(no subject)
Another Dorantastic short by andmydog and hibem.
Leonard didn't like Doran. He already knew that. The man had no *style*, no class... and no inhibitions. Of course, he also had no qualms about sticking his hand down Leonard's pants, and the man *did* know what he was doing, knew he was doing it in the uncertain shadows fringing the parking lot outside the faculty Christmas gala- his white suited shoulders tensed slightly in Leonard's grip each with each burst of laughter from the couples straggling to their cars.
The blatant exhibitionism was... exciting. Arousing. Dangerous. Leonard leaned all his weight against the rough cinderblock wall, his center of gravity uncertain with gin, fighting to control his breathing. The chair of Genetic Theory strode by, not five feet from where his prize researcher was... this could get him fired. This should not be getting him so hard.
"Stop," he hissed, decision made, and Doran laughed, his voice rough against Leonard's throat, his cheek, his lips, hands were rough and it seemed he had overindulged perhaps a bit more than he'd thought. His head was still thrown back, hair catching on the roughness of the wall though he could have sworn he was pushing- wasn’t- Leonard gripped the shoulders beneath his hands harder.
"I mean it." His mouth was painfully dry. "This could cost us both our..." Doran twisted his hand just so and Leonard bit down on his lip, hard. Lights flashed before his eyes and his mouth tasted of blood and whatever Doran was doing hurt and he could very easily get used to this. Fuck.
"You like it," Doran squeezed hard as if to prove his point.
"That's why you need to..fuck.... that's why I want you to stop. Now."
"I like it, too."
"That's entirely beside the point."
"If you like it, you should want more, not less." Doran spread his fingers, stifling Leonard's cry with his mouth.
"That's circular logic," Leonard gasped around Doran's teeth.
"Perhaps," Doran licked a trace of blood of Leonard's lip. "But let's not quibble over semantics." The part of Leonard's analytical mind that wasn't far too drunk to function was certain that human fingers shouldn't bend that way, or stretch that far, and then the world was swimming back into focus- the raw night and Doran giggling and his pants slipping down his thighs and this was really happening and very very wrong. Doran was holding his fingers too tightly, and his cock was hard under their hands.
He would shove Doran away, stride into the well-lit parking lot, and drive away. Any minute now, he would tell this disgusting pseudo-scientist to stop. He would make Doran... he would... he would.... spread his legs just that much farther apart. He would press his palms against the wall and his face into Doran's throat and try very very hard not to scream. He would...
...he would have to see Doran in the staff meeting tomorrow morning and Doran would smile and that sly quirk of lip would mean he was remembering Leonard spread half-clothed and panting against concrete while the Dean of Students chatted with the Governor not ten feet away.
Intolerable.
He'd tear the man's throat out with his teeth first.
"Get off me," he hissed, fighting the sudden violence trying to claw its way to his surface.
Doran blinked innocently. "If you insist," he replied, sliding his hand free.
The empty feeling was almost unbearable and, for an instant, Leonard wanted those fingers back. Doran smirked knowingly and the urge to smash his fist into that mouth overrode the want.
Leonard spat the last of the blood from his mouth, and buttoned his pants, trying not to shake. He strode across the parking lot smoothing his shirt, straightening his tie, his colleague's gaze a hot weight across his shoulders. Doran called out to his back, "Pleasant dreams, Doctor!"
He hoped he had stifled the jerk of his shoulders enough to go unnoticed. The image of smashing Doran's head in was 'pleasant' enough.
God.
How could-
Doran was going to smirk at him every time he shifted in his seat the next day.
"Chair not comfortable, Doctor?"
"Is something the matter, Doctor?"
Fuck.
Fuck.
He needed a drink.
Leonard didn't like Doran. He already knew that. The man had no *style*, no class... and no inhibitions. Of course, he also had no qualms about sticking his hand down Leonard's pants, and the man *did* know what he was doing, knew he was doing it in the uncertain shadows fringing the parking lot outside the faculty Christmas gala- his white suited shoulders tensed slightly in Leonard's grip each with each burst of laughter from the couples straggling to their cars.
The blatant exhibitionism was... exciting. Arousing. Dangerous. Leonard leaned all his weight against the rough cinderblock wall, his center of gravity uncertain with gin, fighting to control his breathing. The chair of Genetic Theory strode by, not five feet from where his prize researcher was... this could get him fired. This should not be getting him so hard.
"Stop," he hissed, decision made, and Doran laughed, his voice rough against Leonard's throat, his cheek, his lips, hands were rough and it seemed he had overindulged perhaps a bit more than he'd thought. His head was still thrown back, hair catching on the roughness of the wall though he could have sworn he was pushing- wasn’t- Leonard gripped the shoulders beneath his hands harder.
"I mean it." His mouth was painfully dry. "This could cost us both our..." Doran twisted his hand just so and Leonard bit down on his lip, hard. Lights flashed before his eyes and his mouth tasted of blood and whatever Doran was doing hurt and he could very easily get used to this. Fuck.
"You like it," Doran squeezed hard as if to prove his point.
"That's why you need to..fuck.... that's why I want you to stop. Now."
"I like it, too."
"That's entirely beside the point."
"If you like it, you should want more, not less." Doran spread his fingers, stifling Leonard's cry with his mouth.
"That's circular logic," Leonard gasped around Doran's teeth.
"Perhaps," Doran licked a trace of blood of Leonard's lip. "But let's not quibble over semantics." The part of Leonard's analytical mind that wasn't far too drunk to function was certain that human fingers shouldn't bend that way, or stretch that far, and then the world was swimming back into focus- the raw night and Doran giggling and his pants slipping down his thighs and this was really happening and very very wrong. Doran was holding his fingers too tightly, and his cock was hard under their hands.
He would shove Doran away, stride into the well-lit parking lot, and drive away. Any minute now, he would tell this disgusting pseudo-scientist to stop. He would make Doran... he would... he would.... spread his legs just that much farther apart. He would press his palms against the wall and his face into Doran's throat and try very very hard not to scream. He would...
...he would have to see Doran in the staff meeting tomorrow morning and Doran would smile and that sly quirk of lip would mean he was remembering Leonard spread half-clothed and panting against concrete while the Dean of Students chatted with the Governor not ten feet away.
Intolerable.
He'd tear the man's throat out with his teeth first.
"Get off me," he hissed, fighting the sudden violence trying to claw its way to his surface.
Doran blinked innocently. "If you insist," he replied, sliding his hand free.
The empty feeling was almost unbearable and, for an instant, Leonard wanted those fingers back. Doran smirked knowingly and the urge to smash his fist into that mouth overrode the want.
Leonard spat the last of the blood from his mouth, and buttoned his pants, trying not to shake. He strode across the parking lot smoothing his shirt, straightening his tie, his colleague's gaze a hot weight across his shoulders. Doran called out to his back, "Pleasant dreams, Doctor!"
He hoped he had stifled the jerk of his shoulders enough to go unnoticed. The image of smashing Doran's head in was 'pleasant' enough.
God.
How could-
Doran was going to smirk at him every time he shifted in his seat the next day.
"Chair not comfortable, Doctor?"
"Is something the matter, Doctor?"
Fuck.
Fuck.
He needed a drink.