue against hers. When she finally had a moment to catch her breath Professor Malveaux had already abandoned her breasts to skim feather light touches along her bare stomach. Charlie felt her thighs clench. Now he was just being cruel.
“Please,” she panted, uncaring if she looked weak, or pathetic. She’d never been one for teasing and after so long of hoping and dreaming and waiting for this she couldn’t stand another moment where he wasn’t inside her in some way, shape or form, “Professor-”
“Alastor,” his voice sounded harsh from where it rasped beside her ear. Ragged and jagged like it had been scraped over broken glass. Stardust shards embedded deep and painful.
It sent a dark thrill through her. Objectively she knew what his name was. It had been printed at the top of every syllabus for his class, mentioned in countless articles, scrawled across the various diplomas and awards that decorated his office. But there was a certain sanctity to it as well, that only those who had earned it were graced with the privilege of letting it roll off their tongue. To finally be able to utter the name she could only bring herself to think on those lonely and stressful nights? It was a perverse, nigh profane delight.
“Alastor,” Charlie whined, begged, pleaded as he stilled behind her. Her hips undulated of their own accord, seeking out any friction to be found while he remained immobile. Had she had any presence of mind she might have questioned if she’d done something to displease him. As it was Charlie couldn’t be bothered to think about much beyond the simple facts; she’d said his name, and he’d stopped. She wanted to sob, wells of glass forming in her eyes and running hot down her cheeks. Charlie felt like some desperate, feral thing; thrashing about in a cage she didn’t want to escape but couldn’t remain still inside, “Alastor please!”
In both the span of a breath and a moment so slow it felt like she was aware of everything Charlie found a foot hooked around her ankles, one hand still at her throat, the other pressing harshly to the small of her back. The momentum and strength sent her to the desktop without any resistance. The only thought she managed to string together was a half-hearted ponderance on when he’d moved his typewriter that she hadn’t slammed face first into it before harsh palms wrenched her bottoms away from her. Had they not been a thrift store find Charlie might have placed more care in listening for the sound of ripping fabric as they were pulled down her legs. As it was all thought abandoned her when his fingers finally, finally returned to her core; shoved inside without any other preamble. Not that she needed it, the sheer volume of air cooling against dampened skin was more than enough evidence of her own preparation.
Charlie braced herself up on her elbows, shoving her hips back against the hand palming at her rear and earning a strangled groan from behind her for her troubles. A bitten off whine escaped her while her teeth dug into her already kiss swollen lower lip. There was a muted moment of silence, broken by the rustling of clothes and the deafening jingle of a belt buckle coming undone. The rasp of a zipper echoed loudly, and her heart fluttered.
“Truth be told my dear,” elegant hands slid along her skin, holding down her wrists against the solid top of the desk, “I would have rathered our first time to be something a bit more… romantic, for lack of a better description. However, I've dreamt of you bent over my desk far too many times to stop now,”
A blunt pressure at the entrance of her core told her exactly what he was doing. Charlie felt a whine echo in her throat and shifted back as much as she could, seeking more. A hand at her hip held her steady and prevented her from moving.
“Greedly little thing, aren't you?” She didn't need to see him to know he was smirking, “Your ambition is truly remarkable sometimes Charlie darling but you do have a bad habit of biting off more than you can chew.”
Alastor pressed further into her and Charlie wanted to cry. She felt full, complete in a way that she'd only experienced with her first love so long ago when they'd been little more than teenagers fumbling around in the dark. And greedily she wanted more. The edge of the desk bit into her thighs, a dull ache that bright a delightful counterpoint to the pleasure running through her veins. He was a demon all the same though, taking his time, moving so slow it was agonizing. And sure, perhaps he was being considerate of her, not wanting to do anything resembling actual damage. But she didn't want soft and gentle or considerate. Like he had said, there would be plenty of time for that later. She wanted satisfaction, and she wanted it now.
"Please," did he want her to beg? She would beg, she would do anything if he would just hurry up, "Alastor don't-" her breath caught when he slid home with a quick snap of his hips.
"Don't what my dear?" Alastor whispered harshly in her ear, draped over her like a living blanket, "Stop? Continue? You need to use your words dearest, I'm not a mind reader."
Bastard. But what did it say about her that she was so attracted to him regardless? In fact, she almost… preferred it. Liked the way that he teased her, demanded of her, expectations clear and praise doled out in kind. So simple, she didn't have to think. All she had to do was listen. Easy, in theory, in practice she found it incredibly difficult to formulate words, let alone a sentence. And forget anything resembling coherence. She was definitely past that. All she could manage right now was a pitiful whine and a weak undulation of her hips, flexing her muscles around him. A sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth was her response, and Charlie felt she'd made her point.
"More?" she nodded with a soft hum and then the hand at her wrists tangled its fingers in her hair, yanking harshly and forcing her to look at him, "Words Charlie, we're both risking a great deal here and now. I want to be sure this is precisely what you want. Is it?"
"Hngh, yes," Charlie managed to pass the syllable through; a miracle, considering how choked up she felt. The emotions, the sensations, it was just so intense. When he still didn't move, she rephrased, "I want this Pro- Alastor, I've wanted this, wanted you, for so long and I…" she hiccuped, "I don't want you to stop. I want you to move."
The dark chuckle that echoed in the office was almost menacing. All she heard in it was promise.
"As you wish, princess," the term of endearment fell effortlessly from his lips. She nearly sobbed when she felt him withdraw. Before she could mourn the loss for too long though he sunk back in. Charlie felt her fingers curl, seeking purchase in the glossy top of the desk and finding none.
The pace that followed could best be described as brutal. Alastor was harsh, unyielding, covering every inch of her completely and still giving no quarter. Charlie writhed and moaned, louder than was wise given they were still in his office on campus, but should anyone stumble in upon the sight, would they really blame her? Every thrust sent her another inch further up the hardwood surface, rubbing her breasts raw and providing yet another source of delicious friction that further fried her brain. Normally, she considered herself a partner who gave and took in equal measure. Here, she didn't have a choice. All she could do was take what he gave her and sound out her thanks with obscene noises and clenching muscles. Sweat dripped down her skin, was it hers or his? Both? Neither? Did it even matter? Her tongue swiped over her lips, savoring the taste of salt blooming on her tongue. Her senses were inflamed and overwhelmed and it still wasn't enough.
"Do you," Alastor managed to grunt into the crown of her hair, how he was still coherent was a mystery, "Have any idea how long I've craved you Charlie?"
She could only reply with a questioning whine, wanting to know but not enough to have him stop, or pay it much mind. She could always ask him again later.
"Far too long," oh, he was definitely as close as she was, why else would her normally loquacious advisor be speaking in chopped, nigh monosyllabic sentences, "Long enough I should be incensed. I am better than those salacious reprobates that solicit their students in exchange for passing grades,"
"So much better," Charlie spoke around a groan. Better than she'd certainly had in a long, long time. Quite possibly the best she'd had ever. In terms of pure technique.
"Pleasures of the flesh have always held little interest for me," Alastor continued, "But you, little minx; you could tempt a monk. So charming, so unassuming, but there's more to you than pretty eyes, isn't there? You're far too smart, beauty and brains and a sense of equality that would be laughably naive if not for your determination. And yet, there's still more, isn't there?"
As much as she normally adored the sound of his voice, he needed to stop. Charlie hiccuped, hoping to break in and ask. But he kept on going,
"There's something darker there ma belle Cherie, isn't there?" Alastor knew he was goading her at this point, but his desire for submission was well met by other activities. Not here, not now, not her. He wanted to make her sing, wanted to make her scream. He wanted her every which way he could have her, but more than all of it he wanted her to want this with the same psychotic fervor as him.
"Something untamed, something feral. Let her out darling, I can take her."
A hand flailed about as he continued, slowly losing control of himself no matter what he might desire. Suddenly, it was around his neck and squeezing. The sheer surprise caused his hips to stutter to a ragged halt. Charlie glared at him from over her shoulder and under sweat soaked locks of gold. If looks could kill, but he wasn't sure what his transgression was; the goading, or stopping. And presently the lack of oxygen to his brain and the throbbing pulse of Charlie around him meant that he frankly didn't care.
"Alastor," her voice quiet, only audible due to their sheer proximity. The anger in her eyes spoke far louder, because her voice sounded wrecked; he nearly came then and there. She was hissing, spitting, his little hellcat. The rounded points of her nails dug into his larynx and wanted to whine. When she caught enough of her breath to speak again her orders came swift and harsh, "Shut up. And fuck me."
He needed no other encouragement. To his slight disappointment she let go of him, but then again this position was hardly conducive to holding it for very long, instead reaching for the far edge of the desk and clutching tight. Alastor redoubled his efforts, slamming his hips against hers and slipping a hand between them to toy with the pearl of her clit. Charlie jerked in his hold, noises that may as well have been music poured from her. Each and every last one a sound that burned itself into his brain. Just how many of them could he get her to make?
"Ah," it was either a noise that punctuated every thrust into her or she was attempting to say his name, "Ah, Alastor~"
Charlie was so close. So, so close. Just a little more, that's all she needed. She'd done this song and dance so many times that she was finely attuned to the signs of her own body but it was always tricky the first time with a new partner; adjusting to get things just right. Except, it seemed, with Alastor. With him, it was all consuming; the feeling of his skin and clothes against her, the smell of sweat and sex and his cologne, the sound of their skin colliding in rhythm, the excess stimulation with his fingers at her clit. Possessiveness and desire woven together and while she knew this was only going to end in flames, she was all too happy to burn.
Alastor ground out his pleasure through his teeth. Strangled utterances of her name, various swears in multiple languages, and some semblance of sound that wasn't even a language at all. He should have hated it, this loss of control. Self-reliance and resilience had been a core part of who he was for decades now. To crave a person like a bad addiction was beneath him. A sign of weakness, a pathetic display reserved for only the lowliest of beings. And yet, here he was. Craving Charlie beyond any reasonable measure, any sense of decorum. Losing himself in the closest approximation to heaven a blackened soul like his was liable to get. A good man would have pushed her away, a good man would have talked them both down from this disastrous attraction. A good man would have been as callous and cruel as was necessary to keep Charlie on the straight and narrow instead of throwing away not only her academic career, but also her reputation and quite possibly her entire future for something so fleeting as carnal pleasure. But Alastor had long accepted the fact that he wasn't a good man; he was selfish and egotistical and he wanted nothing more than to watch as the object of his obsession came apart under his touch. Unravel her and then remake her so that she would never truly be another's ever again. That there would always be some part of her that belonged to him and to him alone.
There was no one action that did it. No sigh or sound or touch or kiss. One moment she dangled over that wonderful precipice by a hair's thread, the next: she shattered. Broken apart completely and thankful for the pleasure of it. Her heart pounded in her chest, uncomfortable against the unyielding wood of the desktop. There was a ringing in her ears and all along her arms were goosebumps that rose in the chill of the room over sweat-damp skin. Strange, her back should have also been cold, had someone placed a blanket over her. It took a moment for enough cognitive function to return and for her to realize that it wasn't a blanket resting heavy and warm over her. It was a person. Her professor, to be exact. A sharp but sweet ache echoed at the juncture of her shoulder and neck where it seemed he had bitten down in the throes of his own climax. A groan reverberated in his chest as he also came to and sluggishly moved his limbs about. Just when she felt him move off from behind her Charlie was suddenly tugged into his lap as he sat in his office chair, his large hands drawing lazy patterns along her skin. Charlie's head lolled back, unable to find the strength for much of anything at the moment, but enough to let out a contented sigh.
"Penny for your thoughts darling?" she heard his voice murmur in her ear.
"Best. Meeting. Ever," Charlie slowly replied, his answering chuckle was worth it.
"Charlie!" the blonde heard her name called as she slowly walked towards her campus mailbox. When she turned to see who it was she found her friend Anthony running towards her with an arm held in the air to catch her attention.
"What's up Angel?" she asked, putting in the combination to the box while the lankier man bent over to catch her breath.
"You're comin' with me and Vags tonight right? It's drag night and I think I'm finally gonna get that daddy behind the bar to take me home with him."
"He's been rebuffing you for six months straight," Charlie ribbed good-naturedly, "I think he might just not be interested."
Angel's scandalized gasp caused her to jerk, sending one smaller envelope from the pile of her mail fluttering to the ground. While her friend ranted onward about how wasn't it always her telling him to keep a positive outlook and hope for the best Charlie bent down and had to hold in a gasp of her own. It was a small, plain envelope. Unassuming, even, if not for the handwriting scrawled across the front. Handwriting she most definitely recognized. As hastily but subtly as she could Charlie opened the missive and quickly scanned it over with ravenous eyes.
"And another thing-" Angel was going to continue on until he was stopped by Charlie's interruption.
"I'm sorry Angel, but I'll just have to miss it tonight. Drinks on me next time?"
She didn't even wait for him to give her an answer before she started walking off, tucking the note into her bra for safekeeping. Angel rushed to catch up with her, skepticism on high alert as he called,
"And where are you going now?"
"Sorry Angel!" Charlie called back over her should as she left the Student Center, "I have a meeting I've got to get to!"