It's a large lecture hall he's given this semester, auditorium-style and able to seat around one hundred students. One hundred minds either hungry to learn or starving for something more exciting, because General Chemistry is a requirement for most of them. They're a captive audience for a little under an hour, three times a week.
One hundred eyes on him.
He introduces himself and skims through the syllabus, taking note of those who begin writing dates in their planners, because he'll be pleased to see them at his office most of all. The competent ones are always a welcome sight. After his preface he waits a moment and then clears his throat when no one asks any questions. He starts like he always does, with the opening he always uses, "I will assume most of you have had some exposure to the basics of-"
Enji is suddenly interrupted by the careless swinging of the auditorium double doors. Both of them. It's a grand entrance for the type of student he can stereotype from a single glance because hell, there always has to be one. The too-good, the obnoxiously carefree, the unbothered, the late since day one.
And this student's eyes among the hundred other pairs - Enji can tell already they'll be his least favorite.
"Ah, I'm glad you've decided to make it, only eight minutes late on the first day?" Enji has a routine for this too. He singles them out because young adults are so predictable, they hate unwanted spotlights more than anything else in the world.
It always works.
There are a few nervous chuckles. And Enji is already turning to his notes to remember his train of thought when he hears something unexpected, a reply: "Won't happen again, cross my heart."
He lifts his head up in an instant. Watches the boy pad down the stairs instead of sitting at the top like he expected, like any other student would've done had they come in and interrupted. Enji makes a point to wait until he's seated, following him fiercely with iced over eyes and an unamused frown. The blond-haired student walks too confidently. The steps he takes are bigger than life and for the first time in a while, Enji has to admit that he's intrigued almost as much as he's unimpressed.
The student sits in the very front row. Of course he does.
And when he's finally settled, Enji sees the sight he should've expected by this point: a shit-eating grin from someone who so clearly thinks they're hot shit. Enji has no patience for it already. He'd be quite content if he never saw it again, because if trouble wore a mask it'd look a lot like this: messy blond hair, black leather jacket, a cascade of earrings, and- is that a touch of black makeup on both points of each almond-shaped eye?
Enji starts his lecture again without sounding the least bit bothered. Because he's not, he's not bothered at all. He's dealt with far worse than crooked smiles and comebacks. This boy hasn't done anything more than cause a minute's disruption - a minute bathing in the spotlight which seems to excite the blond rather than terrify.
So from now on, Enji simply won't shine the light any more.
Fifty minutes pass fast now that he's ignoring the biggest distraction in the room, and it's soon time to wrap it up. He speaks to two students that walk down to greet him while all the rest funnel out. They're chemistry majors and just want to introduce themselves; he makes a mental note for them as well, Ashido and Yaoyorozo. But as they give their spiel, Enji can't help but notice the front row isn't empty. Trouble is there, still, he's tapping his pencil and staring right through the back of Ashido's head - right at him.
When he sees Enji looking back he smiles like the devil's invitation to sin.
"It was nice meeting you, Dr. Todoroki, see you on Wednesday," one of the girls -she has black hair spiked into a ponytail, and kind eyes- says her farewell and shakes his hand. It's firm and confident, which is something he always takes note of. He nods and they both turn to make their way up the stairs, probably off to their next class. It's a shame Trouble doesn't follow their lead.
"Did you need something as well?" Enji tries not to sound passive aggressive, because he's a very straightforward man. He's not about to make a rival out of a student who is -without a doubt- the average slacker who happens to be a college pretty boy, too. It's a toxic combination if he's ever seen one. They're the ones who knock on his office door for favors and curved grades instead of help, and it's a very big gap between the two asks.
"I am sorry for coming in late, I hope you can forgive me," the blond is chewing on the end of his pen and trying not to smile. He sounds genuine, but trouble is always good at acting like something it's not. Enji packs his briefcase while he replies, "It's not a matter of forgiveness. I don't appreciate interruptions." He's pointed and honest.
"I'll just have to be eight minutes early from now on."
"That's not necessary-"
He twitches when the other rushes in during the split second pause. Trouble couldn't be poking fun at what Enji just said about interrupting; he wouldn't dare, he doesn't have the gall-
"Oh, it's completely necessary. I hate making bad impressions."
"You do," it's not a question so much as pointing out the lie where it stands. This is without a doubt worse for the blond than no impression at all. And Trouble seems intent to keep making it worse; he gets up and slings his backpack strap around one shoulder as he replies, "Absolutely." He makes his way down the row, swinging around the corner like a bad joke to meet Enji as he zips up his case.
"I'm Hawks," the blond says, holding out his hand. And it must really be a bad joke, because what kind of name is that? Or still, what kind of nickname, even? But Enji refuses to be shaken or taken off guard, especially since the other probably has a comeback planned for that. So he joins their hands without hesitation and looks Trouble straight in the eyes, "Hawks," Enji acknowledges.
The student squeezes his grip tight. And for some reason, Enji is unsettled to find the other's palm so soft, so small, so greedy when shaking the hand that dwarfs his, and refusing to be the one to let go first.
He's also rushing to say his comeback even without a prompt: "The name comes with a story if you're wondering."
"Good, then, cause it's a long one, and I think I have some chapters to read about... valence shells?"
Trouble hadn't opened his book the entire class (not that Enji could know, not that he was watching out of the corner of his eye). He shouldn't know exactly what the next chapter holds, but the fact that he does simply confirms a suspicion: he's retaking General Chemistry. He failed his first time through. Enji should've been able to tell from his age and demeanor because he certainly isn't a Freshman.
And why in the hell is he acting like he knows everything under the sun?
"Valence shells and electronegativity," Enji clarifies, making it obvious in his stance that he wants to leave now. That the last place he wants to be is in a lecture hall, especially with someone trying to fill the entire room with their own ego. Trouble proves it's his plan when he smiles and digs deep, shoots sparks, tries to get any sort of reaction back now that he knows Enji likes to play stoic. It's like a game to him. To pretty boys, it's all a game.
"Huh. sounds fascinating."
Enji blows air out of his nose, it's close to a scoff, "They're the fundamentals. Make sure to know them well." And he starts walking because he's suddenly very eager to get out of this room, and far away from the student who calls themselves Hawks. Especially when the other tries to get in a few last words:
"Have a little faith in me, Todoroki."
Enji chokes to a stop halfway up the auditorium steps. He doesn't appreciate how Hawks used no title, no 'Dr.' after all the education he went through to get it. It's utterly unprofessional. They don't have that kind of relationship, they don't have any kind of relationship. Enji wants nothing to do with him.
"Sorry, doc. Dr. Todoroki," Hawks adds after he's made sure his previous comment had sunken in. He can tell that Trouble likes to win. It's almost too bad that Enji never loses.
"I'm looking forward to having you," he turns his head slightly behind him and replies (emphasis on the 'lies'). His tone is unwavering and formal. Professors, after all, have an image to maintain, and it's one that isn't derived from stereotypical movie bad boys. He has things to teach and students to talk to who actually care. Enji tries his hardest to pretend Trouble's quiet chuckle doesn't irk him, grate at him, god forbid almost excite him when he says back:
"I'll see you Wednesday."
It's obvious he will; they have class thrice a week and that's one of the days on the list. Any of his hundred students could've said that to him. It's a goodbye and a formality and absolutely nothing more.
So why, why from this one, from Trouble himself, does it end up sounding like some backroom promise?
It's two days later and Enji has been successful in pushing the encounter from his mind. He gets to the empty auditorium ten minutes early, like always, to load his powerpoint and set out his notes.
It's two days later, and Hawks is the first one to arrive. He gets to the auditorium eight minutes early just like he said he'd be, and he retakes his seat in the very front row. There's that smile again, it's been stitched to his face from the moment he walks in.
But it's not like Enji is looking.
"Morning," the blond says cheerfully. It feels all-too-intimate in this absurdly large room with only them as occupants.
Enji raises his eyes at Hawks as he carefully takes papers out of his briefcase, "I'm shocked you followed through." He doesn't know why he's humoring the student - it gains him nothing. Nothing worthwhile. And when Trouble leans forward he sees that yes, yes it's definitely eyeliner on the very edges of his eyes, thick rings lining the shell of his ear, a metal bead bit between his front teeth as he pokes his tongue forward and smiles- wait. Wait.
That last one is- it's interesting.
"I don't go back on my word, I'm a people-pleaser," the blond pulls a book out of his pack and lets it fall an inch to the table. The loud smack is for dramatics, for bragging about doing the bare minimum assigned reading. Enji can see colored page markers sticking from the sides of the textbook. And he can see that cocky look too - how could he ever miss it?
Enji is honest when he replies, "I'm not so easy to please," but it might be a little too forthcoming and a lot more ambiguous than he wants it to be. He backs it up a step and chugs along to add, "Punctuality and effort are good places to start."
Hawks' golden eyes flash with a devil's dare, tone too close to liquid when he says his little comeback, "I must be a good boy then, 'cause so far I've checked off both."
Enji feels his chest rise with a deep and tortured breath. The phrase is meant to be provocative; he knows this without question, without a doubt. It's scratching just under his skin, 'A good boy.'
What is he playing at? What is he hoping to get out of this obnoxious and forward persona, because he can't really be someone like this. No real, live person exists who is anything like this. Another student suddenly enters the auditorium and saves him from dignifying that with a direct response, and with that he makes a vow to himself: not one more ounce of his thoughts will be dedicated to the likes of Hawks.
Enji's lecture is exactly 55 minutes long.
He sees an empty chair in his head whenever he looks at the front row, an empty face where coy smiles are plastered, and no black-painted fingernails on a raised hand when Trouble is the only one trying to answer a question. The blond won't back down. He won't leave it alone. And Enji has to call on him eventually, there aren't always others to choose, "A hydrogen bond, 'cause the atom the Hydrogen is bonded to is electronegative," Hawks' answer is correct, and at least Enji knows this much for sure: that the boy is no slacker after all.
But oh hell- the only thought Enji finds bubbling up to meet that right answer is a very undeserved: Good boy.
Enji should've known that Trouble would come to his office sooner or later. That it wasn't enough to arrive eight minutes early to class, he has to take up space and time in his professor's office, too. He's stubborn. And although he's not a slacker, he surely has the persona of one.
"Come in," Enji sighs when he sees the blond leaning against the doorway - he can't very well tell Trouble to get out of his sight. He's still a student.
The other plops down in the chair in front of his desk. He's closer than is comfortable, Enji can see the black triangles in the corners of his eyes. And no sooner has Hawks sat down before he's getting comfortable, digging right under Enji's skin, shrugging off his dark wash jean jacket to the fitted tank top underneath. The blond then twists his head to take in the office because he's far too observant about everything.
"I had a question about these equations," Hawks supplies, finally.
Enji stares at him. He doesn't have to try to look intimidating - he's a large man with hellfire red in his hair and eyes that hold practiced indifference. But Enji's gaze quickly lands somewhere- dangerous, taking painful notice of the barbel outline under the other's tank top. It's more interesting than the pierced tongue - a lot more - but that's the last of his thoughts on it. It's the only one he'll allow.
His blood feels too close to boiling already.
"Equations - care to be a little more specific?"
Hawks digs a paper out of his backpack, "Maybe," he says, sliding it onto to desk, "Are you married?"
Enji blinks. The question is so abrupt, so personal, and he's been prepared for unprofessionalism from the blond but not this. Certainly not this. He follows the other's eyes to his own criss-crossed fingers, his golden wedding band, but by now it might as well be a ghost. He is married, technically, but instead of saying so he replies the exact opposite with a direct, "No." Enji isn't sure why he humors the question at all, let alone lies about it.
Although the smirk on Trouble's face is proof enough that he sees right through him anyway.
"I don't really get when to use this one or this one," the blond is back on track in an instant, pointing to two equations he's written out on a piece of paper. Enji has to shake off his shock from before when he replies, "Did you read through the book's explanation?" It's always his first question.
"Yes, it didn't make sense," Hawks leans an elbow on the desk, resting his head in his hand and staring a sugary gaze, "Anyway, I think I like you better than the book."
Enji frowns. Trouble is a little like a firecracker. He's entirely unpredictable and far too pretty for his own good, and nothing worthwhile ever comes from someone like that, because now it's led to this: Hawks staring at Enji like he's some kind of god, playing with that metal bead in his tongue, trying to get a rise out of his professor to- Well, Enji doesn't exactly know why. Except it's working anyway. Something is pooling around his abdomen seeing that tongue piercing, that damn barbel through the other's shirt he can only guess sits through his nipple.
You're not a good boy.
"Some students just need it explained differently," Enji is good at hiding his thoughts, his tone stays absolutely unemotional.
"Sure," Hawks smiles, they keep coming one after another, burning bullets to dodge, "I've always had trouble focusing on things that don't interest me."
At that, Enji stops hiding. He scoffs in disbelief, "You're telling your chemistry professor that chemistry doesn't interest you?"
The other's smile turns sly.
"I'm telling my chemistry professor that he interests me a lot more than a book."
Enji clears his throat. He had his doubts before because he didn't want to deal with the consequences of being right. Enji doesn't want to deal with any of this; Hawks is -without a doubt- coming on to him. This student, this cocky jackass, is trying to flirt with his professor. With a man twice his age.
The corner of Enji's mouth twitches violently, "Maybe another visit to this chapter will help if you keep an open mind," he offers. He wants to push Trouble out of his office. He wants to push him to student affairs and have him drop the class, take it again online or with anyone else but him. And now, right this second, he wants to push Hawks against a wall and-
"But doc, my mind is pretty open right now. So wouldn't it be easier to fill it in yourself?"
Hawks is choosing his words so carefully, purposefully, teasingly. This isn't happening. Enji makes a tight fist with both hands and rushes into explaining the two equations. He goes through it quickly and ignores how awful and dreamily the other is staring, staring until he asks, "Do you understand, Hawks." Enji prays for a yes, he can't stand being in this room any longer.
He doesn't know why he asks, "Is there anything else?" It must be a habit after so long. But Trouble is already putting his folder away. He's already turning to put on his backpack and- and there are suddenly wings. The tips of deep red wings creeping onto his shoulder blades from underneath his tank top, the edges of a massive tattoo hidden under his clothes.
Enji hates that he's wondering how big the wings are, and how exactly they ripple around the skin of his bare back. Hawks turns his head the slightest bit and catches the molten stare, not that Enji was being subtle at all. And he looks utterly pleased with himself. Swipes his hand through golden locks like he's bashful about the attention, but oh hell, that's such a lie.
"They're hard not to notice," Trouble slaps the palm of his hand against one shoulder, right on the feathered tip of a wing. Enji swallows at the sound it makes.
"And that story I mentioned, they're part of it."
The story of why a twenty-something college student wearing his desires on his sleeve went by the name 'Hawks?' Enji can't pretend not to be curious now, but he can choose not to act on it, "It does not interest me where you got your nickname."
"Actually, it's my legal name," he clarifies, eating Enji's confused expression that follows. Swallowing up the room because this boy is a walking disaster, he's turning everything upside down and taking pride in his messing.
And Enji- Enji abhors being messed with. "Hawks," he spins in his chair to go back to working at his computer again, refusing to even make eye contact because no one deserves it less, "I'll see you in class."
"Looking forward to it."
He doesn't come to class for a week.
Enji doesn't let it bother him, but after day three it's starting to and that's what is confusing. Frustrating. Because isnt this what Enji wanted? The boy is out of his hair now, he's probably decided to drop the class of his own volition. It doesn't matter why.
It doesn't matter where he is.
It doesn't matter that Enji won't see him in the front row, or in his office, or in his thoughts when he least expects it.
The first exam is tomorrow, and he can tell the students are stressed. There was a line to talk to him after class the previous day. He knows they've been putting off studying because General Chemistry is low on the totem pole for most, and usually he'd just let them fend for themselves, but he's been feeling a bit generous.
He sends a mass email that outlines late office hours. 6pm-8pm is more than fair. And he feels secure in his charity when he sees over twenty students - twenty students, and one boy that he'd written off his class roster and out of his head, although two words is all it takes for him to sneak right back in again:
Hawks doesn't say a proper hello or offer any explanation for his extended absence. He's simply here, out of thin air with a wolfish smile and another tank top that's just barely too small. It rests an inch above the waist of his pants. And even with a jacket on its hard to miss that crescent of skin - golden bared skin of his waist.
Enji glances at the clock to see it ticking past 8:10.
"I did not. And I also don't have time for students who don't come to class," he's not trying to be strict or dismissive, it's a mantra he's always practiced. And he starts packing up his things because his day is up. He's not Dr. Todoroki he's Enji, and Enji wants to be ten miles away from Trouble at all times.
Hawks waves his hands in front of his chest as if admitting defeat, "I know, I know." And he's walking over to the desk instead of the chair, hoisting himself up to sit right on the side and then lean back on his hands. Enji didn't permit him to be so casual. And wouldn't have if Hawks had cared to ask first.
"I suppose you have an excuse, boy."
Enji doesn't even realize the word had slipped out until Hawks replies, "Only if you want to hear it, old man," and at that his eyes narrow. But after a tense moment, he sighs.
"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt if you take the exam tomorrow."
"Oh, I was planning on it," Hawks tilts his head, "I'd hate to disappoint you."
There's definitely something happening, something shifting. So fast. It's like an unplaceable tension fogging around them that Enji can't see the through and he'd like to leave, now, he can't stand this boy. He can't stand how his smile tugs at something deep in his abdomen like a twisted knife. Enji puts his coat on and glowers at Hawks when he doesn't get the message; he's still leaning back, he's still showing off skin by his waist, he's still sitting on Enji's fucking desk.
"Doc, it looks like something's bothering you," he dares to comment.
Enji wrinkles his nose, disgust or fascination, curiosity or caution, "Don't concern yourself with me."
"Am I bothering you?"
The question hangs above his head for a second. Enji thought the answer would be an instant and obvious yes, but maybe it's a little more complicated than he thought because Hawks is far from simple.
"No," Enji replies. It feels like the right answer. But that feeling is gone in a split second when Hawks turns his head completely to the side and shoots him a grin, chin resting on his shoulder, "Is it something else, then?"
If Enji was crazy, he might think that Hawks had just ever so slightly spread his legs. But the blond isn't that bold. He wouldn't dare. Enji rounds the corner of his desk and stops in front of the other to look him in the eyes, "I'm leaving, and unless you'd like to sit in the dark alone, I suggest you do too."
"I don't mind the dark," Hawks pauses in consideration, "Are late hours new?"
"This is a one time ordeal."
"What if I can only make it after 6?" He keeps going, as if Enji would ever make an exception for anyone, especially him. And his reply is putting his metaphorical foot down, "Then you're out of luck."
Hawks seems amused at this. He sits up instead of leaning back; Lifts his chin to stare up at Enji because he's quite a tall man, and he stares right back down at his student trying to figure out what to make of him.
"I don't know, I'm feeling pretty lucky."
Enji takes a step forward, "Are you, now."
He doesn't have to try and be threatening, dominating, leering - he just is. His knees brush against the other's and they're close enough that Enji can see the blond flinch at his proximity. At this, He almost smirks. It's one thing to cross boundaries and act so casual around a professor, but it seems his student can't even take what he dishes out: Hawks is looking straight ahead. he's not meeting Enji's eyes because he's probably nervous, biting his lips and-
His face is an awful shade of red.
The second Enji sees it he's gone. He's walking a fiery path out of his office. He's sporting a glare that looks like simple impatience but runs far deeper. At the door, he waits for Hawks to leave so he can shut it, slam it, trap in whatever fucking toxic air is in that room, because Enji shouldn't be having thoughts like these, wants like these - he's a professor. He's 46. And Hawks is a distraction gone wrong.
He shouldn't have wanted to grip Hawks' flushed cheeks and ask what made him so red. He shouldn't have liked the view of his student below him, looking so small - looking so willing.
Enji needs a cigarette. And that's a thought he hadn't touched in years because he hates relying on anything, and being driven to think it again is enough to make him angry. Furious. Trouble is standing by his desk looking horrifically confused; but what did he think would happen? What did he think?
"Get out of my office," Enji's almost scares himself with how deeply, gutturally authoritative his voice sounds.
"I'm- I'm sorry, am I missing something?" He sounds like he didn't expect such a sudden rejection.
"You need to go home," Enji says as he locks his office door. He stares at the handle a little longer so he doesn't have to see the other's begging set of sunset eyes.
Trouble doesn't move even still.
"Boy, I said leave."
When Enji finally drags his gaze over, the other looks confused. Dejected. Maybe even a little hurt. And the fact that he's feeling any of those things means that Enji made the right call, because this has gone on for far too long. Humoring the advances of a college pretty boy should've been the last thing he ever did.
"Alright, alright, I'm going," Hawks spins to head towards the stairwell, walking with a swagger he doesn't deserve. He calls out over his shoulder and pretends to be unbothered when he says, "Always a pleasure to see you, doc."
Enji watches until he disappears. And although that stairwell is nearest to his car, he has an awful feeling that Hawks is waiting for him right behind that closed door. That the blond is desiring something so wrong and hoping for an excuse to make it come true. It's a familiar sentiment.
Enji takes the elevator instead.
And curse it all- he can't stop thinking, imagining, wondering exactly what scene would play out if Hawks was in the elevator with him.
He comes to class for the test and Enji isn't surprised.
And he's the first one done, which is a little surprising, but even from a glance at it laying on the table Enji can see it's not bullshit at all. Hawks isn't either, not really. There's nothing disingenuous about him.
When the blond goes back to his seat to collect his things and catches Enji staring, the boy winks, and in return his chest roars with something altogether primal.
Hawks comes to his office that afternoon. Enji hates that he was both expecting and counting on it, grading tests and looking at his watch too often. Although when he feels his presence in the doorway, he doesn't look up from the exam he's marking when he says, "Tell me."
Enji has thought this through ten times over and can't even pretend to resist.
"Excuse me?" Hawks is standing just inside the room now, like he's waiting for permission to enter and would start to burn up in flames if he didn't.
"You've been so eager to tell your story, so let's hear it, Hawks."
Trouble finally understands. And even without looking up, still, Enji can feel how wild his grin is, how big his eyes got for that split second after getting the permission he's been itching for. Enji doesn't know if he really cares about the backstory but he'll hear it out. He'll bite, just a little, just enough to keep himself satiated.
"It's sort of personal," Hawks explains, and Enji doesn't know what the comment means until he hears the door shut. This is fine, really, it's fine. There's no danger sealing them in a room together, absolutely not. Enji has been at this for twenty years without any slips, and he's certainly not going to make Trouble his first mistake.
"You really wanna hear it?"
"That is what I said."
Enji finally looks up when Hawks sits in the chair in front of him. He looks absolutely thrilled at the prospect of telling his secret - or is it only because Enji asked to hear it?
"Okay. Ah, when I was younger I really loved Superman," Hawks begins, and Enji gives him his full attention. He's intrigued as the other continues, "Obviously, charming and strong and all that, but really I just loved seeing him fly." Enji furrows his brows. It's almost too obvious the connection between flying and his name, his red-tinted wings, but then again, he doesn't ever know what to expect from this student.
"So a few years ago I went sky diving, because why the hell not? Who doesn't want to be Superman?" Hawks bites his lip, and for the first time it's from nerves instead of coyness, "Well, my chute malfunctioned or something, I couldn't get it open. I was falling so fast, it was insane. I remember how hard it was to breathe."
"And I was thinking that wow, I'm really going to die."
Enji isn't blinking.
"But I stopped panicking almost as soon as I started. Instead I just enjoyed the view," he smiles, lost in the memory, "Because that's what Superman sees, right, so it must be pretty damn good. It was some weird moment of clarity," Hawks' expression looks so fond, it really must've left an impression, "It's like I could zoom in on every little patch of ground, or I mean maybe that was just some loss of consciousness talking, but it stuck with me."
There's a pause. A long one.
"And nothing. I'm actually a ghost, right now."
Enji grits his teeth to stop his mouth from betraying him- oh hell, he was about to smile, to smile. That can't happen.
"I finally remembered the backup chute. Panicking makes anyone stupid," Hawks rubs his chin, "Anyway, that's it. That's all I got."
"Birds-eye view?" Enji finally throws his guess in the ring, where 'Hawks' fits into all this.
"Something like that," the blond's eyes soften and he looks almost embarrassed when he adds, "And really, I just liked the sound of it."
Of course it's that simple, that endearingly simple.
Enji pierces the other with a smokey gaze. And he needs to think of something else quickly, because otherwise what's about to come out of his mouth is soft and commanding, And those wings, show them to me, too. All of them.
He clears his throat instead, "You passed your exam," and he stands up, grabbing the paper from a pile and walking all the way to the other side of the desk to hand it to him. Enji leans against the edge of the wood afterward, arms crossed as the blond looks through the pages - and his thoughts are crossed even tighter.
Hawks' eyes shine after a moment when he looks up, "Do I just get a gold star, or can I trade it in for something else?" Something else- how can two words insinuate so much and sound so wanton?
"You get the privilege of no punishment for missing a week of class," Enji is trying to be strict again, but the comment only earns him a smirk, a play on innocence, "Punishment sounds interesting."
The door is still closed - it's a thought suddenly slicing at Enji's mind because he's hyper-aware of it at this point. How could he not be with Hawks repeating the word 'punishment' like it's the best thing he could ever ask for? Turning his smile some villainous shade of sly? And especially as they're so close, so fucking close, nothing separating poison-dipped desires as Enji dares, "You seem to like causing trouble, don't you?"
Hawks bites at his tongue piercing, trapping it between his teeth while Enji shifts his stance. And the blond looses a grenade of a reply: "No, I thought I told you already, I'm a good boy."
There it is again. That phrase that coils right up in Enji's nerves. And finally, so tired of aching, he lets himself snap; he can't stand it any longer. He never could to begin with. "If you are, I have yet to see it," Enji replies. And he knows exactly what he's asking for when he says it, that much is obvious as his blood rushes south - as more than just his eyes fill with desire.
Oh hell, Enji knows what comes next.
"Then let me prove it."
He isn't surprised at the reply itself, but instead at the unanimous reaction lighting up every corner of Enji's head: yes, yes, absolutely yes. He can't entirely figure out when he decided - maybe it was when he realized what kind of game the blond was really playing at, and who would be the one in control when it started for real.
His eyes don't leave Hawks' for a second as he ignores this last empty pause, one last chance to stop. Enji always goes all-in, "Why? Do you want to hear me say it, is that it?" He teases the boy.
Enji stops leaning and stands, emphasizing the difference between them, how Hawks is sitting pretty and Enji is towering tall, "I never give out undeserved praise."
"Then what'll it take to get it?"
Enji lets his mouth twitch into a rare smile, "You're smart, I'm sure you can figure it out."
The blond's eyes say everything his tinted cheeks already don't; he's infatuated. Enji knew this already. He knew since that first visit to his office, that telling Are you married? And the casual way Trouble made it obvious, so obvious what his intentions were.
Hawks is breathing deeply, looking eager to touch - to melt the second Enji decides to supply that first burst of heat. So he does. He offers his rough, open hand, watching as the other cautiously leans forward until it's resting against his jaw, and then Enji is hooking his fingers behind Hawks' ear. Just barely lacing them into his hair.
Neither of them say a word; their locked gazes are more than enough. Enji is stroking the corner of Hawks' mouth with his thumb, dragging it slowly down his lip and catching it. All the while the other's golden eyes promise to never, never look anywhere else but him, which isn't new because Enji has always commanded attention.
No, it isn't new but it's never felt this divine.
He steps forward until the front of his pants threaten the other's face. And Hawks flushes redder as he opens his mouth wide against Enji's grip, letting his tongue loll out like a desperate fool. it gives a perfect view of the metal ball in the center, and he has to wonder, how would it feel running over his fingers, his chest, the length of his cock- what would it fucking do to him?
He wants to know.
Enji plunges two fingers into the others mouth, sliding right past his tongue which is moving instantly, wetly, laving at his digits and running circles around them. Hawks has been waiting for this - to do this. he can absolutely tell. The metal bead drags against the tips of his fingers and suddenly Enji has chills; he's wanting more of that feeling already.
He wants it all.
Light-touched hands run up his thighs and Enji removes his fingers slowly, tauntingly, watching the other's gaze trace the outline of his cock straining in his pants, "Look what you've done," Enji's voice is gravel and ash as he pushes his hips forward.
Hawks' breath hitches, "I'm sorry, professor," he says carefully. He's getting off on this; it's the first time he's ever called Enji professor. But he can't pass judgement, not when the only name that wants to roll off his tongue is boy. And right now, this boy is leaning forward to mouth against the tent in Enji's pants, not afraid to use his tongue or press down the most enthusiastic, unneeded kisses. He's not afraid of anything at all.
The growl that leaves Enji's throat is tortured.
He grips the desk behind him; Enji can practically feel the force of it singe the wood as Hawks undoes his buttons and zipper. He's clumsy and making little noises of greed but there's still something missing from this pretty sight:
"On your knees."
He's down on the floor in an instant, so eager to follow instructions. And that's the moment Enji finally understands. He can see right through him; Hawks likes to puts on a show but behind closed doors he's putty, he's obeying without question. He's so easy. Enji waits until the other has his lips closed around his cock before praising, "Good boy." It earns him a hum, an achingly slow descent to the back of his student's throat. He takes Enji so well. And Enji can't help but grab a fistful of his hair -tugging and twisting- as the other's piercing teases the sensitive underside of his cock.
"Fuck," he lets out as Hawks laps at his tip - fast strokes of his tongue as his hand squeezes Enji's girth. And he's yelling it again when the metal bead dips ever-so-slightly against the hole of his dick- fuck, fuck.
Hearing the mess of curses makes Hawk back off, probably to judge whether they were a good or bad thing to hear (because he's so stuck on being good). It looks like he enjoys the sight of precome trailing from his bottom lip, and he traces it with that tongue Enji can't get enough of. Displays a sweet eagerness that he wants to eat raw. And Hawks looks obsessed with how Enji tastes - looks like he's staring at a whole meal in front of his eyes at his professor throbbing so big for him, for him.
Enji pulls at the collar of his jacket to get that perfect mouth back again, but he's met with a challenge, "Don't tell me you're really this gentle," Hawks is breathless when he speaks but tests the waters even still. Like a bratty, bad boy, clearly hoping for Enji to take the bait.
Enji tightens his fist in the other's blond hair, pushing his massive cock against lips that are so willing to swallow it all. He catches the other's split-second grin before plunging it deep into his mouth, Hawks' eyes starting to shine with tears the second he does. Enji hears him choke and it sends his blood rushing, thrilling, spilling through his chest. He wants to hear more of Hawks breaking down, right in front of him on his damn knees. So he holds him in place. Fucks into that smart mouth of his, the very same one that's begging for this roughness.
He looks so happy to take it.
Hawks digs his nails through Enji's pants into the back of his thighs. At this he only thrusts faster, ravages every corner of the other's mouth, finally ripping those tears out from the corners of his eyes where they had welled. They streak the black liner that the blond always insists on wearing - just like Enji hoped it would.
"Look at you," he stares into Hawks' fucked-out eyes, they're rounded in desperation and shaking as badly as his knees, "You like being a nice hole to fuck."
Hawks makes a strangled noise through spit and precome. It's music. The boy is always so confident and put together, it's a dream seeing him fall apart into this mess, this awful mess on the floor of his office.
"Ah- good boy, fuck, just like that," eventually the blond times the swirling of his tongue just right with his vigorously bobbing head, and the metal bead licks across Enji's flesh like magic. Finally, the feeling of being absolutely devoured brings Enji to the peak. He pulls his hand out of the blond's hair and groans.
Enji knew Hawks would swallow, but didn't expect him to put on a show: opening his mouth and begging for it, with black streaks down his face to mark him as a soiled mistake. And he gets what he wants, he's so spoiled already, Enji strokes his cock and comes on the other's ecstasy-parted lips. They're glistening. And Hawks makes sure to stare right into Enji's eyes as he pulls his cum-covered tongue right into his mouth to swallow dutifully.
"You're filthy," Enji chastises through deep breaths and endorphin highs.
Hawks pays no mind to the insult and lets out an exhale of a laugh. He presses a dirty kiss to the tip of Enji's cock, smiling up at him afterward and still wearing his seed like a trophy on his lips.
"You like the piercing," Hawks says after a moment, like he's just discovered a secret.
Enji sees no reason to lie at this point, "I do," he tucks himself back into his pants while the blond tries to stand, hair disheveled and cheeks an unholy shade of red that almost matches his wings- which reminds him, he would like to see them, too. He'd like to see a lot more.
"That's not the only one," Hawks is standing inches away, although he only comes up to the center of Enji's chest. The height difference is endearing, it makes him want to say that favorite word again, "I saw the other, boy." And to prove it he grabs Hawks' side, fitting his palm easily along the edge of his chest and brushing his thumb over the soft nub and the bar pierced through it.
Hawks shivers at the contact when he admits, "You're still missing one."
Enji stops right on top of the other's nipple, pressing it in with his thumb as he ponders that comment for moment. Hawks tenses and bites his lip. Wiggles his torso and Enji can only guess that his chest is more sensitive pierced- oh hell, does this boy really have one more, and there of all places-
"Aren't you full of surprises."
Enji looks down without caring how obvious it is that he's checking, staring at the bulge in the other's pants and wondering exactly where the piercing sits. How agonizing it must be to have it shifting against those tight jeans that he insists on wearing.
"Just say the word," Hawks whispers an offer, almost begging at this point for validation, for anything that leads to more. He's still lost in fulfilled fantasies. And his student now isn't sure where the line ends and what the rules are; Enji doesn't know either but he does know he's reached his limit today.
He sighs, "No, this doesn't happen again," Enji says it out loud to see what reaction he'll get and how it feels in his voice. But he doesn't like it, he doesn't like it at all because he liked this too much. Whatever it was.
"Sure," Hawks doesn't believe a word.
"I'm not lying, boy. Get your bag and go."
Hawks backs up a step and pulls his backpack off the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. He's smirking. And he's still red from head to toe, or at least everywhere Enji can pick apart.
"Careful doc, if you keep calling me boy, I might just call you daddy back."
"Do not," Enji nearly trips over his reply, warmth rushing into his abdomen, and it's all he can do to keep from moaning some deep-throated noise of interest. Hawks must notice the effect it had when he teases further, "You sure?"
"I'm not playing this game."
"It sure seemed like you wanted to play, daddy," the blond puts a finger on his lip like he's curious, innocent, even if they'd just got done proving how impure they both are. And Enji's frown must look like a challenge because Hawks smiles and sucks a kiss off the tip of his finger, like he's full - like he's just finished the best thing he's ever had.
Enji growls this time, he can't hold it in, "Out."
And as Hawks slips behind the door without a goodbye, he wonders exactly what game they're playing, because Enji isn't sure anymore if he's the one in control.
Enji sits at his desk for nearly half an hour afterward, trying to decode his wants and needs and see how they fit. To figure out if he really does want this to stop before it starts, because it's wrong on multiple levels, obviously. Obviously.
But Trouble has a way of sneaking in and convincing him to say yes.
When he gets home, Enji checks his email one last time for the evening. Although as his inbox pops on screen he nearly chokes seeing one from Hawks, the student he's trying not to bring home with him, because his office is clouded enough. He doesn't need these thoughts where he lives, too. He doesn't need him.
There is no subject line. And the content is just ten numbers.
Enji deletes the email and carries on with his night, furious at himself, furious that he's still so twisted from one encounter. He's supposed to be the experienced one. The professor, the authority figure, the one doing the using not being used. He feels compromised. He feels like he still wants more.
It's 10:05 when he's settled for the night and full from dinner. Enji shuts off the light on his end table and swears out loud, wrinkling his nose while he betrays himself, unable to stop or listen to the reasons why he should. He slinks right back to his deleted messages and adds those numbers into his phone.
He won't use it, he tells himself. It's enough just to know that he could.
On Monday, Enji barely acknowledges him. He comes to his class only a minute early on purpose because Hawks is still stubbornly showing up eight minutes before, and maybe he was here even sooner today, hoping to catch his professor alone. But Enji won't be caught off guard again. He makes these rules, he can put a stop to this in a single instant.
Hawks won't surprise him anymore, Enji won't stand for it, or anything that isn't on his terms-
While he nears the end of his lecture, Trouble is insistent on getting that one look, one ounce of simple attention. He goes from burning expressions to something more sinister. Out of the corner of his eye, Enji sees Hawks lick an agonizingly slow stripe up his pen, and that deadly gold-fleck gaze is trained right below his belt.
Enji clears his throat and ends class there, five minutes earlier than he meant to. And he's always on time. Always. It angers him to be toyed with, he won't have it. He retaliates by leaving the auditorium right behind the last batch of exiting students, leaving Hawks alone in the front row, waiting for Enji. Wishing for Enji.
That's how it should be, not the other way around, not ever.
Enji stays in his office late on Tuesday, grading reports from his upper-level classes. It's tedious work and his mind can't stop drifting to other things. Fiery things. Absolutely filthy things. He pauses a moment to pick up his phone, furrowing his brow as he flicks through his contacts and finds the one named by a single, letter 'H.'
He tries not to sound needy in his text because he isn't, he isn't:
-I'm staying late
Enji watches delivered quickly turn to read and frowns, smacking his phone upside-down on his desk, saving the other's reply for a few deep breaths down the road. And when his phone finally vibrates he puts down his pencil and leans back in his chair to read a very simple question:
-you lonely, daddy?
Fuck, the boy really is taking that and running with it, isn't he? Enji feels his cock twitch but refuses to acknowledge the name as the reason why. It's too much. He simply can't.
Enji is wondering how to respond when the devil himself walks into his office, instantly dropping his bag onto the floor and shutting the door behind him. It's like he's on a dangerous mission. And when he shoots Enji a look and asks, "Can I sit?" Frozen eyes burn back as Enji ponders where he wants him: the chair, the desk, settled right in his lap?
He clears the papers in front of him and leans back, tilting his head curiously at the other. It's strange; in contrast to Enji he makes no such effort to keep from looking needy, acting needy, and he's practically drooling as he steps behind the desk and hoists himself up on it. Keeps his legs spread as an invitation although Enji doesn't need one. He's hosting the party himself.
"I didn't expect you to actually text me," Hawks jests, and Enji wonders if that was a game for him too.
"Don't get used to it."
The blond purses his lips for a pause, "Should I get used to this?"
Enji doesn't know how to answer. So he doesn't, instead he stands up and slots himself right between the others legs like he's been silently asking for. Hawks' face turns red in an instant as he looks up; Enji is tall enough for him to need to. And he's staring unabashedly at his professor's mouth, either wondering what it's capable of, or wanting it pressed against his own.
Kisses are absolutely forbidden - Enji decides it in an instant. And if he puts his foot down for anything, it's that.
"If you want me to touch you, take this off," Enji tugs at his sleeve, growls, and not a second later the other's shirt is on the floor.
Hawks hooks a finger in Enji's belt loop and scoots forward, superheated friction, pulling them together as close as they'll go. And Enji would be distracted from feeling their cocks pinned together -pressed tight- but he's busy. He's interested in something else. He's running a palm from the other's shoulder to his chest, holding his piercing between his forefinger and thumb.
Hawks begs with his eyes and pulls the belt loops harder. Lets out soft little noises when Enji tugs on the barbel, "Tttch- Ah, hey, ah," and he wants to swallow them right from the boy's mouth, his loss of composure is like a drug to Enji. Trouble only stretches his chest forward and writhes more as it's pinched.
"You like that, don't you," Enji coos, and Hawks doesn't have the chance to even nod before he's pushed back on the desk, a firm hand spanning his skin and holding him there. Enji's hardened length fits snugly inbetween them and he shifts once, twice, pushing it against the other's cock just to drink in resultant honey-laced moans.
"All I can think of during class," Hawks gasps as Enji grinds against him, managing between breaths, "Is your big fucking cock,"
Enji groans in return and indulges himself, leaning forward to trace his thick tongue from Hawks' abdomen to the metal in his tit. And once he's there he never wants to stray, he nibbles at the soft skin of his pec and draws a circle around the center display. Sucks the whole thing into his mouth and flicks it every direction with the tip of his tongue. The boy's piercings might just be drug number two.
"Nnn," Hawks is bucking his hips, trembling under Enji's impossible weight and the torturous way he's suckling, overstimulating, abusing his nipple. And when the older man bites down once - then again, again, he gasps, "Daddy, daddy-"
Names don't matter anymore. Enji needs to keep going, he needs to see what fucking piercing is adorning his cock.
His hands both drag down Hawks' body and loop under the waist of his jeans, tugging them down, they're loose enough to not need much encouragement. And when Enji stands back up to unbuckle his own pants he takes in the sweet sight below him. The boy is positively glowing. Hawks is flushed from chest to face, a smiling euphoria, and his hair lays spread on the desk like a halo - but he's no angel, even if he does have wings.
Enji quirks up a brow when he finally notices the other's boxers, patterned with Superman's logo. He wonders if he wore it on purpose. It's...it's cute.
Although Hawks' next words send that thought to its premature grave, he's moaning through it in anticipation, "You going to fuck me, professor?"
Enji swallows. He hasn't decided yet, that's another line to cross.
"Depends how good you are at begging," he teases back, not expecting anything to come of it. But how could he think it would end there, how, after everything he's seen? Hawks jumps on it instantly, he wants daddy's cock, "Holy fuck," the boy whines, groans, lifts his hips so Enji can rip off that awful material covering his prize, "Please, fill me, fuck me senseless, I'll do anything-" Hawks chokes out.
Enji knows he would, he knows.
"Not today," he decides finally, sorry to see how it twists the other's hopeful eyes. But if Hawks listened carefully, if he read just a bit deeper, he'd hear that it wasn't so much a rejection as a promise. But later. Enji is preoccupied now, he's pushing his thumb around this dreadful fucking ring through the head of Hawks' dick, trying not to imagine all the things he could try with it.
The boy flinches under him, biting his lip, eyes dashing between the sight of Enji's cock and the sight of Enji toying with his. "Like it?" Hawks finds his voice again through stutters.
"Mm," Enji can barely stand the sight of him; laying shirtless on his office desk, both hands gripping the edge for purchase, watching how his cock looks held by such a large, rough hand. He looks like- like a pretty college boy to take advantage of. A boy half his age. But Enji doesn't care, all he wants is the memory of his slim-muscled chest after he comes on it.
His hand wraps around both of their cocks, squeezing and pumping while he bends forward and breathes in Hawks' every exhale. Enji is bracing himself with his other hand, the trunk of his arm, and the other grips it like it's the only thing grounding him. Keeping him from being fucked into the desk. "Be a good boy, don't cum until I say so," Enji growls close to the side of his neck. He hears a whimper in response.
He's working their cocks in tandem, making sure to pay attention to that metal piercing whenever his fingers brush close, because his boy has it just for him.
His boy, he doesn't know what to make of that thought, or any thought that dares cross his mind because he's so far gone. He's in a world of arousal with his sight trained on the one who did this to him, Trouble. Enji is pulsing under his own grip and he can feel Hawks throbbing too, aching for him, hard for him. Hawks eyes are pleading and rolling back.
Enji lets out a pure moan for the first time in years, straight from the center of his chest. It rips through any lingering doubts and throws them far away, lightyears away. This is good.
Fuck, is this good.
Hawks flings a hand into Enji's short hair, ends of his fingers digging into his scalp as they both thrust faster, as he squeezes tighter. And all of a sudden - that's it. He comes his fucking brains out, laying strands along the length of Hawks' torso, memorizing the high he sees in his golden eyes. Enji pants and rides a wave of unparalleled heat. And under him, the boy is still squirming, writhing, and he nearly lets out a drained laugh as he realizes, he's waiting for daddy's OK.
"Let go, boy," Enji's voice is low velvet as he gives permission and strokes, refusing to blink or dare miss the sight of the other's climax. Hawks opens his mouth wide into an 'o' for the ages, looking irresistible - looking absolutely ravaged to the core. And the boy seems to be memorizing him right back.
Hawks adds to the cum on his torso with a cry, a moan, a quiet "Fuck."
Enji's view gets a little sweeter.
They pant together for a moment. Enji ignores his instinct to turn roughness into something gentle, to caress the other's cheek or whisper something reassuring, but those are things for lovers to indulge in. This has to stay cold, he can't add anything tender or it all falls apart. So Enji is the first to straighten himself up, run a hand through his hair, tug his pants back up to his waist. He turns and rips a paper towel off his desk to hand it to the other.
Hawks looks destroyed, dazzled, absolutely infatuated when he takes it and puts himself together again. His breaths even out into a soothing rhythm as he lays on his back, trembling and floating down from cloud nine. And this- this isn't even the peak of what they can do. Enji still has a lot of ideas about that sweet, pierced cock.
It's a dangerous thought. But Enji lets it exist, because he's kidding himself trying to deny it. He's fucking mad if he pretends today is when he calls it off.
Hawks finally pushes himself up and slides his feet to the floor, flashing a stunning smile that looks surprisingly real. It catches Enji off guard - he doesn't want to see an expression as starry-eyed as that one. He slips into the first distraction that comes to mind, "Turn around," he orders. And the boy looks concerned but willing, "Doc, I thought-"
Enji snorts. "Turn around," he repeats, pulling from that voice he uses when he calls Hawks a good boy. It works like a charm. Everyone has a weakness, even Enji, and it's becoming clearer by the second what and who his is.
Hawks is facing the other way now, and Enji doesn't expect to be so surprised when he sees it. The other's back is utterly enthralling, littered with ink that really does span every inch. The blood-red wings travel from his scapulas, swirling around his shoulders to meet at feathered points at the small of his back. They're detailed. They're gorgeous. Enji runs a calloused hand from the nape of his neck downward, traveling along his spine and fanning his fingers over the tattoo's outlines. Enji thinks about what a nice view it would make for him with the blond on all fours.
These wings might just be drug number three.
"It hurt like hell," Hawks comments, shivering at the touches, and Enji feels silly being startled by his voice because it's his soft flesh he's touching, after all.
"Pain doesn't scare you," he observes back, digging short nails down into his shoulder as if to prove it. Hawks just laughs, "It's a little different."
Enji hates that their back-and-forths have been and continue to be so natural, so easy to fall into.
He hates it.
When the blond turns around again his smile has turned sly, "Isn't this about when you kick me out?"
Enji is amused at the comment.
"Get out," he says with no weight behind it, and Hawks', "Sure thing," is just as soft. He watches the other slip his shirt back on and collect his bag, and Enji doesn't know why he's unhappy, why he's disappointed that this seems to end so soon. He got his release. That's all this is, that's all this fucking is.
It's so innocent, so wistful. Enji frowns and shoots back, "I will not," as Hawks walks to the door.
"Then I'll see you in class, doc."
It takes a second for Enji to pull himself together again, to sit down in his chair and go back to being Professor Todoroki, because that's who he is. He's not doc, or fuck- he's not indulging in dirty fantasies and dirtier names like daddy. His life is getting complicated and he doesn't like the direction this is heading. He needs it simple, he needs everything to be as it should.
So how, for someone who's tried to avoid it his entire life and career, how can he suddenly be so addicted to Trouble - to the sin-filled red of his fallen angel wings?