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“I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!”
Morfessa sighed as the front door slammed shut, taking another sip of her coffee rather than look up or go investigate; her housemate would come find her on his own soon enough, unable to rant without an audience.
God, the kid was cute, but sheltered academic geniuses really needed some Discipline every now and then.
The telltale sound of deliberately clicking heels came closer and Luard came through the kitchen door, blonde hair even more messy than usual. Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn't been ordered to use hairclips in the lab yet.
“Morfessa, you won't believe this,” he said, not even waiting for her to look up from her laptop.
“I heard you the first time. What happened?”
“Ildona wants me to go to a conference.”
“And? Getting out of the lab for a couple of hours will be good for you, for once.”
“He wants me to go to a conference at the other end of the country.
Ah.
She smirked.
“Scared of planes?”
“No! I'm not scared of planes—I have new experiments scheduled this week!”
“They're not time sensitive.”
“That's not the problem!!”
“Luard,” she said, finally looking up from her screen to his eyes, her voice firm. “I might not be an ~eminent professor~ yet but I agree with him. You've been locking yourself up in the lab for too long. Your research is going to get stale if you don't mingle with other people and confront some fresh ideas. So stop behaving like a child, or I'll treat you like one.”
Luard opened his mouth to answer, then suddenly turned bright red and looked away, mouth closing.
Morfessa smirked, amusement spreading through her and mellowing her mood.
“… or is that what you want, maybe?”
“NEVERMIND,” he said, too loud to hide the almost squeaky quality to his voice, and he clenched his fists and walked out, back rigid.
Only to stop just outside the door, still close enough that Morfessa could still feel him just by how much tension he was radiating, frozen by his own hesitation and embarrassment.
Well, that was worth putting her work aside for a little while, maybe. Luard was always fun to toy with, but he was an absolute treat when worked up, all nervous and desperate. And he had so much trouble calming down on his own—she had just enough of a nurturing streak that part of her wanted to help, even if most of her was honestly just jumping on the occasion to have fun.
Post-grad work was not fun, especially under Ildona. The man was a genius and a good teacher, but he was not fun.
She made sure to save the document she was working on, then closed her laptop's lid and stood, almost silently, walking towards the door where Luard was still trying to compose himself.
She slid fingertips against the back of his neck and he jumped, a little yelp breaking out of him.
“Should I?” she murmured, bringing those fingers around his neck and up to his chin to pull him back flush against her, firmly held.
“I—I wasn't trying to ask for that!”
“You're not answering my question.”
He shuddered. Oh, this was going to be good.
“… if you don't mind,” he finally admitted in a mutter.
She smiled, and pulled him back further, threatening his balance.
“You can do better than that.”
He hissed and resisted the pull of gravity for a second before surrendering and letting himself lean into her.
“… please.”
“Good boy.”
He groaned, still adamantly displaying his embarrassment in case she'd start thinking that he actually liked all of it, but it almost melted into a whimper near the end, ruining the effect.
She smiled and gripped his chin tighter, forcing his head to turn to make him look at the small sofa in what passed for their living room.
“Now, I think you should start by calming down a little and reflecting on those anger issues of yours. I'm going to make myself another coffee, kneel until I come back.”
She released him, and waited until he'd shuddered and obediently made his way to the sofa before turning back to the kitchen.

To her defense, she didn't take too long. He was being unusually obedient, and that deserved recognition and praise. She started the machine right away, vaguely rinsed her cup, and put the sugar in it while waiting for the coffe to be done, to save time. In just a few minutes, there was enough to pour herself a cup; she did so and returned to the living room, where Luard was kneeling with his back straight (definitely needed a reward) and his face adorably red.
“Good job,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee and putting it down on the coffee table near the side of the sofa before sitting in front of him. “Now stand.”
He stood, wincing as his legs complained—still not used to it, then. Not that she blamed him. She gestured him closer with a finger and he took a step forward, until his legs were almost bumping against her crossed ones; she parted hers to pull him even closer by the belt, knocking the front of his calves against the sofa.
Satisfied, she went to work on his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it out completely before setting it aside. He shuddered a little and she grinned.
“Don't move.”
She undid his fly next, holding back a smirk at the obvious signs that he was already reacting, and pushed the jeans down his ass and thighs, stopping at the knees.
“Good. Now turn around.”
He did, trying his best to keep some dignity and composure even while shuffling around with his jeans down, and put his hands behind his back before she even had to ask. What a good boy.
She picked up the belt again and started tying his hands back.
“Honestly I'd be tempted to use this instead,” she mused out loud, making him jolt and whimper—almost imperceptibly, but with him this close, she heard it anyway, “but then i'd have to get something else to tie your hands with.”
“… you don't always tie them,” he mumbled.
She grinned.
“No, but for something like that, you want them tied, believe me.”
He shuddered, and she playfully tugged on the belt, making sure it was tight enough to keep his hands in place but not too tight that it'd cut off blood flow—it'd be a shame to have to stop just because she'd been sloppy with her restraints.
The belt was fine. She let the end fall a little deliberately; it slapped weakly over his ass as it did, and Luard's shoulders jolted a little, tense and apprehensive as he was. Adorable.
“Come here.”
Blushing madly, face scrunched, he obeyed, awkwardly shuffling himself to a kneeling position on the sofa next to her, facing her side. Without bothering to warn him (he knew what to expect anyway), she grabbed the back of his neck and shoved him down, sending him falling over her lap, face pressed against the fabric of the sofa on the other side, his ass just barely on her lap. Perfect.
She pressed his head down with her other hand, and started petting him through his underwear.
He was shaking. Lightly, but impossible to miss with her hands on his head and ass. When did he become so reactive? Not that she was complaining, but it was an interesting development.
It was such an interesting development, in fact, that she decided to have a bit of fun first. Getting him worked up would only make the next part more fun, after all.
Casually, innocently, she started stroking her hand over the fabric of his underwear, from his waistband to his ass to his thigh. He buried his face in the sofa with a muffled noise; she let her fingers dip slightly between his thighs, just enough to tease at the sensitive skin on their inner side, before stroking her hand back up.
He gasped. She massaged at his ass a little before doing it all again.
He was more reactive when she pulled her hand back up, she noted. Information to keep in mind.
She did it a few more times, caressing idly until he was a shivering mess and obviously aroused, then lifted her hand.
He tensed instantly. She decided to mess with him a little and leaned to the side instead, reaching for her cup of coffee with her free hand and drinking a sip before putting it back down on the table.
And before he had time to react or start bracing again, she brought her hand down on his ass, hard.
He yelled, his cry barely muffled by the sofa. She could've started slowly, but with him something always drove her to go hard, from the start, to challenge him, to break that haughty outside from the getgo. Without giving him time to settle, she hit him again, in the same spot and just as hard, and he hissed, drawing in a harsh breath and tensing all over, shoulders tight in an attempt to silence his cries.
No such luck. She hit the other side, and then sped up to hit the first one again, and his tension broke, his entire body jerking, his fingers twitching in an attempt to manage the pain and the panicky feeling.
She wasn't even hurting him that much, she thought, but buildup did wonders.
“Definitely going for the belt next time,” she murmured, and he whimpered, as least until her next hit made that whimper turn to a cry again.
She hit him again, build up something of a rhythm but altering it here and there to keep him on his toes. With every impact, his body jerked a little, the delicate heeled shoes that he hadn't even had time to take off lifting up reflexively whenever he did, still restrained by the jeans around his legs. It was quite the sight, and especially so with the skin of his thighs just past the edge of his underwear starting to get red, and his neck radiating heat of its own against her hand, still locking his head in place.
She angled her hand to hit him more from underneath, where his ass met the back of his thighs. He almost wailed and dissolved into a whimper, his body going limp in her hold right after, finally surrendering. She grinned. It was delicious, and she didn't waste time in making the best of it, hitting him there again before he could get time to compose himself again.
He whimpered again, and pressed his head forward and down in a way that bared his neck. It shot right through her, a rush of gleeful power and affection that broke through her usual disengagement with the world and people, gripping at her stomach with the want to feel more.
So she hit him more, again and again, until all he could do was shiver and pant and twitch cutely under her hands, his breath coming in almost sobs.

Finally, her own hand started to hurt too much to fully enjoy what she was doing, and she slowed down, sated, just giving him time to adjust to the slower rhythm before stopping altogether.
At first, he didn't react. Part of him was still bracing, still reflexively wary after all the times she'd tricked and manipulated his reflexes. But when no hit came and her hand rested in the small of his back instead to rub a thumb into his spine, he finally relaxed, shakily resting in her hold.
“So,” she asked gently but cheerfully, scratching her hails at his nape, “are you going to behave now?”
He gave a cute whimper of agreement, tearful and strained and completely accepting, and for a tense, breathless second she wondered if this was it, if today was the day she'd throw caution to the winds and take him like he clearly wanted her to.
It was tempting. It had been tempting for months, ever since she'd kicked her shitty roommate and he'd moved in with her instead, still unused to the new city, and at first she'd dismissed the thought because he felt so childish, so emotional and made vulnerable by his moods; it'd have been all too easy to get him too attached and do him harm, she'd reasoned so she wouldn't have to think about it, but with time his genuine efforts to control himself had borne fruit and there was no denying that he was more mature now, in mind and not just in body, and his eagerness born from actual desire and intimacy rather than suddenly awakened hormones. So she hesitated. He was being cute, he was being good, he obviously respected her enough to trust her judgement and admit to needing help and wanting her touch. But…
… next time maybe. Next time, when he's actually back from his trip and she's hopefully done with this stupid paper.
Speaking of which.
“When do you have to leave?”
“Three days,” he sighed, curling his neck into her touch. “Don't last minute tickets cost a lot? We have to budget every mililitre and they have money for this kind of stuff?”
“Different priorities. University's reputation, bla bla. Or a lot of air miles.”
“I hate politics,” he grumbled, head buried in the sofa.
She chuckled.
“Bring me a souvenir.”
“Oh come on—fine. Is food okay?”
“Food's great.”
“Mmm.”
“… and if you're on your best behaviour there, I'll have a reward for you.”
He turned his head, slowly, to look at her with the one eye that wasn't still hidden behind his nose. She grinned.
“You'll see.”