Fic: The Devil in a Nice Tie (NC-17)
Title: The Devil in a Nice Tie
Author: lilchibibunny
Rating: NC-17 (FFFFF YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS)
Word Count: 2,795.
Characters/Pairing: SAM/LUCIFER WUT
Disclaimer: Characters to Kripke and the CW.
Spoilers: There are none. I am ridiculous.
Warnings: Dirty talk, cursing, handjob up against a wall. (you could see it as a little bit of dub-con, but i mean i wasn't thinking that.)
Summary: Sam's debate professor is hitting on him? Yup. Definitely hitting on him.
Author's Note: AEON_ENTWINED'S FAULT. COMPLETELY. THAT AND MY LOVE FOR COLLEGE!AUS, FUCK FUCK FUCK. That and I really like skewing the soft-sympathetic version of Lucifer from SPN into the, ">3 Hello, Sam," kind-of-Lucifer that I'm used to.
P.S. - I wrote this at three in the morning. Obviously I did not care about details like how colleges really work. And, honestly, this is the devil we are talking about; like he couldn't manipulate a little college campus to his liking. So, if you are all up in arms about it not being exactly the way a university is run, you are thinking about it too hard. Also, I mean, I basically wrote this for shameless porn. SO FUUUU IT WAS THREE IN THE MORNING AND LIKE I CARED ABOUT COLLEGE PROCESSES OR POLICIES, I WANTED PORN.
"You just need to work a little here, Sam," the professor purrs into his ear, and it gives Sam a little bit of a shiver at the mint-cool breath against his skin. "This sentence, you see it?"
"Y-yeah."
"Limit it to one idea a sentence," and that whole speaking-by-his-ear thing is super distracting. "You have such good ideas, Sam, give them the focus they deserve."
His advisor, who only goes by Mr. M (for Michael, he says he hates his last name, it's a family thing), told him to visit this guy. He's worked with plenty of pre-law students before, he's gotten good at it. You could learn a thing or two from him, Sam. And before he knew it, he's registered in a debate class. Great. Fuckin' awesome. Not that Sam isn't good at debate--thanks to Dean--but he was hoping to push it back a little until he felt more ready for a heavy verbal tussle in a classroom setting. (Sam will admit, he doesn't mind, he would just like to have a few classes under his belt and get to know a couple of his fellow grads before heading into that. Oh well.)
Unfortunately, the debate teacher seems to have it in for him. Always seems to either call on him for the harder topics or gets on his case for his last debate. The last paper he did said "See me," on the top, and so here he is, and Sam could swear he's getting hit on.
Not that the guy isn't good-looking. Short blond hair that curls gently in bangs right where his hairline is--a hard look to pull off, but it's attractive for him--and a good day's stubble covering his jaw. What gets Sam are his eyes, this intense sky-blue, and he keeps staring at Sam like he wants to eat him up.
"You paying attention?" and, oh fuck, he's been staring at his goddamn professor, shit shit shit--
"Yes, sir." Sam turns back to his stupid debate paper like it's the most interesting fucking thing he's ever seen in his life.
"Mm. Sir. That's a new one." And those are definitely lips pressing against his ear when Sam hears his professor whisper, "Say that again."
Sam feels frozen in place. He shouldn't say it. He should excuse himself and get on the computer and drop this class as soon as possible. He needs to leave, because this is just getting so awkward. "...Sir."
His cheeks flush when he feels the fingers on the back of his neck, teasing the shorter hair underneath the longer curls. "Oh, you are just adorable. I thought I liked you for a reason, Sam."
Before Sam can give a proper response or even try to address what is happening, his professor gently presses his debate paper to his chest. "Perhaps you should come in again," he says in that sweet (but mocking) voice. "I think you could do with an individual lesson or two."
And then Sam's out the door with an appointment to come back that Thursday after class hours.
He is so screwed.
--
Sam's actually pretty nervous. He somehow manages to ask around casually about the Professor, and the general consensus is exactly how his friend Madison puts it, "He's the devil in a nice tie."
"Huh?"
Madison looks at him like he's stupid. "You serious? Professor Nick what's-his-face?"
"Moore?" Sam fills in for her, raising his eyebrow.
"Yeah. Dude has screwed like...half the campus," Madison estimates. "I mean, none of it can be proven or else he would be out of here, but some people swear they've done the dirty with him."
Sam pushes her shoulder. "You're so stupid."
She raises an eyebrow and brushes the playful insult off, stealing some of his beef jerky. "And you have a private lesson with him? Under his suggestion?"
"Well, he usually challenges me in class, so I'm guessing it wouldn't hurt to go in and hear some tips--" and he is definitely making excuses to go in there and see him, isn't he?
Madison shakes her head, laughing. "Oh maaaaan, Sam, just because I know you've hit a dry spell these days doesn't mean it's a good idea for the slut professor to screw your brains out."
And that's when Sam wrestles her to the ground, making sure to quickly put her in a headlock, giving her a rough noogie and knotting her hair. "Just because I'm not a total whore bag like you doesn't mean I can't hold my own against Professor Moore!"
She yelps, kicking at Sam, "You're such a bitch when you don't get any!" And they rumble and tussle a bit more before Madison finally wins (because Sam might have purposefully put his arm behind his back when she could grab it), resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. "Seriously, Sam, I bet he would drool all over your little head if he was tall enough. Be careful, I don't want you getting man-herpes," she says solemnly.
"Ma-man-herpes, are you joking me?"
--
Thursday comes too soon.
Sam ends up walking around the building, purposefully avoiding the debate room. He's toying with the idea of not even showing, of either facing the wrath of his professor the next day or just dropping the class. Unfortunately, though, he's apparently the only person who teaches it, so that could be another reason why he's not immediately kicked off campus for all these student-relation rumors; they could be holding off until they find a new professor. Which could take a while. Ugh.
Sam's ten minutes late to the meeting, which apparently is a good thing because a tall blond stumbles out of the door before he can grip the handle, quietly excusing herself. "Until next time, Jessica," he hears a voice pleasantly murmur.
Sam gently lets himself in and finds himself immediately scrutinized by a pair of ice cold eyes. "You're late."
"Sorry," Sam mumbles. "Got held up in a class." Which is a downright lie, but it's not like Professor Moore knows his schedule. "Sorry, Professor," he repeats, and again it feels like he's done thing wrong.
"No problem. Shall we begin?"
And it actually goes really smoothly. The professor actually acts professional for once, no inappropriate touches or leaning in too close or touching the back of Sam's neck. An hour in, Sam's relatively sure he's dreamed it. And he actually teaches Sam useful things for class, like using his body to project better. At what Sam supposes is the end (it's 6:30 and dark outside, he needs to get himself food or else it'll be too late and the cafeteria won't be open), he gives his teacher a genuine smile and heads for his bag, on a chair at the door. "Maybe we could try this again?"
And Sam does reach for his bag, but he ends up getting led to the wall by firm hands instead. "We could," the professor says, and oh man Sam can already tell he's in trouble. "Except this time you were late. And tardiness is no laughing matter, Sam."
Sam feels himself being turned ever-so-slightly so his back is to the wall and he's staring into those cool, calm eyes. "I'm sorry, I just--"
"Sorry what?" Professor Moore says, his voice low, promising things Sam isn't sure he can deliver. "Sorry what, Sam?"
He doesn't clarify what he means, but Sam knows exactly what he's talking about. "Sir," he says, and suddenly his face feels very hot. "Sorry, sir."
The professor tilts his head back and lets out a small moan, and Sam feels his body slowly begin to heat up. Whoa. Whoa. This just went from casual to intimate really fast. "You're such a good boy, Sam," Professor Moore says. "So sweet, I could just eat you up." The sentence is something someone's mom would say, but the way the professor says it and presses up against Sam, it takes a whole other meaning.
"I--"
"Is that why you were pacing around, Sam?" Sam can feel the hard line against his leg, and it's awful that he can't stop himself from responding. "You were nervous about this?"
"Yeah," Sam blurts out, trying to back further into the wall so the professor won't be able to feel his own interest. "I know your reputation."
And Sam gets a good laugh from that. "Oh really? And what have you heard?"
"You have sex with students." Well, with his hard dick pressed up against Sam's leg, it's not like he's going to be shy about that. Not like Sam can't tell him when it's damn close to actually happening.
"Oh really?" He leans over to nuzzle Sam's neck, pressing hot kisses against the skin that make Sam shiver. "How interesting, considering I've never."
"What?"
The professor looks up to grin at him. "I've done plenty of other things, but never actually fucked anyone." He leans into Sam again, grinding lightly. "So many filthy little students here, I wouldn't want to. They're too easy, I usually just have my own little way with them and let them go. But you? Mm, Sam," Professor Moore purrs into Sam's neck, making his hips hitch a little, "you? You I would fuck senseless. You're so cute and sweet and I'd love to see those pretty little bangs drenched with sweat while you screamed my name."
Oh. Fuck. Fuck.
"Are you hard for me?" And when Professor Moore grinds hard against him, Sam can't help the strangled little noise that comes from his throat. "I bet you have the nicest dick, don't you?" When he presses a palm to the bulge in Sam's jeans, letting his fingers feel and tease, Sam lets out a small whine. "You look like you beg so pretty, Sam."
"You're really confident I'm just going to bend over for you," Sam grits through his teeth, trying to ignore the friction his professor--his professor--is creating.
"Are you trying to tease me?" Professor Moore laughs, low and dirty. "I like how you're making it a challenge for me, Sammy," and somehow Sam knows he's using the nickname to drive him further up the wall. "I appreciate that." And then, like a snap, it changes. Sam feels his teacher's hand skim up his shirt (he has one on underneath his sweater), and Professor Moore actually lets out a small growl. "Take this shirt off."
When Sam hesitates, Professor Moore actually uses both hands to lift up his shirt. "Take it off, Sam." And Sam is kind of distracted because fingers are instantly skimming his abs, and then he feels a tongue lick up his skin. "Oh, hiding this under so many layers," he hears his teacher murmur against his skin. "Shame on you, Sam."
"You're not--we're not having sex," Sam makes sure to say. And fucking Madison, the thing that instantly jumps in his mind is 'man-herpes' and he hates her forever.
"I like it when you try and take control, Sammy," bringing out the nickname again, "I think it's cute."
When Sam feels his zipper being undone, he jumps, and then the professor's mouth is at the base of his neck, nipping softly at his skin. "Aww, at least let me see it, Sam. As much as I want to throw you over my desk and fuck you senseless"--Sam hates that these images definitely aren't appalling to him--"I can wait. But it doesn't change the fact I still want to see you come."
Sam can't help the breathless moan that escapes him when the professor tugs his jeans down ever so slightly, exposing his hips. "Sam," Professor Moore hisses into his neck, "how many boys have you let touch you like this?" When Sam doesn't answer, his teacher grabs him roughly, Sam feeling his hips give two jolts forward. "Don't lie, Sam, I can tell when you lie to me."
"One," Sam gasps out. Who is his professor going to tell anyway? Not like he can out him without a huge scandal. Sam shouldn't even be telling him this anyway. "Just a touch. Almost like an accident."
"I'm going to be the first?" He hums contentedly into Sam's skin, sucking a huge mark and stroking softly through the underwear. "Oh, you are just too perfect, I should have found you so much sooner."
"Please," Sam says. He feels dizzy. Is this really happening? Is his teacher seducing Sam into letting him give Sam a handjob? Is this reality?
"Please what?"
"Please, sir, God, please," Sam begs. Jesus, he's about ready to blow and this bastard has got him plastered to the wall and is teasing him and really, honestly, Sam just wants to get off and pretend this was a dream. A really intense dream.
"Love it when you call me that," Professor Moore moans, pushing up against Sam. "I knew you would beg so nice for me." He dips his hand into Sam's underwear, firmly grasping his cock, giving it full, sure strokes. Sam full-out moans, and can feel his teacher chuckle against his chest as the movements get more slick, able to move a little bit faster. "You are so wet for me, it's ridiculously attractive," and Sam's not sure how much longer he can handle the dirty talk.
"Stop talking," Sam hisses, and when the professor twists his hand as he nears the head, Sam drops his chin to his chest. "Oh," he feels the little noise work out of him.
And suddenly there's a mouth on his, harsh stubble rubbling against his cheek as he feels a tongue run across his lips and Sam can't stop himself from leaning forward, wanting more. It's feels so long since he's had somebody all over him, and it's not like they're having sex, right? "Fine, you talk. Beg me, Sam," he feels his teacher say low and filthy into his ear. "Beg me."
"Please, God, please, sir," Sam hears himself babbling into the other man's mouth, clutching onto Professor Moore's shirt for balance as he tries to fuck himself into the other man's hand. "Please, I need to, please, please let me come, sir," because seriously, if that's all Sam needs to let this guy to move his hand faster, he'll do it.
"God, I want to fuck you so hard, Sam," his professor snarls. "Fuck you so hard you can't walk, until you're screaming my name over and over," and when he bites down in the soft flesh of Sam's neck, right underneath his jaw, Professor Moore gives one, two sharp strokes, twisting his hand just right and Sam's shuddering in his arms, coming hard all over his professor's hand. He can feel the orgasm pulsing through him, and it's a little bit before he acknowledges the small, teasing kisses on the edge of his jaw.
"I wish I could have recorded that. You are just too much, Sam, where have you been hiding all this time." When Sam feels the hand leave his jeans, he opens his eyes to see Professor Moore lick his come off a finger and he can only groan and lean his head back into the wall. "Aren't you a sweet little thing."
"I'm just…just trying to not get too deep in here," Sam says, and really, he doesn't even get what he's trying to work out, so he tries again. "I'm not going to become your little student fuck buddy now."
"I would be disappointed if you did, Sammy," his professor coos, gently lifting San's shirts from the floor and handing them to him. "But next time, I want you entirely naked." He buttons up Sam's pants as Sam clumsily drags his shirt and sweater down over his shoulders, still working through the sluggish aftereffects of his orgasm.
"Please don't say that stuff to me right now," Sam genuinely pleads. He's waaaaay too sensitive to even be listening to that. No way. No way.
"Next time, then," his teacher murmurs. "I want you to come in next Thursday. We'll have another little tutoring session, hmn?" Sam's too tired to do anything but nod and give a little hum when he feels a small press of lips and his bag placed carefully on his shoulder. "I guess it's time for you to go, my little wet dream. I'm very excited for next week," Professor Moore says, a grin creeping up on his lips.
Sam thinks he probably made a huge mistake. But, then again, that was really freaking hot.
So maybe he'd at least confer with Madison before entertaining the idea of coming back next Thursday. Yeah, yeah, that would be a good thing.
Until then, he'd worry about hiding all six of the hickeys that somehow found their way on his skin. Dammit.
Author: lilchibibunny
Rating: NC-17 (FFFFF YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS)
Word Count: 2,795.
Characters/Pairing: SAM/LUCIFER WUT
Disclaimer: Characters to Kripke and the CW.
Spoilers: There are none. I am ridiculous.
Warnings: Dirty talk, cursing, handjob up against a wall. (you could see it as a little bit of dub-con, but i mean i wasn't thinking that.)
Summary: Sam's debate professor is hitting on him? Yup. Definitely hitting on him.
Author's Note: AEON_ENTWINED'S FAULT. COMPLETELY. THAT AND MY LOVE FOR COLLEGE!AUS, FUCK FUCK FUCK. That and I really like skewing the soft-sympathetic version of Lucifer from SPN into the, ">3 Hello, Sam," kind-of-Lucifer that I'm used to.
P.S. - I wrote this at three in the morning. Obviously I did not care about details like how colleges really work. And, honestly, this is the devil we are talking about; like he couldn't manipulate a little college campus to his liking. So, if you are all up in arms about it not being exactly the way a university is run, you are thinking about it too hard. Also, I mean, I basically wrote this for shameless porn. SO FUUUU IT WAS THREE IN THE MORNING AND LIKE I CARED ABOUT COLLEGE PROCESSES OR POLICIES, I WANTED PORN.
"You just need to work a little here, Sam," the professor purrs into his ear, and it gives Sam a little bit of a shiver at the mint-cool breath against his skin. "This sentence, you see it?"
"Y-yeah."
"Limit it to one idea a sentence," and that whole speaking-by-his-ear thing is super distracting. "You have such good ideas, Sam, give them the focus they deserve."
His advisor, who only goes by Mr. M (for Michael, he says he hates his last name, it's a family thing), told him to visit this guy. He's worked with plenty of pre-law students before, he's gotten good at it. You could learn a thing or two from him, Sam. And before he knew it, he's registered in a debate class. Great. Fuckin' awesome. Not that Sam isn't good at debate--thanks to Dean--but he was hoping to push it back a little until he felt more ready for a heavy verbal tussle in a classroom setting. (Sam will admit, he doesn't mind, he would just like to have a few classes under his belt and get to know a couple of his fellow grads before heading into that. Oh well.)
Unfortunately, the debate teacher seems to have it in for him. Always seems to either call on him for the harder topics or gets on his case for his last debate. The last paper he did said "See me," on the top, and so here he is, and Sam could swear he's getting hit on.
Not that the guy isn't good-looking. Short blond hair that curls gently in bangs right where his hairline is--a hard look to pull off, but it's attractive for him--and a good day's stubble covering his jaw. What gets Sam are his eyes, this intense sky-blue, and he keeps staring at Sam like he wants to eat him up.
"You paying attention?" and, oh fuck, he's been staring at his goddamn professor, shit shit shit--
"Yes, sir." Sam turns back to his stupid debate paper like it's the most interesting fucking thing he's ever seen in his life.
"Mm. Sir. That's a new one." And those are definitely lips pressing against his ear when Sam hears his professor whisper, "Say that again."
Sam feels frozen in place. He shouldn't say it. He should excuse himself and get on the computer and drop this class as soon as possible. He needs to leave, because this is just getting so awkward. "...Sir."
His cheeks flush when he feels the fingers on the back of his neck, teasing the shorter hair underneath the longer curls. "Oh, you are just adorable. I thought I liked you for a reason, Sam."
Before Sam can give a proper response or even try to address what is happening, his professor gently presses his debate paper to his chest. "Perhaps you should come in again," he says in that sweet (but mocking) voice. "I think you could do with an individual lesson or two."
And then Sam's out the door with an appointment to come back that Thursday after class hours.
He is so screwed.
--
Sam's actually pretty nervous. He somehow manages to ask around casually about the Professor, and the general consensus is exactly how his friend Madison puts it, "He's the devil in a nice tie."
"Huh?"
Madison looks at him like he's stupid. "You serious? Professor Nick what's-his-face?"
"Moore?" Sam fills in for her, raising his eyebrow.
"Yeah. Dude has screwed like...half the campus," Madison estimates. "I mean, none of it can be proven or else he would be out of here, but some people swear they've done the dirty with him."
Sam pushes her shoulder. "You're so stupid."
She raises an eyebrow and brushes the playful insult off, stealing some of his beef jerky. "And you have a private lesson with him? Under his suggestion?"
"Well, he usually challenges me in class, so I'm guessing it wouldn't hurt to go in and hear some tips--" and he is definitely making excuses to go in there and see him, isn't he?
Madison shakes her head, laughing. "Oh maaaaan, Sam, just because I know you've hit a dry spell these days doesn't mean it's a good idea for the slut professor to screw your brains out."
And that's when Sam wrestles her to the ground, making sure to quickly put her in a headlock, giving her a rough noogie and knotting her hair. "Just because I'm not a total whore bag like you doesn't mean I can't hold my own against Professor Moore!"
She yelps, kicking at Sam, "You're such a bitch when you don't get any!" And they rumble and tussle a bit more before Madison finally wins (because Sam might have purposefully put his arm behind his back when she could grab it), resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. "Seriously, Sam, I bet he would drool all over your little head if he was tall enough. Be careful, I don't want you getting man-herpes," she says solemnly.
"Ma-man-herpes, are you joking me?"
--
Thursday comes too soon.
Sam ends up walking around the building, purposefully avoiding the debate room. He's toying with the idea of not even showing, of either facing the wrath of his professor the next day or just dropping the class. Unfortunately, though, he's apparently the only person who teaches it, so that could be another reason why he's not immediately kicked off campus for all these student-relation rumors; they could be holding off until they find a new professor. Which could take a while. Ugh.
Sam's ten minutes late to the meeting, which apparently is a good thing because a tall blond stumbles out of the door before he can grip the handle, quietly excusing herself. "Until next time, Jessica," he hears a voice pleasantly murmur.
Sam gently lets himself in and finds himself immediately scrutinized by a pair of ice cold eyes. "You're late."
"Sorry," Sam mumbles. "Got held up in a class." Which is a downright lie, but it's not like Professor Moore knows his schedule. "Sorry, Professor," he repeats, and again it feels like he's done thing wrong.
"No problem. Shall we begin?"
And it actually goes really smoothly. The professor actually acts professional for once, no inappropriate touches or leaning in too close or touching the back of Sam's neck. An hour in, Sam's relatively sure he's dreamed it. And he actually teaches Sam useful things for class, like using his body to project better. At what Sam supposes is the end (it's 6:30 and dark outside, he needs to get himself food or else it'll be too late and the cafeteria won't be open), he gives his teacher a genuine smile and heads for his bag, on a chair at the door. "Maybe we could try this again?"
And Sam does reach for his bag, but he ends up getting led to the wall by firm hands instead. "We could," the professor says, and oh man Sam can already tell he's in trouble. "Except this time you were late. And tardiness is no laughing matter, Sam."
Sam feels himself being turned ever-so-slightly so his back is to the wall and he's staring into those cool, calm eyes. "I'm sorry, I just--"
"Sorry what?" Professor Moore says, his voice low, promising things Sam isn't sure he can deliver. "Sorry what, Sam?"
He doesn't clarify what he means, but Sam knows exactly what he's talking about. "Sir," he says, and suddenly his face feels very hot. "Sorry, sir."
The professor tilts his head back and lets out a small moan, and Sam feels his body slowly begin to heat up. Whoa. Whoa. This just went from casual to intimate really fast. "You're such a good boy, Sam," Professor Moore says. "So sweet, I could just eat you up." The sentence is something someone's mom would say, but the way the professor says it and presses up against Sam, it takes a whole other meaning.
"I--"
"Is that why you were pacing around, Sam?" Sam can feel the hard line against his leg, and it's awful that he can't stop himself from responding. "You were nervous about this?"
"Yeah," Sam blurts out, trying to back further into the wall so the professor won't be able to feel his own interest. "I know your reputation."
And Sam gets a good laugh from that. "Oh really? And what have you heard?"
"You have sex with students." Well, with his hard dick pressed up against Sam's leg, it's not like he's going to be shy about that. Not like Sam can't tell him when it's damn close to actually happening.
"Oh really?" He leans over to nuzzle Sam's neck, pressing hot kisses against the skin that make Sam shiver. "How interesting, considering I've never."
"What?"
The professor looks up to grin at him. "I've done plenty of other things, but never actually fucked anyone." He leans into Sam again, grinding lightly. "So many filthy little students here, I wouldn't want to. They're too easy, I usually just have my own little way with them and let them go. But you? Mm, Sam," Professor Moore purrs into Sam's neck, making his hips hitch a little, "you? You I would fuck senseless. You're so cute and sweet and I'd love to see those pretty little bangs drenched with sweat while you screamed my name."
Oh. Fuck. Fuck.
"Are you hard for me?" And when Professor Moore grinds hard against him, Sam can't help the strangled little noise that comes from his throat. "I bet you have the nicest dick, don't you?" When he presses a palm to the bulge in Sam's jeans, letting his fingers feel and tease, Sam lets out a small whine. "You look like you beg so pretty, Sam."
"You're really confident I'm just going to bend over for you," Sam grits through his teeth, trying to ignore the friction his professor--his professor--is creating.
"Are you trying to tease me?" Professor Moore laughs, low and dirty. "I like how you're making it a challenge for me, Sammy," and somehow Sam knows he's using the nickname to drive him further up the wall. "I appreciate that." And then, like a snap, it changes. Sam feels his teacher's hand skim up his shirt (he has one on underneath his sweater), and Professor Moore actually lets out a small growl. "Take this shirt off."
When Sam hesitates, Professor Moore actually uses both hands to lift up his shirt. "Take it off, Sam." And Sam is kind of distracted because fingers are instantly skimming his abs, and then he feels a tongue lick up his skin. "Oh, hiding this under so many layers," he hears his teacher murmur against his skin. "Shame on you, Sam."
"You're not--we're not having sex," Sam makes sure to say. And fucking Madison, the thing that instantly jumps in his mind is 'man-herpes' and he hates her forever.
"I like it when you try and take control, Sammy," bringing out the nickname again, "I think it's cute."
When Sam feels his zipper being undone, he jumps, and then the professor's mouth is at the base of his neck, nipping softly at his skin. "Aww, at least let me see it, Sam. As much as I want to throw you over my desk and fuck you senseless"--Sam hates that these images definitely aren't appalling to him--"I can wait. But it doesn't change the fact I still want to see you come."
Sam can't help the breathless moan that escapes him when the professor tugs his jeans down ever so slightly, exposing his hips. "Sam," Professor Moore hisses into his neck, "how many boys have you let touch you like this?" When Sam doesn't answer, his teacher grabs him roughly, Sam feeling his hips give two jolts forward. "Don't lie, Sam, I can tell when you lie to me."
"One," Sam gasps out. Who is his professor going to tell anyway? Not like he can out him without a huge scandal. Sam shouldn't even be telling him this anyway. "Just a touch. Almost like an accident."
"I'm going to be the first?" He hums contentedly into Sam's skin, sucking a huge mark and stroking softly through the underwear. "Oh, you are just too perfect, I should have found you so much sooner."
"Please," Sam says. He feels dizzy. Is this really happening? Is his teacher seducing Sam into letting him give Sam a handjob? Is this reality?
"Please what?"
"Please, sir, God, please," Sam begs. Jesus, he's about ready to blow and this bastard has got him plastered to the wall and is teasing him and really, honestly, Sam just wants to get off and pretend this was a dream. A really intense dream.
"Love it when you call me that," Professor Moore moans, pushing up against Sam. "I knew you would beg so nice for me." He dips his hand into Sam's underwear, firmly grasping his cock, giving it full, sure strokes. Sam full-out moans, and can feel his teacher chuckle against his chest as the movements get more slick, able to move a little bit faster. "You are so wet for me, it's ridiculously attractive," and Sam's not sure how much longer he can handle the dirty talk.
"Stop talking," Sam hisses, and when the professor twists his hand as he nears the head, Sam drops his chin to his chest. "Oh," he feels the little noise work out of him.
And suddenly there's a mouth on his, harsh stubble rubbling against his cheek as he feels a tongue run across his lips and Sam can't stop himself from leaning forward, wanting more. It's feels so long since he's had somebody all over him, and it's not like they're having sex, right? "Fine, you talk. Beg me, Sam," he feels his teacher say low and filthy into his ear. "Beg me."
"Please, God, please, sir," Sam hears himself babbling into the other man's mouth, clutching onto Professor Moore's shirt for balance as he tries to fuck himself into the other man's hand. "Please, I need to, please, please let me come, sir," because seriously, if that's all Sam needs to let this guy to move his hand faster, he'll do it.
"God, I want to fuck you so hard, Sam," his professor snarls. "Fuck you so hard you can't walk, until you're screaming my name over and over," and when he bites down in the soft flesh of Sam's neck, right underneath his jaw, Professor Moore gives one, two sharp strokes, twisting his hand just right and Sam's shuddering in his arms, coming hard all over his professor's hand. He can feel the orgasm pulsing through him, and it's a little bit before he acknowledges the small, teasing kisses on the edge of his jaw.
"I wish I could have recorded that. You are just too much, Sam, where have you been hiding all this time." When Sam feels the hand leave his jeans, he opens his eyes to see Professor Moore lick his come off a finger and he can only groan and lean his head back into the wall. "Aren't you a sweet little thing."
"I'm just…just trying to not get too deep in here," Sam says, and really, he doesn't even get what he's trying to work out, so he tries again. "I'm not going to become your little student fuck buddy now."
"I would be disappointed if you did, Sammy," his professor coos, gently lifting San's shirts from the floor and handing them to him. "But next time, I want you entirely naked." He buttons up Sam's pants as Sam clumsily drags his shirt and sweater down over his shoulders, still working through the sluggish aftereffects of his orgasm.
"Please don't say that stuff to me right now," Sam genuinely pleads. He's waaaaay too sensitive to even be listening to that. No way. No way.
"Next time, then," his teacher murmurs. "I want you to come in next Thursday. We'll have another little tutoring session, hmn?" Sam's too tired to do anything but nod and give a little hum when he feels a small press of lips and his bag placed carefully on his shoulder. "I guess it's time for you to go, my little wet dream. I'm very excited for next week," Professor Moore says, a grin creeping up on his lips.
Sam thinks he probably made a huge mistake. But, then again, that was really freaking hot.
So maybe he'd at least confer with Madison before entertaining the idea of coming back next Thursday. Yeah, yeah, that would be a good thing.
Until then, he'd worry about hiding all six of the hickeys that somehow found their way on his skin. Dammit.