It's The Disease That We Crave
Warning: This fiction contains mildly explicit material between a student and a teacher. I'm not responsible for any lost innocence and do not supply brain bleach for those who wish for some. That is all.
AGAIN, MATURITY RATING PEOPLE. -.-
Knuckles turned white as they grasped desperately to the edges of the desk, trying to hold on if even for just another moment. Gasps accompanied the knuckles, firing rapidly as the body to which both knuckles and gasps belonged rocked back and forth, carrying the movement forced into it by the man standing directly behind.
Milo begged his mind to let him know how he had gotten to this point. How had he wound up bent over a desk, moaning from the pleasure another man provided him? Surely this had not been his intention when he’d knocked upon the door of the vampiric teacher. He could see the past events so clearly now in his mind’s eye.
He’d come to Ruthven’s door because he’d been called. Pretenses being, to his horror, that he needed to discuss a failing grade with the teacher. His heart had nearly stopped when he’d heard that. Of course when he’d entered the darkened office of Ruthven, he’d discovered that that was merely a ruse, a clever trick designed to lure him into the vampire’s lair.
With his charm and his grace, Ruthven had easily maneuvered his way closer to Milo, positively radiating sexual desires and expectations. Milo hadn’t even been prepared when his lips were captured in a fevered kiss that seared him to the very core, rendering him silent at the feelings coursing through his veins.
Words had still abandoned him even as Ruthven pushed Milo over towards Ruthven’s desk, the vampire’s hands exploring areas no one had ever explored before; not even Milo. Before he could even begin to formulate a thought as to asking why Ruthven was doing this, he found his shirt had already disappeared into the darkness. Ruthven’s hands now expertly skimmed over Milo’s bare torso, creating more intense waves of pleasure.
Not a word did Ruthven say as he undid the clasps on the tiny shifter pants, briefly reaching inside to brush across Milo’s skin previously hidden by his trousers. It wasn’t long after that Milo had found himself bereft of any articles of clothing, bent over a desk, Ruthven’s hand moving against him, causing him to cry out unintelligible murmurings and phrases, all to the satisfaction of the vampire.
Oh how his eyes grew wide as he felt just how truly far Ruthven intended to take this little interaction. It wasn’t just going to stop at “second” or “third base”, Ruthven was headed for a “home run”.
Ruthven’s hands gripped the slender shifter’s hips as his now bare chest slowly reached forward to touch Milo’s likewise bare back, much to Milo’s initial discomfort. The feelings of pleasure were now tinged with sparks of pain, grounding him back in the reality Ruthven’s skill had almost completely taken him from.
“Ruthven,” Milo called out in a hoarse whisper. He was never to complete his sentence as Ruthven slowly began an age old rhythm, one Milo had always heard about, but until that moment had never experienced. His hands involuntarily grasped the edges of the desk, knuckles turning white, trying to hold on.
The pain slowly dissipated as the tempo increased, sending Milo closer to the edge of the unknown. The grunts behind him spurred on his gasps and stifled moans, his already impossibly tight grasp clenching even harder to the desk. He couldn’t hold on anymore. He knew he couldn’t. The end had to be nigh. The pleasure, overwhelming, was driving him to the edge but had not yet let him go over, which is what he desperately needed.
It was slowly becoming apparent that Ruthven as well was reaching his end as his timed thrusts became even more frantic, erratic. At long last, both crying out in release, they reached the high point, the final note, the grand finale, both collapsing as the intensity of it all overcame them.
And for those few, brief moments in between the end of their little encounter and the words Ruthven later spoke, Milo could honestly say his brain ceased to function.
However, all things must come to an end, even being brain dead. “I have a class to prepare for. Though I look forward to speaking with you again, Milo.” Milo felt his clothes being laid beside him, a clear signal it was time for him to leave.
Looking back on that time, Milo began to think that there were several wiser things he could have said to that statement that a confused, “Yeah.”
AGAIN, MATURITY RATING PEOPLE. -.-
Knuckles turned white as they grasped desperately to the edges of the desk, trying to hold on if even for just another moment. Gasps accompanied the knuckles, firing rapidly as the body to which both knuckles and gasps belonged rocked back and forth, carrying the movement forced into it by the man standing directly behind.
Milo begged his mind to let him know how he had gotten to this point. How had he wound up bent over a desk, moaning from the pleasure another man provided him? Surely this had not been his intention when he’d knocked upon the door of the vampiric teacher. He could see the past events so clearly now in his mind’s eye.
He’d come to Ruthven’s door because he’d been called. Pretenses being, to his horror, that he needed to discuss a failing grade with the teacher. His heart had nearly stopped when he’d heard that. Of course when he’d entered the darkened office of Ruthven, he’d discovered that that was merely a ruse, a clever trick designed to lure him into the vampire’s lair.
With his charm and his grace, Ruthven had easily maneuvered his way closer to Milo, positively radiating sexual desires and expectations. Milo hadn’t even been prepared when his lips were captured in a fevered kiss that seared him to the very core, rendering him silent at the feelings coursing through his veins.
Words had still abandoned him even as Ruthven pushed Milo over towards Ruthven’s desk, the vampire’s hands exploring areas no one had ever explored before; not even Milo. Before he could even begin to formulate a thought as to asking why Ruthven was doing this, he found his shirt had already disappeared into the darkness. Ruthven’s hands now expertly skimmed over Milo’s bare torso, creating more intense waves of pleasure.
Not a word did Ruthven say as he undid the clasps on the tiny shifter pants, briefly reaching inside to brush across Milo’s skin previously hidden by his trousers. It wasn’t long after that Milo had found himself bereft of any articles of clothing, bent over a desk, Ruthven’s hand moving against him, causing him to cry out unintelligible murmurings and phrases, all to the satisfaction of the vampire.
Oh how his eyes grew wide as he felt just how truly far Ruthven intended to take this little interaction. It wasn’t just going to stop at “second” or “third base”, Ruthven was headed for a “home run”.
Ruthven’s hands gripped the slender shifter’s hips as his now bare chest slowly reached forward to touch Milo’s likewise bare back, much to Milo’s initial discomfort. The feelings of pleasure were now tinged with sparks of pain, grounding him back in the reality Ruthven’s skill had almost completely taken him from.
“Ruthven,” Milo called out in a hoarse whisper. He was never to complete his sentence as Ruthven slowly began an age old rhythm, one Milo had always heard about, but until that moment had never experienced. His hands involuntarily grasped the edges of the desk, knuckles turning white, trying to hold on.
The pain slowly dissipated as the tempo increased, sending Milo closer to the edge of the unknown. The grunts behind him spurred on his gasps and stifled moans, his already impossibly tight grasp clenching even harder to the desk. He couldn’t hold on anymore. He knew he couldn’t. The end had to be nigh. The pleasure, overwhelming, was driving him to the edge but had not yet let him go over, which is what he desperately needed.
It was slowly becoming apparent that Ruthven as well was reaching his end as his timed thrusts became even more frantic, erratic. At long last, both crying out in release, they reached the high point, the final note, the grand finale, both collapsing as the intensity of it all overcame them.
And for those few, brief moments in between the end of their little encounter and the words Ruthven later spoke, Milo could honestly say his brain ceased to function.
However, all things must come to an end, even being brain dead. “I have a class to prepare for. Though I look forward to speaking with you again, Milo.” Milo felt his clothes being laid beside him, a clear signal it was time for him to leave.
Looking back on that time, Milo began to think that there were several wiser things he could have said to that statement that a confused, “Yeah.”