Work Text:
Chan is fully aware of what it means for him to be attracted to one of his students—and what it could do to his career. Knowing the consequences unfortunately doesn’t mean he can control his feelings. He’s only human.
Frankly, he’s not entirely sure it would be the worst thing in the world for things to escalate between them. Lee Yongbok is exactly his type.
Enough, Chris. Shut the fuck up. He’s your student.
Yongbok transferred to his pharmacology class a month into the new year, with an eagerness to learn and an infectiously bubbly personality. His hand is always the first in the air, his questions always genuine. Chan has never met a student as enthusiastic as Yongbok, and he was overcome with an all-too-familiar sense of shame when he realised just how attractive that is to him.
Chan’s Korean is pretty decent for an Aussie, but occasionally there’s a long pause in his lectures when he needs to look something up. The class can get restless when this happens, but Yongbok is always so understanding—protective, even—sending glares to his fellow students if they let out so much as a snicker. Whenever he turns back to face Chan and finds him smiling with a nod of gratitude, Yongbok’s smiles even wider and, if Chan’s lucky, gives him a wink before turning back to his notes.
More often than not, Yongbok is one of the last students to stay behind after class and get a brief conversation in with Chan, always ready with a new set of questions.
“You know, most of these students speak English, Professor Bahng,” he reminds Chan as he swings himself up to sit on top of a front row desk. His skirt billows out around him and he smooths it back down, then tugs one of his socks up. “When something’s difficult to translate, it’s okay to say it in English. If there’s still someone who doesn’t understand, I can always help out.”
Chan’s hands freeze inside his bag, still clutching the ungraded tests. “No, no. You don’t have to do that, Yongbok. Really, it’s okay, thank you. It’s a good opportunity for me to improve my Korean, if I’m being honest. I appreciate the offer, though.”
Yongbok hums and hops off the table, circling around Chan’s desk to stand beside him. “Could you go through the mechanism of action for hydroxychloroquine for me, please? It’s the only section of the coursework I have left and the sources online didn’t make much sense when explaining it,” he pouts. “Not for rheumatoid arthritis, anyway.”
Chan wonders if the younger man is aware that he’s stepping closer, close enough for Chan to breathe in the now-familiar scent of his shampoo—jasmine. It’s pretty, like him. Chan nods. “Sure. So, you’re aware of the defects in development and selection of T-cells in rheumatoid arthritis, I assume?”
“Mhm! I got stuck after that, though,” Yongbok laughs nervously. He takes a sharpie out of his bag and uncaps it.
“Right. So, hydroxychloroquine works in a multitude of ways: preventing dimerisation of alpha and beta chains of MHC class II molecules, raising organelle pH, reducing inflammatory responses, and so on. It alters the recycling of MHC complexes, such that only high affinity complexes bind to the surfaces. You rem— what are you doing?”
Yongbok looks up from where he’s hiked his skirt up just enough to start taking notes on his bare thigh, brows still stitched together. “Hm?”
“Would… uh, would you prefer some paper? I can give you some,” Chan says slowly, unable to tear his gaze away from the tanned expanse of skin that’s quickly being covered in black ink.
“No, that’s alright. I always seem to lose my notes,” Yongbok grins. “At least this way I know where they are.”
Chan wills himself not to react, with every ounce of self control he can muster. Nodding dumbly, he wills the flood of arousal to hold off just a little longer, feeling himself harden at the mere sight of Yongbok’s thighs. Not now not now not now. He clears his throat and glances out the window, the image of his student’s smooth, tan thighs still burned clearly into his mind.
“Right. As I was saying—.” Chan continues on, ranting about self peptides and MHC molecules and T-cells in the negative selection step. He’s not sure whether Yongbok is actually listening, and decidedly not looking up to find out. “... so that means those cells are then unable to mature and leave the thymus, and have a lower likelihood of evolving into those potent effector cells we discussed last week,” he finishes finally. “Does that make more sense?”
As Chan turns back around, he looks down without even meaning to. Black scribbles now adorn both of Yongbok’s thighs all over, somehow making them look even prettier than they did unmarked. A small yet very loud part of Chan’s brain starts to fire up unnecessary thoughts of tracing each letter with his fingers, just so he can gauge a reaction from Yongbok as he’s touching him.
Enough, he scolds himself.
The blonde looks up with a wide smile, capping his pen and fixing his skirt again. “It really did. Thank you so much, sir! See you on Monday.”
“Y-Yes, see you,” Chan stammers, but Yongbok is already heading for the door where a friend is waiting for him; he links arms with them and looks back once more to wave at Chan before walking off, leaving him alone in the classroom—finally.
Sir. Yongbok called him sir. He’s been called sir plenty of times by numerous students, and none of them have elicited such a strong reaction in him. Certainly not enough to leave him straining in his pants.
Chan gathers what he needs from his desk and practically runs to his car, bag held in front of him just in case, his mind reeling. Once in the driver’s seat, he adjusts his phone in the holder and presses on Minho’s name with shaky hands before turning the ignition. Minho picks up after two rings.
“What’s up, Hyung?”
“Can… are you free tonight? To like… uhm…” Chan trails off, his ears burning.
“To fuck?”
He can practically hear Minho’s smirk. Chan groans and nods, then quickly realises Minho can’t see it. “Yeah. I… yes, please. You can choose what to bring, I don’t mind. Anything.”
“Fuck, that bad, huh? I’ll be at yours in 20, ‘kay? Want you naked when I get there.” Minho leaves no room for him to answer before hanging up.
As silence settles in the car, Chan has ample opportunity to get into his own head. He desperately tries to shake sir and those goddamn thighs out of his mind. He would very much like to not crash his car thinking about Yongbok’s thighs—thighs covered with the same gorgeous freckles that scatter across his cheeks. For now, he forces himself to focus on tonight’s plans; he’ll have Minho bouncing on his cock soon, probably about to milk at least 3 orgasms out of him in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
***
Chan is picking at a loose string on his shirt when he hears his front door unlock, followed by Minho calling out his name. Sitting on the bed with his knees spread apart, he can already smell the japchae that Minho always brings him during aftercare. His ankles are starting to ache from how long he’s been holding the position.
Minho sighs, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m sure I made my instructions quite clear." Chan looks up at him, not knowing how to respond. “Did I not?” he continues, stepping further into the room and setting his bag down by the foot of the bed before taking Chan’s chin in his hand. Chan is still silent, eyeing the bag and wondering what Minho has chosen to bring.
“Puppy, I want an answer. Did I or did I not make it explicitly clear that I wanted you naked when I got here?” Minho’s hand tightens on his jaw, drawing a whimper out of him.
“Yes. Yeah, you did, did, ‘m sorry, Min. Got cold,” Chan whines. He makes a small, disgruntled noise when Minho lets him go to take something out of his bag, hiding it behind his back so Chan still can’t see it.
“Need Hyung to warm you up, hm?” Minho pouts condescendingly, closing the distance between them. ”I don’t know if you deserve it, though,” he grits sternly, fisting Chan’s hair and pulling his head back. “Dumb mutt can’t even listen to instructions.”
Chan’s eyes close as the sting in his scalp begins to numb his brain, and he barely registers something brushing against his thigh. “I’m sor— oh!” He yelps when there’s a sharp crack, the burn across his thighs following just a moment later. Minho waits for a moment before bringing the whip down again, and giggles when Chan lets a wanton moan slip out. “Fuck… fuck, hurts, H-Hyung. Hyung, hurts. Please.”
“Good puppies don’t beg. They take what they’re given and don’t ask for more. You forget all the training we’ve done, pup? Hm?” The hand in Chan’s hair tightens further, and he shakes his head almost immediately, hot tears rolling down his cheeks.
“So… let me guess,” Minho says. “That new student of yours?”
Chan hesitates for a moment; Minho is no stranger to the topic, having listened to his tipsy confessions on more than one occasion. Still, admitting what’s got him in this state feels like further admitting it to himself—how much he wants his student . It’s wrong, immoral, and honestly fucking mortifying. In the end, he nods, flinching when Minho whips his thighs again. “Min, his thighs, I–it’s so wrong. Ngh, but they're so p-pretty. He … he’s so pretty, Hyung.”
Minho doesn’t respond for a moment. Chan opens his eyes to find something akin to fondness in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m hurt, Channie,” he coos, tone thick with faux disappointment. “Look at you, sitting here thinking of a much prettier, much younger man when I’m right in front of you. That stings.”
Chan’s half-hard cock is rapidly filling out against his thigh. He runs his hands down to trace the welts that are starting to appear on his skin. They sting at the touch and he pulls back with a hiss, only to immediately go back and ghost his finger over them again. He just can’t help himself.
“Tell me if at any point you want to take over,” Minho murmurs into his ear, guiding Chan’s hand away from his thighs. He pulls their usual handcuffs out of his bag and gently moves Chan’s hands behind him, securing his wrists against the bed frame and giving them a tug to make sure they’re sufficiently tight.
Once he’s made sure the cuffs are comfortable, Minho slides onto his stomach between Chan’s spread-apart thighs and wraps a hand around the base of his cock. He doesn’t squeeze, or even move his hand, but Chan twitches in his hold, relishing in how cool Minho’s hand feels against his skin. “M-Min…” he whimpers softly, bucking up into his hand.
Minho looks up with a pleased smirk and squeezes ever so gently, then leans forward to lap up the precum that beads at the slit. Chan flinches again — never quite getting used to how good Minho’s tongue feels on him, warm and wet against the sensitive head — and whines. “M-More, please.”
“Always begging so nicely,” Minho murmurs. “You’re so good for Hyung.” He closes his lips over the head of Chan’s cock, suckles just enough to make more precum to leak onto his tongue. His eyes stay trained on Chan as he sinks lower, letting his teeth graze lightly against the vein which makes Chan jolt and thrust into him.
Chan has to close his eyes now — Minho’s skilled mouth a little too good — and his stomach tightens when the younger man hollows his cheeks around his cock. He knows Chan’s body so well, is so attuned to how much he can take and what pushes him closer to the edge — what’s enough to have him almost tipping over it, only for Minho to bring him back and reduce him to tears. It’s a mind-numbing sensation, and Chan is always greedy, always chasing after it.
But right now, even as Minho aids the glide of his hand with spit and precum — obscenely loud and wet — Chan’s mind wanders back to those thighs covered in black marker, smooth and tan and undoubtedly soft. Fuck, he wants to know just how soft Yongbok’s thighs are. He wonders if they’re as soft as his hands, as soft as his touches whenever he passes his exam paper over to Chan and their fingers brush together, far too tender and just brief enough to leave Chan craving more.
His mind wanders to Yongbok’s mouth, wants to know how warm and velvety it would feel wrapped around him. As he thrusts up into Minho’s mouth, he can’t stop himself from moaning out the name he repeats in his mind like a mantra. “S’so good. Yongbok-ah, fuck , it—good, feels so good,” he whimpers, the pressure in his stomach building higher and higher. He wants more, to touch, to chase more of this feeling, overwhelmed and frustrated that his hands won’t budge from behind his back.
Minho looks up at him, taking in his flushed and tear stained cheeks, the way his body trembles with every bob of Minho’s head. He isn’t bothered that Chan is moaning a different name than his; he has his own unobtainable obsession, so he understands. It’s more amusing than anything, realising that Chan is so far gone for that student of his that he doesn’t even register moaning his name.
“Gonna cum in my mouth, sir?” Minho murmurs seductively, kitten licking at the head and watching in fond amusement as Chan reacts to the title. “Want Sir to fill me up,” he adds, “as a reward for my good grade.” He dips his tongue out to swipe at the new beads of precum and lick it off, and Chan barely has time to give his silent signal before he’s cumming, twitching in Minho’s mouth as hot ropes of cum paint the other man’s tongue, choking on a sob from the intensity of his orgasm. He finally goes boneless as Minho pulls off, crying out when Minho presses his hands over his thighs, right over the welts, to sit back up.
“Sir? Really?” Minho chuckles as he runs a hand through Chan’s hair; it’s so damp with sweat that it’s starting to revert back to its natural curls. “Stop straightening your hair. The curls are nice on you.”
“You— ... you’re only saying that because you like curls on that guy you’re into,” Chan replies hoarsely, his cock still hard and twitching against his thigh. “Y’know, the one who’s a college student.”
“Oh, like you can talk. You imagined your student sucking you off just now, you hypocrite.” Minho jabs a finger into the middle of his forehead and Chan groans, making an attempt to bite his finger.
“Please, don’t remind me,” he sighs guiltily, shaking out the ache in his arm when Minho unlocks one of the cuffs to give him a break—a need he no longer needs to voice out loud, so ingrained in their routine. “I can’t help it, Min.”
Minho hums as he throws his clothes off, moving on to ease the plug out of himself at an agonisingly slow pace, just to tease a little longer. Wrapping his arms around Chan’s shoulders, he finally sinks down onto his cock, and both of them sigh out in tandem. Once Minho is fully seated, he’s right on the sensitive marks on Chan’s thighs. Chan flinches at the sting, but his free arm snakes around Minho’s waist to keep him right where he is for a moment longer.
“I know, Hyung. You’re allowed to feel things, y’know,” Minho tells him. He moans softly as he brings his hips up until only the tip is still in him, then moves back down and settles into a slow pace.
“Yeah, but—fuck, you’re so wet,” Chan groans into his shoulder. “He’s my student. It’s wrong, it isn’t allowed.”
“He’s an adult. You’re both adults. Besides, you’re young and hot as fuck, and I’m assuming he’s— ahh, hot as fuck too , oh God — and the whole professor-student thing is just a formality. Hell, as long as you don’t pull some stupid shit and bend him over a faculty break room table, I don’t see the issue,” Minho says decisively. “Just be okay with the fact you have feelings, Hyung. You don’t have to feel so guilty all the time.”
“And when are you going to accept the fact that you have feelings for Han?” Chan retorts, unwittingly bucking his hips up into the warmth that surrounds him, still so sensitive. Minho clenches around him and lets out a breathy whine. “You don’t have to feel guilty about that either, Minho.”
Minho blinks, caught off guard, then leans forward to hide his face in Chan’s neck as he rolls his hips down against him. “That’s different—shut up, I know what you’re gonna say, but it just is. Poor thing gets so nervous just saying hello that I feel like I’d be overstepping if I tried to get to know him.”
“He probably gets nervous because he has to deal with seeing his hot music production professor every day,” Chan smirks.
“I’m hot, huh?”
Chan laughs, reaching between them to languidly stroke Minho’s cock in time with the movements of his hips. “Duh, you’re the only one I could cum with so many times.”
“Other than Yongbok-ah,” Minho giggles. He starts to bounce himself quicker on Chan’s cock, his back arching when it brushes against his prostate. “ Fuck, there, there. Tighten y-your hand, ‘s it. Fuck, yes, yes, Hyung.”
The bed frame rattles with every yank of Chan’s restrained hand, reaching for Minho on pure instinct even though it’s no use. He has to thread his fingers into Minho’s hair to make him focus for just a moment. “Key, need the key. Get this damn thing off me,” he growls.
Minho nods furiously, reaching down to the floor and fumbling in the pocket of his pants until he finds it, hands shaky as he undoes the final cuff.
One swift movement later, Minho is pressed face-down into the sheets as Chan pounds into him. The bed shakes with the force of his thrusts, and he grits his teeth as he forces himself through the overstimulation that’s creeping up on him. With a vice grip on Minho’s hip, he leans down over him to hold his head down by the neck. His mind supplies him with the image of Yongbok pressed into the sheets instead, shoulder-length blonde hair tightly wound in Chan’s fist to keep a hold of him.
“Hyung, Hyung, more, ‘s it, more, more,” Minho whimpers, voice muffled by the pillow. “G’na fuck Yong… fuck Yongbok this g-good, yeah? Bend him, oh— over your desk. Make s-sure everyone sees—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chan hisses. Holding Minho firmly by the hips, he sits up to lean back a little, pushing in as deep as he can go until his hips are flush against Minho’s ass. Minho whimpers pathetically and Chan can’t help but do the same as his near-forgotten welts sting deliciously.
Every thrust has Chan hitting Minho’s prostate dead-on now, reducing him to tears and incoherent babbles as he leaks all over the sheets. Desperately fisting them for any sort of purchase, he hears Chan fall apart behind him. “Wan— shit, wanna ruin him, Min. Want him, I wan’ him so bad. For myself. Fuck, I can’t…”
His hips stutter as Minho clenches around him again, lewd squelches filling in the silence between the younger man’s cries, his begging for Chan to let him cum. Chan pulls him up by the elbows so they’re back to chest, Minho reaching back to claw at Chan’s shoulders as he whines and shakes against him.
“Fuck, Hy’ng, please, pleaseplease. Wan’ cum. Sir, wanna cum, please,” he whimpers. Chan nods against Minho’s shoulder before collapsing forward, his body weight trapping Minho between him and the bed. His hips still as he cums a second time, and the sensation of being filled up is enough for Minho to let go, too. He blindly reaches out for Chan’s hand, locking their fingers together and keeping him tethered as his own orgasm rips through him.
They’re both still trembling as they come down, Minho moving to press Chan’s palm to his lips, barely aware that he’s still clenching around him every so often. Chan doesn’t move off of him or say anything, though. Instead he rubs soothing circles into Minho’s hip with his thumb, lips pressed to the hot skin of his shoulder.
“Did… did I go too hard?”
Minho shakes his head, and kisses Chan’s palm. “You were perfect, don’t worry.”
“I can’t fucking believe it,” Chan scoffs with a laugh, groaning into Minho’s shoulder.
“Mhm. Twice, and both times it was when I called you sir. What, you into being called Daddy, too?”
Chan doesn’t answer but his cock twitches once more inside Minho where it’s slowly softening.
“Oh my God, you are. Fucking hell, Hyung,” Minho chuckles. “Though I think you’d just about die if he ever called you that. Maybe I should find him and get him to test it out?”
“Don’t you dare,” Chan scolds with a pinch to his hip. He slowly pulls out and moves off, immediately pulling Minho into his arms. His best friend smiles and gives him a quick peck on the lips, their hands still joined together.
“How are your thighs?” Minho asks softly. Chan makes a noise and pulls him closer to bury his nose in his soft hair. He smells like jasmine, and Chan’s chest squeezes when he makes the connection.
“They sting a little, but they’re okay. I forgot to get a towel ready,” he mutters. “I’ll get it in a minute.”
Minho nods against his chest. “Are you really okay? I meant what I said. it’s not your fault, Hyung, I promise. You can’t control what you feel.”
Something in Chan sours. He shrugs, pulling a lip between his teeth. “I mean, I should be able to. It isn’t right, Min, even if we are both adults. I don’t want to risk losing my job, and for what, a little crush? That’s just ridiculous.”
Chan gets up, slightly irritated — unsure whether it’s directed at Minho or himself — and he can see the look on his friend’s face. Minho doesn’t add anything else, just watches Chan with a careful gaze as he cleans himself up, then goes to find the bottle of soothing lotion in his bag and starts applying it to Chan’s thighs. He finishes off by blowing cool air over them and looks up with a soft smile before finding a pair of Chan’s boxers to slip on.
Chan throws Minho a hoodie, which he puts on as well, before gently carrying him into the kitchen and setting him down on the counter. He takes out the japchae from the container and dishes it out onto two plates, refusing to let Minho carry his own.
They settle on the couch and eat mostly in silence. Chan feels — and ignores — the gaze that Minho has fixed on him the entire time. “Ask your damn question already, Min,” he sighs finally, still not looking his way.
“If you guys ever did… I don’t know, whatever; if you did, we’d have to stop hooking up, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
Minho clicks his tongue, picking up another lot of glass noodles. “Shame.”
***
“Good morning, sir!”
Chan jumps in his seat and sends his pen clattering to the floor where it’s soon joined by the fluttering page of the report he was halfway through marking. He bends down to grab them but ends up hovering awkwardly as a pair of smaller hands beat him to it, gently placing the items back on his desk.
Chan forces himself to take a moment just to breathe before looking up and being met with Yongbok’s smile, unbelievably bright for a Monday morning. Chan scans the few students currently dispersed in the lecture hall, most of them barely awake. (He’s pretty sure one or two of them are actually asleep, hiding behind books or laptops.)
He turns his attention to the student at his desk. “Ah, Yongbok,” he says with a gentle smile. “Good morning. You look pleasantly happy for a class that’s first thing in the morning. Unlike your peers.”
“I should be happy if I’m going to be in my favourite class, right? Oh, I almost forgot—” Yongbok drops his bag onto Chan’s desk, humming a gentle tune as he rummages through it. Chan realises he recognises the melody from one of the student projects Minho was assessing the other night—an incredibly distinct sound that he wishes he could have heard more of.
Yongbok’s comment registers in his brain a full minute later, and he stares up at him in awe. (Perhaps he also blushes). “I–my…this is your favourite class?” Chan doesn’t mean for his question to come out so pathetically, but he’s kind of glad for it when Yongbok giggles fondly; it’s such a pretty noise that he misses it the moment it stops.
“Of course! My favourite professor,” Yongbok comments, and Chan is sure he sees the younger man wink. “And everything about the content is so interesting! You teach it really well, sir.”
If Yongbok notices his professor’s ears turning a bright red, or the way Chan almost chokes on air, he makes no indication of it, his smile still unrelentingly sunny. Instead he peers back into his bag, pulling out a crumpled stack of papers with a small sound of triumph. “Found it! I know we still have a week ‘til the deadline but I finished the last few questions I’d been stuck on, so I thought it’s probably best to just hand it in ahead of time.”
His enthusiasm is…fascinating. Refreshing, even. In Chan’s experience, an interest in the subject doesn’t guarantee that a student will make an effort in class — let alone hand things in on time (hell, at all). Yongbok, however, checks all those criteria. Chan isn’t sure what to make of it; perhaps he’s just that passionate about pharmacology.
Chan only manages to grab one end of the stack before it’s yanked away again, Yongbok flicking through the pages with eyebrows furrowed and his tongue poking out between his lips. Chan has to admit that the sight is fucking adorable. He digs the end of the pen into his knee until the pain pulls him out of his head, which is already beginning to cloud with thoughts that aren’t entirely appropriate for an educational setting.
“Damn it,” Yongbok whispers under his breath. “I forgot the sheet for the last question. Can I bring it by sometime later?”
“Sure,” Chan grins, taking the stack again. He doesn’t miss the way Yongbok’s fingers brush over his, the touch lingering for a second too long. “I’ll be in my office until 8pm so feel free to swing by whenever.”
“Thanks, sir!” Yongbok turns on his heel with a cute little bounce and saunters up to a free seat, his skirt billowing behind him as he does. It’s a much shorter skirt this time, the hem stopping just under his ass and giving too much room for Chan’s mind to wander.
It’s not the first time Chan has held a lecture while preoccupied with thoughts of Yongbok, but today he struggles more than usual. He finds himself repeatedly distracted, his well-rehearsed monologue pushed aside by images of billowy skirts, tan skin and scrawly black writing. He can tell that the students are noticing, their eyebrows raised when he takes too long to answer their questions, but nobody says anything.
Chan is sure that Yongbok has caught onto the way his professor’s gaze lands on him more times than what could be called a coincidence. He’s incredibly talented at staying unfazed by it as he continues to take notes.
It feels like an eternity has passed when Chan finally finishes up today’s class and bids goodbye to the lecture theatre, watching as the students all file out. He hides behind his laptop screen and lets his gaze fall on Yongbok, who’s looking up at Chan through his lashes as he puts his stuff back in his bag.
Chan is so sure the student winks as he walks past, hand trailing over the edge of Chan’s desk, but he doesn’t give himself time to ponder it. Instead, he gathers the giant stack of assignments he should have started looking through yesterday and shuts himself off in his office, keeping his head down.
***
It’s hours later when there’s a knock at the door of Chan’s office, and his head snaps up to see Yongbok peering through the glass panel with a wide grin, giving him a little wave as they make eye contact. The professor nods for him to come in, momentarily glancing at the clock to see that it’s almost 8 p.m.
“Hi, sir! Sorry I couldn’t come by sooner, I got busy. Which reminds me!” Yongbok unceremoniously drops his bag onto Chan’s desk and pulls a Tupperware box out of it. “I made you brownies. Have you eaten yet?”
In all honesty, the thought of food hasn’t crossed Chan’s mind once in the several hours he’s spent cooped up in here. His stomach growls as if on command, which earns him a giggle, and Yongbok opens the box to hand him a brownie.
“I guess it slipped my mind,” Chan laughs nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Thank you, Yongbok-ah.” The informality slips before he can even stop it, but Felix seems completely unfazed by it.
“My mum taught me this recipe,” he says proudly, watching as Chan takes a bite. “It’s one of the things I miss most about Australia, baking with her.”
That piques Chan’s interest and he looks up with a mouth full of chocolate, professionalism be damned. “You’re from Australia too!” Brownie crumbs spray everywhere and Yongbok giggles again, handing him a tissue. Chan accepts it gratefully. “These are really good, thank you for doing such a nice thing for me. Though you really didn’t have to.”
“Anything for my favourite professor, right?” Yongbok winks, unabashedly sitting himself down on the desk. He crosses one leg over the other and leans back on his hands, skirt fanning out around him. Chan has been working very hard to ignore said skirt for the past five minutes, but with this new proximity, it’s a lost cause.
For some reason, Yongbok has taken the time to change before stopping by. The skirt he wore during class was almost scandalously short, but this one is somehow even shorter. But why would he do that? Unless—. Chan can feel his face heat up as he finishes the last of his brownie. He wants more. More of Yongbok’s brownies. More of Yongbok.
“A-Ah, yes … as you’ve said.” Chan chuckles nervously, tugging at his burning ears. “I’m flattered.”
“Oh? Did that make you blush, sir?” Yongbok lilts. He hums knowingly and tips his head back, pretending to study the ceiling and making him wait for the rest. Chan only looks up at him in awe, realising just how much he’s been teasing him on purpose and wondering how far his student is willing to push this — how much Chan himself is willing to let Yongbok push before he puts a stop to it. “Yeah, I thought it might be nice if you knew. You’re from Australia, I’m from Australia. It’s like a little piece of home, y’know? My English name is Felix, by the way.”
Chan nods, eyes fixed on his thighs when he shifts and the skirt hitches up. A long stretch of silence passes between them before Chan realises he hasn’t responded. “So, is there a name you’d prefer I call you?”
“Felix,” he replies with a grin. “I normally don’t mind either way, but I’d like it if you called me Felix, sir.”
Chan almost presses him further, the question of why hanging on his lips by a thread. Felix’s sir rings in his ears on repeat, calling on the mortifying memory of how quickly it made him cum with Minho the other night. Ultimately, he manages to reign it in and takes another brownie when Felix holds the box out.
Felix smiles, tilting his head a little. “Next time I’ll bring you some actual food.”
Chan blinks dumbly as his stomach twists. “Next time?”
“Yeah. When I need help again.”
It’s weird that he already knows he’ll need Chan’s help with the next assignment — especially enough to stop by his office after hours — but he exudes confidence as he says it, and questioning him isn’t Chan’s top priority at the moment.
“Anyway, my assignment,” Felix says.
Ah. Chan had forgotten the actual purpose of this visit. He nods quickly and brushes away some stray brownie crumbs as he waits for Felix to find it. “Wasn’t it just one more page?”
Felix looks up from where he’s searching through his bag, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. The realisation that he’s wearing lip gloss goes straight to Chan’s cock and makes him grip the side of his chair, praying to whatever gods there are that he doesn’t get hard.
Don’t think about running your finger over his lips; his lips on your cock, glossy with lip product and cu—
“Ah!” Felix says triumphantly, waving a piece of paper. “It was, yeah, but I just wanted to see what you thought of the whole thing. If there’s anything specific I could improve on.” He swings his legs playfully, which makes him accidentally bump into Chan. “Oop, sorry, sir!”
Chan looks down to where Felix hasn’t moved his foot away, instead staying pressed up against Chan’s knee. Too close and too sudden. He knows it’s a mistake to just let it happen but that’s what he does, pretending to focus on the assignment sheet in his hands and not the legs stretched out right next to him; the socks that seem to be thigh highs but have slipped down to below his shins; the skirt just short enough that Chan would get a look at what’s underneath if Felix moves too much in a certain direction.
Chan is so screwed.
“Are you married, Professor Bahng?” Felix asks suddenly. Chan chokes on air, accepting his water bottle when Felix holds it out and taking several deep gulps. When he puts the bottle down, Felix is still looking at him expectantly.
“Uh—no. No, I’m not. I haven’t found the right person to settle down with.” He shouldn’t be telling a student about his personal life. He definitely shouldn't be sitting here after hours with a student perched on his desk and their foot pressed to his knee, a box of brownies the only thing between them.
“Oh, okay. That’s a surprise, to be honest. A handsome man such as yourself, so young and already a college professor. How old are you?”
“I’m thirty,” Chan mutters, grimacing to himself. “Hardly young.” It’s embarrassing, really, that he hasn’t found love by now.
Felix hums. “Nonsense. Thirty’s a good age,” he shrugs. “‘Specially for me.”
“For you…?” Chan puts his pen down, daring to glance up at him. There’s a dark look in Felix’s eyes as he lets his foot wander a little, slowly dragging it up Chan’s thigh. Chan shivers, suppressing an instinct to reach out and take a hold of it.
“C’mon, sir,” Felix drawls, fixing his skirt. “You must have realised by now. You’re a smart man. Besides, you don’t think I’ve noticed you staring at me all this time?”
“Yongb—”
“Felix,” he corrects, and Chan nods.
“Felix, I hardly think this is appropriate for an academic setting—”
“And if it wasn’t? If we met at a club or someone set us up on a blind date?” Felix says. “Would you let yourself want me, sir?”
This time, when he starts to move his foot further up, Chan stops him. He gently tugs Felix’s socks back to above his knees, his mouth drying up as he realises that his one hand encircles Felix’s entire ankle. “Felix, I—you shouldn’t be doing this,” he stutters, the tips of his ears on fire. He stands and gently but decidedly drops the younger man’s leg. Felix’s lips are parted, gloss shining under the harsh office lighting. “I’m your professor, you can’t do this.”
“But that’s precisely why I’m doing this,” Felix murmurs. He leans forward and takes a hold of Chan’s tie, eyes shining in delight when the older man doesn’t move back, doesn’t make any effort to detach himself. “A young, sexy professor standing right in front of me like this… Just my type. That authority you have over me? Oh,” Felix moans softly, eyes fluttering closed. “Sir.”
Chan’s breath hitches, and he has to close his eyes before he does something he’ll regret. Felix is too close, his lips are too close. It’s all too much.
“You don’t have to fight it. Just answer me one thing, sir.” Felix’s voice is low, the timbre of it setting Chan alight from the inside out. “If you weren’t my professor, if this wasn’t … forbidden. Would you still want me this badly?”
“F-Felix,” he gasps, stumbling forward when Felix yanks on his tie. He catches himself on his desk, arms caging Felix in on either side and their lips just inches apart. Chan swallows. “Yes. Yes, I would.”
“Sir,” Felix whispers, his breathing laboured. “Kiss me, please.”
Chan will regret this tomorrow morning. He’ll have to hand in a letter of resignation, it’s the right thing to do. But he doesn’t know how he’ll face not seeing Felix every day — his lush thighs on display and his jasmine-scented shampoo infiltrating every one of Chan’s senses.
Before even realising he’s doing it, he closes the gap between them, Felix gasping against his lips as he pulls them together with one arm. The kiss is messy and rough and exactly what Chan has wanted all this time. He chases the taste of strawberry mint, sucking on Felix’s bottom lip until it earns him a whine and Felix’s mouth drops open just enough. Chan pushes his tongue in, moans as he runs it over Felix’s, over his teeth and gums. Felix’s hands fist at his tie, and Chan thinks that he can never wash it now — not if he wants a sweet reminder of Felix’s scent when he lies awake at 3 a.m. with only the company of his own hand.
“Professor,” Felix pants against his mouth, keening when Chan squeezes his waist. “S–sir, more, wan’ more.”
“You’ve been such a fucking tease, haven’t you?” Chan growls, moving a hand up to the back of Felix’s neck — he nearly faints when the younger man grabs said hand and moves it to the front of his neck, urging him to squeeze just a little. The hesitation that was holding Chan back until this moment quickly fades away to nothing as he allows instinct to take over; it feels so freeing it’s almost scary. “Whoring yourself out for your college professor, huh? In front of your entire cohort, too. What would they say if they found out how much of a whore their precious Yongbok-ah is?”
When Felix doesn’t answer, Chan presses the sides of his neck with just enough force to make his eyes roll back in his head. Felix tips his head back, giving Chan better access and letting him see how pretty his neck is, slender and smooth against Chan’s hand. Chan squeezes again, chuckling with fond condescension when Felix moans softly. “Don’t—don’t care what they say. Jus’ want you, sir, please. Harder, please.”
Chan complies, effectively keeping him still by the neck as Chan leans in to kiss him again, his other hand kneading at Felix’s hip. “Pretty little thing. Who would have thought you were such a slut? You look so innocent, so easy to ruin.” Chan’s mouth has a mind of its own, spilling the words before he can think twice about them, but Felix only moans louder, rocking against him.
He’s about to kiss Felix again, eager to leave his lips looking even more red and swollen, when a door opens somewhere down the hallway outside. They both freeze, Felix staring up at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushed.
Chan is quick to step back and help Felix off the desk, both of them straightening their clothes. Chan clears his throat and steps over to his door, one hand on the handle. “Not here. Not now,” he says, voice low, and Felix nods.
The younger man gathers his stuff—all except for the box of brownies—about to leave when he accidentally brushes Chan’s pen off his desk. “Oops,” he giggles. He turns away from Chan and bends over to pick it up.
Chan clamps a hand over his mouth before a moan can slip out. Felix isn’t wearing any underwear. And—oh, fuck.
Chan closes his eyes as he holds the door open, simply nodding when Felix says a hushed goodbye and slips out. He doesn’t know what to think about the fact that Felix turned up at his office with no underwear and the prettiest pussy Chan has ever seen.
Pretty. Small. And puffy just like his lips.
Shame fills Chan to the brim as he locks the door, turns off all the lights and fumbles with his zipper; it burns in the pit of his stomach when he’s bent over his desk only moments later, cumming into his hand with a whimper of Felix’s name. It’s so shameful that he won’t even tell Minho about this.
Chan gathers his things, making a mental note to finish marking the remaining assignments in the morning, and hurries home. Home, where not even the three orgasms that leave him shaking can quench the burning intensity of his desire, his hips still canting into his pillow and pushing him towards overstimulation after the final, dry orgasm. Chan passes out minutes later, mind filled with Felix’s pretty, glistening wet pussy and his strawberry-flavoured lips.
***
It only gets worse after that. Felix keeps opting for the front row seats right in front of Chan’s desk, kicking his legs out in front of him to catch his attention. His skirts stay short and sometimes he dares to spread his legs apart and rest a hand in between, suggestive and incredibly dangerous.
Some days he wears underwear. Other days are a repeat of Chan’s office. He’s an even bigger tease on the days Chan is dressed in his more casual shirts, pen in mouth as he shamelessly ogles the man’s arms where the sleeves have been rolled up over his biceps. And some days, when Chan has a particularly clear line of sight, he even goes as far as to play with his pussy, eyes rolling back in his head like they did when Chan choked him. Now that he’s done it once, all Chan wants is to choke him again, see Felix all pretty and compliant at his hand once more.
Chan buries his head in work in a feeble attempt to distract himself. He locks himself in his office until late hours when every other faculty member on the floor has already left, rarely noticing the time until Minho sends him a check-in text.
It’s one of those nights now, as he hears a knock at the door. Chan jumps and notes that it’s already 10:30, expecting to see Minho scowling at him through the glass. Instead he’s met with Felix’s soft smile, and his cock twitches in his pants as he recalls their last…encounter, in this very room.
“Hi, sir,” Felix giggles when Chan opens the door. “I thought you might still be here. I brought food this time.” He shakes the bag in his hand and then pauses, peering over his shoulder. “And myself. All yours this time, sir.”
Nobody is around — Chan knows that, Felix knows that — but the thought of someone still being here and catching them is exhilarating. Chan swallows and nods, pulling Felix in by the wrist and quickly locking the door.
“C’mere,” he groans. The bag drops to the floor as he crowds the younger man against the door, greedy hands on his waist. Felix is already leaning in for a kiss, bringing his arms up around Chan’s neck. “Sweet little thing you are, taking such good care of me. But you’re so naughty, too. Coming to your professor’s office like this, eager to be fucked, hm? S’that what you’re here for, sweetheart?”
Chan intentionally avoids his lips despite Felix’s desperate whine, revelling in the soft gasps that escape him when Chan presses a kiss to his neck instead. “Y-Yes,” Felix whines. “God, couldn’t, I-I couldn't stop thinking about you, sir. Wanted you to touch me so bad. Need it.”
Chan hums, dragging his tongue down Felix’s pretty neck. He wants to wrap his hand around it again, hopes that Felix will let him.
“Fucking tease,” he growls against the flushed skin. He’s pushing a hand under Felix’s shirt, smiling when the younger man pushes his hand up towards his nipple. “Playing with your pretty little pussy in class like that… Why should I give you what you want?”
“Know you want it,” Felix gasps, keening as Chan twists a nipple between his fingers. “Y-You do want it, right? You want this too?”
Chan pulls away from his neck to look up at Felix, taking in the way he looks so fucked out already, but his brows are just slightly furrowed. He’s worried that Chan won’t want this. How?
“Fuck, baby, are you kidding me?” He cups the back of Felix’s neck and makes sure he can’t look away as he speaks. “Look at you. You’re a fucking dream, Felix. D’you know how insane you’re been making me? How badly you make me wanna risk everything? I want this.”
When Felix nods, Chan shuffles closer and slots a knee between his legs. He groans against Felix’s lips when the younger starts grinding down on him, and Chan can already feel the material of his pants soaking where they’re connected.
“Can’t believe you,” Chan moans against his lips. “You’re so dangerous, showing up with no underwear like this.. Can I?”
Felix nods, licking into his mouth. He whines when Chan squeezes at his inner thigh, so close and yet so far away from where he needs him the most. “Please. Pl—oh! Oh, Ch-Chan…”
Chan is dragging a finger up his centre, moaning into Felix’s mouth when he feels just how wet he is. It’s inebriating. He adds another finger, stroking through Felix’s folds until his thighs are trembling around Chan’s hand.
“S-Sir. Please, please, more. Wan’ more,” Felix whimpers. Chan gives him a few pecks on the lips before dropping to his knees, staring up at him. He waits for a nod of consent before lifting his skirt, and then his eyes almost bulge out of his head.
Written in black marker below Felix’s navel is the word CUMSLUT. Chan’s gaze continues down his body, stopping as he reads “SIR’S” just above the pubic bone, accompanied by an arrow pointing down to Felix’s bare pussy. Chan’s mouth goes dry as he scans the expanse of his thighs, the words slut and whore and Sir’s littered across the skin. Felix shudders so hard he shakes when Chan traces over every letter with light fingers, his reaction to something so small far better than Chan could have ever dreamed up.
“Jesus. Lix, I’m—fuck,” Chan chuckles, gripping the material of the skirt. “You’re unbelievable, baby. You’re gonna be a good little cumslut for me, yeah?”
“Yes. G’na be good for you, sir.” Felix has his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, a hand up his shirt to play with his own nipple.
Chan turns his attention back to the dizzying sight in front of him: Felix’s pussy on full display. He reaches out and strokes a small circle into his clit, barely suppressing a chuckle when Felix shudders even harder. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Chan breathes. “Look at you. You’re soaking, baby.”
“All for you,” Felix whimpers, back arching as Chan drags a finger down his centre again. “Yours, s’all yours. I’m sorry I di-didn’t tell you that I have a… fuck, s’good… that I’m trans. Should’ve s-said, before showing myself off like that. Just didn’t know how. Was so scared of what you’d say. I know it can be a turn-off. I-I wouldn’t blame you.”
Chan stares at him in wonder. Here he is, practically drooling all over himself at the mere sight of Felix’s pussy and the way his slick coats Chan’s fingers, and Felix is still worried it might be a turn off for him. He stands back up and guides Felix’s hand to where he’s painfully hard and straining in his pants.
“You feel that? That’s all you. You are doing this to me. I’m—God, I shouldn’t be this obsessed with a student of mine. I shouldn’t be in class fantasising about eating you out and making your thighs quiver around my head as you cum on my tongue.” Felix gasps at that, his hand squeezing lightly at Chan’s erection. “It’s not a turn off, baby. I promise. If anything, it only makes me want you more. Can I taste you, Felix? Wanna eat you out so fucking bad, can I?”
Felix nods frantically. “Please. Chris, please.”
Chan raises an eyebrow at the name, then sinks back onto his knees and hooks one of Felix’s legs over his shoulder. “‘Chris’? Where’d you get that from, pretty?”
“It’s—” Felix interrupts himself with a gasp when Chan sucks over his clit, his hips bucking up against his mouth. Chan sucks harder and Felix has to hold onto the door handle with how hard his legs start shaking. “O-Oh. Oh, fuck, that’s so… God. Faculty i-information on the website. S’not hard to find. S’okay for me to call you that?”
“Call me what?” Chan prompts, just to hear Felix say it again.
“C-Chris… fuck, fuck, there, right there,” Felix whimpers, eyes unfocused as Chan slides two fingers in.
“How could I not be okay with it when you sound so fucking pretty with my name in your mouth, hm? God, and you taste so good,” Chan groans. He doesn’t give any warning before diving back in, thrusting his fingers into Felix’s heat as he sucks and licks relentlessly over his clit and folds.
Above him, Felix is falling apart. His knees are weak and the only thing holding him up is Chan’s shoulder which his leg is perched on. Felix rocks against his tongue, his high pitched moans filling the air along with lewd squelches. Chan can’t hold back his own moans, drunk on the taste of Felix’s pussy — now dripping all over his hand and chin. If ever there was a heaven on earth, it would be right here between Felix’s legs.
“Chris—Chris, ‘m close. Fuck, fuck, that’s so good. Fuck, p-please,” Felix moans. He threads his fingers into Chan’s hair, gripping tight as he rocks his hips against him. Chan doesn’t protest, letting him ride his face and soak him in spit and slick. If anyone was to walk in now…
“Should—” Chan pulls away, still fucking his fingers in at a pace that has Felix sobbing and writhing. “Should fuck you like this on the lecture hall desk, you know. Let your whole class see what a little slut you are for me. Let them see who this sweet cunt belongs to, hm?”
Felix freezes, clenching hard around Chan’s fingers before he all but melts on the spot with a strangled cry. Chan catches him before his knees give out, pulling his fingers out despite Felix whining pitifully in protest.
“S…Sir. Chan,” he gasps, collapsing against Chan’s chest.
“I got you,” Chan whispers into his hair. He picks Felix up, carrying him over to the desk and slotting himself between his legs. “God, you’re going to ruin me. A teacher and his student together will be the talk of campus. Gonna ruin both our reputations, my career.”
Felix laughs deliriously, fisting at Chan’s shirt and pulling him in until their noses bump together. “Like I— fuck —like I give a shit. I’ve never cum like that with anyone. I really would ride you in the middle of class if I could, don’t care. Jus’ want you.”
Chan lets out a pleased hum as Felix licks across his bottom lip, and lets his hands roam over his bare thighs—thighs that are still covered in words that make Chan’s head spin as he’s reminded of them. “Hm. You really liked that idea, huh? Letting your classmates see you whoring yourself out. And for an upstanding academic, no less. God, how are you even real?”
“Right here, aren’t I?” Felix smiles, pecking his lips again before pulling back. “Wan’ you to fuck me here, too. Please.”
“You just—”
“Don’t care,” Felix huffs. “Wasn’t enough, Chris, please. Sir…” He reaches between them, palming over Chan’s cock and giggling when it jumps at the sound of the title. Chan grips his wrist and squeezes harshly until Felix gasps. “Fucking whore,” he growls, but there’s no malice in his tone. Felix’s breathy moan only spurs him on further. “S’all you can do, beg for my cock in you. Off the table and bend over.”
Felix blinks at him slowly for a moment, still squeezing Chan’s cock through his slacks and already cock-dumb from the sheer size of it. Seemingly realising what Chan has just said, he starts to smirk just before he’s pulled off the desk. His breath catches in his throat as Chan manhandles him into position, chest flush against the desk and his skirt pushed up to his waist, ass entirely exposed. Felix whimpers as the cold air hits his still-sensitive pussy and tries to rock back against Chan’s hands.
“God, look at you,” Chan laughs greedily, undoing his belt with one hand. “Such a desperate little thing.” His free hand smoothes over Felix’s ass, then makes him yelp as he pinches him teasingly.
“Don’t tease!” Felix whines, pushing back against Chan’s palm. This time, Chan lets him. His other hand squeezes harshly at Felix’s perfect ass, effectively silencing him again.
“Stay quiet and I’ll give you everything you want, baby. Don’t want anyone hearing, do we? Now be good and stay just like that.”
There’s rustling, a click as Chan undoes his belt and then his pants, and then his clothes drop to the floor. He slides his cock between Felix’s cheeks, both hands now gripping his hips tight. His skin is so soft and smooth that Chan is afraid he might cum just from rubbing against him.
“There’s no— nngh, you’re s-so big. Nobody here. S’empty,” Felix gasps, trying to reach back and take a hold of Chan’s cock.
“Mm, who knows? Could be a janitor wandering about. What would they say if they saw a student bent over a professor’s desk?” Chan is gently pushing in as he speaks, hips stuttering when Felix clenches hard around him. “Oh, you really want that, don’t you? Would love if someone saw me ruining you and your perfect image. Such a naughty boy, Felix.”
Chan knows there’s nobody else here because none of his colleagues are as sleep-deprived and work-obsessed as him. The thought of being discovered is dizzying, though; this may not be the faculty break room like Minho warned him about, but it’s close enough.
Faculty break room. Chan is incredibly tempted by the idea.
In front of him, Felix shakes his head, his blonde hair fanning out around his face which is now pressed to the desk. “No. ‘m good, good for sir.”
Chan gathers it all in one fist and gently tugs Felix’s head back up as he slides further into him. “Yeah you are, baby. You’re doing so good. Gonna cum for me again, yeah?”
“C-Can you… ah, need a minute. Too big,” Felix gasps. He reaches a hand out to grip the edge of the desk, knocking a stack of papers and stationery over in the process.
“Won’t go any deeper than this, I promise,” Chan smiles and gives his ass another squeeze.
“No! No, w-wan’ more. I can do it, sir, promise. Gonna make it—fuck, you feel s’good, Chris. I’ll make it fit, promise. I can take it, promise I can.”
Chan hums, lifting Felix’s shirt enough to lean down and place a kiss to his back. The fabric slips back down, and Felix takes the hint as Chan grunts in frustration, quickly pulling the shirt off and throwing it to the side. Chan runs an appreciative hand down his bare back. “Yeah? You gonna take sir’s cock like a good boy? Fuck, you feel so fucking good, Felix.”
Chan tips his head back, desperately trying not to lose himself in how wet and hot Felix feels wrapped around him. Noticing this moment of distraction, Felix giggles menacingly as he seizes the opportunity to clench around him. His laughter trails off into a high moan when Chan stumbles forward and quickly bottoms out.
“Fu—” Chan catches himself on the desk, one hand still in Felix’s hair. “Fucking slut. Didn’t I tell you to wait?”
Felix giggles deliriously in lieu of a reply, clenching again and pulling a whimper from Chan. “Hurry up and fuck me already, sir.”
With the small amount of strength Chan can muster up, he pulls himself up, yanking Felix’s hair as he does so. Pride swells in his chest as the blonde whimpers in response, and it shouldn't feel as good as it does. His student shouldn’t feel this good. None of this should. “Limits?” he grits out, desperate to fuck into Felix and have him cum on his cock. He pulls his hips back just enough to snap them forward again, and Felix cries out.
“Fuck! Fuck, I—oh my God, there. Again, again, please. Chan, please. Don’t have limits. As far as you want, just—just please,” he pleads, voice shaky and wet. “Please, ‘m so close. Please.”
Chan leans down to kiss Felix’s shoulder, feeling him tremble underneath him. “Okay, baby. But if anything gets too much, you tell me, yeah? Your safe word is Candle. Repeat that for me?
Felix nods, pushing his hips back again. “Okay. Okay, yes. Yeah, s’fine. Candle. Please just fuck me now, Chan,” he whimpers.
Chan nods and pulls his lip between his teeth. It’ll be a miracle if he manages to keep from passing out, his head spinning as he creeps closer to the edge.
He starts at a gentle pace, teasing Felix until he’s whining for more. Then, bracing himself with his hands on Felix’s hips, he pulls out almost entirely until only the tip remains inside him. Felix cries out desperately, mind so blank he can’t even find the words to beg, but Chan knows what he wants. He buries himself to the hilt, right up against that gummy spot that has Felix’s legs trembling so violently he starts to slip. Chan catches him, then leans down to press Felix flush against his chest.
“I got you,” he murmurs, kneading his hip reassuringly. “I got you, baby. You’re okay.”
“S-Sir…” Felix rasps, trying to look back at Chan who swiftly takes a hold of his chin. His eyes are glassy, drool running as he blinks dumbly. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t.”
Chan nods wordlessly and presses a quick kiss to his lips before standing upright again and starting up a brutal pace. It takes Felix by surprise and soon he’s scratching at the desk, searching for any reprieve — anything to hold onto before he floats away into that heady cloud of pleasure that surrounds him.
Chan groans with every thrust of his hips, the sounds of skin slapping on skin and obscenely loud squelches filling the room. He wants to look down so badly, to see Felix sucking him in, but he knows that he’d come apart too soon. He needs to make Felix come again. That’s all he needs to let go.
“Wanted th-this f’so long. Always… I’ve, a-ahh… wanted you for too long. Feels better than I imagined,” Felix says, half giggling as he speaks and sounding entirely out of it. It’s a soft tinkly sound, a stark contrast to his deep voice, and Chan could listen to it forever.
“I’m dreaming,” Chan scoffs, slamming into Felix like it's what he’s made for—like this hasn't been pulled straight out of one of his wet dreams. “I have to be fucking dreaming. You’re unreal, Lix.”
“Your dick is unreal. S’so deep in me,” Felix says with a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a moan.
Chan studies him for a moment, realising once again how gone he is for the younger. He’s so screwed.
“Could stay here forever. Practically dripping around me, you’re… this is all mine.”
“Yours,” Felix echoes. Chan’s pace slows and Felix immediately whines loudly, reaching round to pinch Chan’s side. “Hmm, why? Was so close,” he pouts.
His pout is dangerously adorable, and Chan chuckles fondly before fucking into him with a hard thrust. He bites back a smirk as the pout on Felix’s face is immediately replaced with an open-mouthed silent moan. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he coos. “Won’t happen again.”
It doesn’t take long for Felix’s second orgasm to creep up on him. He’s utterly lost in the way Chan’s thick cock drags against his walls, and it’s all so much, too much; Chan’s gentle hand on his throat is too much, and yet Felix urges him to tighten it.
Chan obliges, pressing at the sides of Felix’s neck until his vision and mind both blur deliciously. His own hands slip away from where they grip the edge of the desk as he loses composure, growing limp and entirely at Chan’s mercy — his to manhandle, to mold just the way he wants him. His body jerks with every snap of Chan’s hips and he slips forward on the desk until he’s pulled back onto the older man’s cock.
“Close,” Felix gasps, absently scratching at the wood underneath him. “D-Don’t stop. Please, ‘m too close.”
Chan bends down to kiss the small of his back, along the dip there — which he would live in if he could. “Me too, baby. God, you feel so fucking good,” he moans, voice embarrassingly high in his throat. Felix doesn’t seem to mind, though, his pussy clenching hard around Chan’s cock, over and over until the band snaps, and he freezes.
“Chan… Chan, Chan, o-oh—!” Felix all but collapses, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. His back muscles ripple as he comes down from his high, supplying Chan’s mind with the image of cum streaked across his tan skin, sitting in the hollow dip of his back. It’s enough for Chan to let go with a guttural moan, hips pressing against Felix’s ass and stilling before he spills deep into him.
Felix is still clenching weakly around him, milking every drop out of Chan; it doesn’t seem to stop, still filling the younger man long after the thrusts have slowed. Chan forces himself to pull out, hissing as shocks of pleasure zap through his veins when the head of his cock catches on Felix’s folds. They both gasp.
“Chan…” Felix whimpers softly. He blindly reaches a hand out, making an indecipherable noise when Chan laces their fingers together. “Why… you pulled out. Didn’t wan’ you to.”
Chan is an incredibly weak man, already turning Felix on his back before he’s finished speaking. He slides back in and pulls him into his arms so that their chests are pressed together, heaving in tandem. “Better?” He brushes sweaty blonde locks out of Felix’s eyes, and Felix beams back at him.
“Much better. Cuddles.”
“So demanding,” Chan sighs, but he lets Felix lock his legs around his waist before walking them over to sit in his desk chair. He can feel the cum leaking out around his cock but couldn't care less right now. All that matters is the man cuddled up in his arms, nuzzling his nose against Chan’s neck.
“You smell good.”
Chan shivers from the vibrations of Felix’s voice, smoothing his hands over his back. “You smell of sex. Fucking heaven. Could stay like this forever.”
Silence falls between them, and there’s a certain tension in the air — as if both of them are thinking the same thing. Felix speaks first, pulling away from Chan’s neck to look him in the eye. “What happens now? Is… do we have to say something?”
Chan sighs. “I think if we do, I’ll lose my job.” He reaches a tentative finger out toward the scars that run across Felix’s chest, relieved when Felix takes a hold of his wrist and guides his hand closer. “You’re so beautiful,” Chan says. He doesn’t want to lose his job — it’s an amazing one — but he doesn’t want to lose Felix either. The whole reason this happened is Chan’s job.
“What if… we just don’t say anything?” Felix suggests tentatively. “I only have a few months until I graduate, and after that it’ll be fine, right? I don’t want to lose this.”
Chan leans forward to pull him into a kiss, heart swelling when Felix smiles against his lips. “Neither do I. You’re right, we don’t have to say anything.” He strokes a hand down Felix’s soft hair. “Though your classmates will wonder why you’re suddenly getting so many extra credits, won’t they?”
Felix glares, smacking his chest when he realises Chan is teasing. “Hey! I didn't do this for credits, fuck you. I like you.” He pauses, nibbling at his lip. “And… you like me … right? This wasn’t just a get-it-out-of-your-system thing, was it? Not gonna lie, that would be really disappointing.”
Chan’s heart drops to his stomach as he’s taken aback by the realisation that, in spite of all his confident teasing, Felix still doubts that someone would genuinely want him; all of him. “God, no. No, baby, I promise this isn’t like that… I want you, I—fuck, I’ve never wanted anyone as badly as I want you.” With a gentle hand on Felix’s chin, Chan makes him meet his eyes. “I want you,” he says firmly, and Felix nods. “This is wrong on so many levels, but I need you to be mine.”
A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of Felix’s lips. “I was yours as soon as you kissed me,” he whispers, giving Chan a chaste kiss, and Chan wonders if he’s actually in heaven.
“Yeah? You mean that?”
“Yeah. All yours, daddy,” Felix grins, his smile unfaltering as Chan does his best to seem unaffected.
“You’re such a damn tease,” he laughs incredulously, already pulling Felix back in for another kiss. He glances off to the side for just a second and spots the bag that his student came in with, still left by the door. “You brought food.”
“Japchae,” Felix grins. “Great for after sex.”
Minho would absolutely adore Felix, Chan thinks to himself. Which reminds him…
“Hey, your friend with the round cheeks, what’s his name?”
Felix frowns, puzzled by the sudden change of topic. “Jisungie? Why do you ask…?” He thinks for a moment, then something seems to hit him. “Wait, aren’t you friends with Professor Lee? Don’t you think he’s into Jisung?
Chan shrugs cryptically, arms winding around Felix’s waist. He plays with Felix’s skirt, pushing his hands underneath to play with his ass like a stress ball. “Maybe. On a totally unrelated note, is your friend into older guys?”
Felix laughs, eyes scrunching up. “He’s friend’s with me , what do you think?” After a beat, he continues: “I think Professor Lee likes him. I’ve definitely seen him stare at Jisung’s ass one too many times.”
“You’re so observant, baby. Gold star for you,” Chan grins.
“And 100% on my assignment?” Felix tries, pulling his cutest face.
“Don’t push it,” Chan sighs, but he knows that there’s already a 100 circled in red at the bottom of his stack of marked assignments. “It’s bad enough we did this.”
“Mm, but you don’t regret it~” Felix giggles.
Chan kisses him. “No, I don’t.”