Levi thinks he has never been so angry in his life. It’s a strong, pungent feeling, pure and vivid. There is confusion and indignance but they act as accelerants instead of dilutions, make him burn hotter and brighter, and it is only a massive effort of will that prevents him from breaking down the door.
Instead, he pounds it with the side of his fist, three times, rude, and harsh and not at all how one should knock on the office door of the man who had, heretofore, been Levi’s favorite professor.
“Yeah?” comes the very unassuming response from behind the door. Once that deep, commanding voice would have made Levi’s stomach flip over like a school girl's, which is fucking stupid, but what is he supposed to do when his mythology professor looks like that?
He has no such thoughts now. He throws open the door, has just enough foresight to slam it shut behind him in case any other students come to pull their final exam scantron sheets from the bland off-white folder stuck to Smith’s door.
Smith is sitting behind his desk, looking summery in a white t-shit that is far too tight for a fucking professor and an unbuttoned blazer to ward off the air conditioned chill and the sin of being mistaken for one of his own students by dressing too casually. Levi can’t see his legs behind his desk, but he knows what Smith is wearing-- well fitted blue jeans, effortlessly stylish dress shoes that make him look like he isn’t trying but still somehow manages to be perfectly put together.
He looks up when Levi stomps in, a mild expression on his face and a damnable lock of golden hair falling across his forehead. “Mr. Acker--”
“What the fucking shit is this?” Levi demands, brandishing his scantron and coming in too hot. He’s never said a cross word to Smith before now, but seriously what the fuck?
Smith’s brows rise and draw together in an expression that is somehow both bemused and indignant and he says, “Excuse me?”
Levi flings the paper at him. “You fucked up,” he says harshly and then deflates all at once realizes that’s probably exactly what happened. It had been a mistake. Smith had used the wrong answer key to run Levi’s test, maybe, or the machine had jammed and printed Levi’s test with someone else’s grade.
Smith picks up the scantron, looks it over, and then peers at Levi over the blue and white rim of the page. Before Levi can gather himself enough to offer some apology, Smith says, “It would appear that you have fucked up, Mr. Ackerman.”
Levi freezes, lips parted in shock, while Smith stands from behind his desk (all six foot fucking two of him, the ungodly bastard) and stretches out his hand, offers Levi the paper.
“A forty two?” Levi spits. “It’s multiple choice, I could have shit on it and gotten a better score than that!”
Smith stares at him quietly, and then takes one more look at the scantron. He offers it to Levi again. “Perhaps you can try that next time.”
“Next ti--” Levi sputters, staring at the sheet of paper. “I got a ninety eight on my final paper, how the fuck am I gonna get a shittin ninety eight and flunk the multiple choice test about the shit I wrote the paper on.”
Smith regards him silently, and then crosses his arms over his chest, jacket pulling tight across his shoulders when he does. “You wouldn’t be the first bright young man to choke on his final exam,” Smith says dismissive. “You did well on your paper. You’ll still pass.”
“With a seventy? That’ll tank my GPA, I’m here on a fucking scholarship.”
“One average grade won’t--”
“You fucked up!” Levi said again. “Fix it!”
“You're suggesting I change your final grade,” Smith says, giving Levi a bland look that is just a little too sly for Levi’s liking.
“I’m telling you to regrade the exam,” Levi insists. “You mixed up the answer key or something, what the fuck.”
“You’re the only student with this problem,” Smith announces. “I don’t change grades, you know that.”
“Change? Just look at the--”
Smith plucks the paper out of Levi’s hand, coming out from behind his desk, and leans against the front, long legs crossed at the ankle, casual. He looks at the exam. His vivid eyes jump over the page and then he says cheerfully, “No, this looks right to me.” He holds the paper back out. “Sorry, Levi.”
Levi takes the paper back and just… stares at it. “But I.”
He can yell some more. He can hit Smith across his smug perfect face. He can beg--
“Mr. Smith, I need you to fix this,” Levi tries, because it’s rare that he likes a professor at all and maybe if he comes at this calm-- “I know this material, there’s no way I’d fuck up this badly.”
Smith gives him a sympathetic look that is still, somehow, mocking. “Do you think you’re the first student to ask me to change a grade? If I had a dollar for every one of you who needed me to bend the rules, I-- well.” He smiled, showed Levi all his teeth. “I wouldn’t be a college professor anymore.”
Levi stares at him, an awful helplessness building in his guts. He could probably contest the grade or something. Maybe. Had he really-- there is no way he’d fucked up his exam that badly. He knows this material.
“Regrade it,” Levi says. “Quiz me if you want proof or something, I know this shit, this was my favorite fucking class--” he blurts, and his anger makes him blush at the revelation. Smith had always seemed alright. Had Levi misjudged him so badly?
“I really can’t,” Smith says.
His tone of voice tells Levi the conversation is over, and Levi blurts, “Fuck, come on, man, I’ll do anything, just look at it again--”
“Oh, you’ll do anything,” Smith replies, voice containing that tiny hint of mockery again.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You need me to, like, pick up your drycleaning or walk your dog or something? I don’t give a fuck, just look at the--”
“Would you suck my cock?”
Smith is studying his nails. His voice is mild, body language nonthreatening and unconcerned.
Levi certainly misheard him. “Huh?”
At first, the lifting of Smith’s eyes is the only motion he makes. He catches Levi’s gaze and holds it, and Levi can see sly amusement written all over his expression, sparkling in the deeply vivid blue of his irises.
He pushes off from his desk, stands up straight, all tall and long and broad and golden, and says, “Would you. Suck. My. Cock.”
Levi lifts his brows and for a long, shocked moment, he feels nothing at all. Because those words don’t make sense. There’s no way Mr. Smith is the one saying them.
For one because Smith looks like a fucking underwear model and there’s no way he’d say something like that to Levi. Smith is, like, old, isn’t he? Levi has the vague idea that the guy is at least in his early thirties. And he wants Levi to--
A painfully stupid chuckle escapes Levi’s lips and he says, “You serious?”
Smith waves his hand, casual. “I don’t have a dog.”
Levi stands, frozen, utterly unsure of what to say next. Because honestly, under other circumstances, the answer would have been hell fucking yeah. Fuck, he’d had this exact daydream before. A lot of times before. Smith is a walking wet dream and there are no doubts in Levi’s mind that he’d worked harder at this class than any class is his life because he’d wanted Smith to remember him.
Which is painfully dumb and stupid but it isn’t like Levi had been getting a lot lately and Smith was a great person to project all of Levi’s dirtiest thoughts onto. Mainly because there was no way in hell it would ever happen. He’s a professor for shit’s sake.
But then there’s also the pure consuming rage because Levi hadn’t failed this goddamn test.
Levi carefully weighs those emotions, and decides almost instantaneously that his rage can fuck off. “Fuck it, yeah, sure,” he says playing at casual, just in case this is a very bad joke and he comes off as overeager.
Smith stares at him, lips turning up at the corners. “Oh, you’re not a fan of that assignment. Let’s see. I could fuck you over my desk. Would you prefer that?”
Levi’s fingertips feel cold. He wets his lips, suddenly so hard it makes him dizzy. “You, uh, you--”
Smith takes a step forward, seems to loom over Levi when he says, “Have noticed the way you look at me, Levi? Yes. I have.”
Levi shivers at the sound of his name spoken like that, in that context. Jesus christ, had he fallen asleep on the bus? Was he about to cream his jeans in front of a bus full of evening commuters?
Smith takes another step forward, and Levi forces himself not to take a step back, purely because he can tell Smith wants him to. The office isn’t terribly large. One more step and Levi’s back would hit the door. When Levi doesn’t move, just stares back at Smith, practically daring him to try to crowd Levi back again, Smith leans in close, close enough that Levi can smell his laundry detergent and a subtle, woodsy cologne.
“I don’t change grades,” he says. “Or assign extra credit. I’d be making an exception.”
Levi’s heart is racing. His breath is coming in short little pants and he’s-- fuck, he’s actually intimidated. He’s not exactly a blushing virgin but he’s only nineteen. It’s not like he’s sucked that many dicks, and aside from one time when he got drunk at a party and hooked up in a closet, and last weekend at the bar when he’d-- well, he doesn’t fully remember what he'd done that time, but he knows it had been good-- aside from those two times, all the fucking he’s engaged in has taken place in a bed.
Over his desk?
“No?” Smith says, and he--fuck-- he puts his fingers under Levi’s chin, directs Levi to look up at him, and he’s touching Levi, he’s touching Levi, Levi is going to fucking explode-- “That’s a pity, Levi, I always got the impression you were so passionate about your classwork--”
Levi jerks his chin out of Smith’s hand, and he does take a step back now. He hits the door too hard, and he peers up at Smith, probably looks all doe-eyed and incredulous. Levi looks good. He knows that. But he always figured he looked good for a college sophomore, not a fucking professor. Is Smith just that skeevy?
… Does Levi actually care?
“I bet you say that to all the boys.”
Mentally, he congratulates himself. It’s not the most original line, but at least it comes out casual, smooth even.
Smith smiles at him, and the expression is sly and amused, but also-- Levi is oddly soothed by the charm in it. Maybe that’s the point, but it makes Levi feel special, like Smith really is making an exception for him, like Levi tempted him when no one else ever had and Levi is certainly getting away with himself but what a beautiful fucking fantasy it is.
He has no idea how Smith can look so guileless while he tries to talk Levi into consenting (in, possibly, a rather loose definition of the term) to exchanging a higher grade for sex.
Fuck, Levi could probably get him fired.
“Like I said,” Smith whispers, voice a low purr now that raises goose bumps along Levi’s cheek, “I’d be making an exception.”
“You wanna fuck me?”
Smith’s eyes sparkle.
Levi adds, “Like. Like now?” and tries not to sound too hopeful.
Smith notices, damn him. His eyes track down Levi’s face, his chest, and Levi’s whole body flushes hot when Smith overtly drops his gaze to the very undignified tent in Levi’s jeans.
“I have to submit final grades by end of business today. Did you have somewhere to be?”
Smith pushes off the door, draws away from him, and Levi feels like he can breathe again which he absolutely hates. Smith walks back around his desk, not looking at Levi, posture so fucking casual Levi suddenly loathes him. He pulls open a drawer in his desk and rummages around for a moment before he looks back up and sees Levi staring at him, still stuck to the door.
He taps his desktop. “Well?”
Levi comes forward, tries not to pick his nails, or slouch, or blush too red. Pretty much tries not to look as young as he feels. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks Smith up and down overtly, playing at surly when usually it comes naturally.
Smith sees him looking and laughs, free and genuine, and Levi’s skin prickles with want. Smith had rarely laughed in class, but when he did, it sounded like this. The first time Levi had heard it, his heart had actually skipped and his cheeks had gotten hot and he’d found himself unable to tear his eyes from the long, elegant column of his neck and the silk-soft fall of golden hair across his forehead.
He was usually kind of a hardass, actually. Stern, but fair. Charismatic though he rarely smiled. Levi couldn’t fully pinpoint what it was about Mr. Smith that he found so infatuating but it was more than just the way he looked. Levi also knew he wasn’t alone in these feelings. Smith intimidated the hell out of pretty much the whole class, but that didn’t stop anyone interested in dick from tittering about him in the hallways outside his classroom or swooning when he breezed into the room.
If Levi hadn’t come at him so angry, so fast, he might have noticed that Smith is smiling (or was that smirking?) more than usual, and that his hair isn’t combed in such a severe part. He usually wore a button up under his blazers, so the t-shirt is unexpected too, pulling too tight across his chest as he moves. He looks like he’d just planned to pop into his office to drop off the tests and then leave again, like maybe he hadn’t even put the blazer on at home, but rather, had left it in his car and tugged it on just to run into the building.
Everything about him now feels looser, more casual and free.
Smith licks his lips and Levi realizes he is in way over his head. The thought should terrify him, but it only sends a strange, thrumming energy coursing through his body that is too nervous to be excited and too eager to be fear.
Smith slams his desk drawer shut hard enough to make Levi start, just a little. He sets something on his desk but Levi can’t look away from his face to see what it is. He can’t look away from his eyes. God, he’d looked like this once before, when he’d relayed one of the more off color myths about Dionysus to a small group of them after class when some very obvious co-ed had gushed at him about loving the lesson. Levi hadn’t really meant to stay behind, hadn’t intended to hang out, but Smith had gone on a tangent, talking about the origin of this story and that, and somewhere along the way he’d gotten on the topic of Dionysus and was halfway through a myth involving a wooden dildo before he looked around and seemed to realize it was possibly a story better suited for his grad students.
He laughed and effortlessly sent them all on their way and Levi had imagined very privately that Mr. Smith had watched him leave, eyes locked on his back as he strolled out.
“Take that off,” Smith says, shucking his own blazer as he speaks, and holy mother of fuck his arms, what the fuck, why does a fucking mythology professor look like that. No wonder he’s always wearing sweaters and blazers and button ups in class. If he wore short sleeves the fucking lecture would riot.
Levi doesn’t know what Smith is actually telling him to do. He’s staring at those arms, wondering how strong he is, if he's maybe even stronger than Levi. He might be. Levi’s small, but he’s preternaturally strong and fast. Enough so that he’d feel confident enough walking in to just about any biker bar in town and challenging the biggest baddest asshole to an arm wrestling match.
Maybe foolish enough.
Levi doesn’t give a fuck what you’d call it, but he’s pretty sure he could earn a few hundred bucks at least.
Levi swallows and whips off his t shirt so fast he almost forgets to take off his back pack first. He lets it thump to the ground and kicks it behind him and flings the shirt after it and turns back just in time to watch Smith actually pause in whatever he’s doing, eyes moving over Levi’s chest and arms and belly. And does Levi imagine the way Mr. Smith wets his lips? Swallows like he’s a little on edge?
Levi almost looks down at himself, wonders if he suddenly grew extra muscles that were previously undiscovered in the human race. Levi supposes he hides it well too, how fit his is. He’s small, so the sleeves of his t-shirts are always a little long and a little loose, and he wears an old black hoodie in class most days.
He considers giving Smith a cocky grin, but that would be all show. Levi doesn’t really feel cocky about the way he looks. He just. He just looks like that. He doesn’t know how to be cocky about it.
But he does catch Smith’s gaze and holds it, wonders what parts of this the fucker gets off on. If it’s just a young, hot body he wants, or if he really likes seeing Levi sweat, likes the power of it. And if Levi holds his gaze, refuses to be scared--
What is there to be scared about, really?
Mr. Smith taps his desk again, eyes never leaving Levi’s. Levi looks down at his hand (big hands, big strong hands, and Levi had somehow never noticed that before, had never been this close to him for this long) and then back up. He refuses to ask Smith what he wants, just furrows his brow and waits for Smith to tell him.
Smith does, and he’s rather gleeful about it. “Bend over, Levi.”
Bend over bend over bend Levi
Levi holds his gaze, eyes narrowed defiantly, and slowly leans forward until his belly is pressed to the cold, hard wood of the desk. The chill gets to him then, because it’s always too cold in the English building and the desk draws the heat from his blazing skin. He feels his nipples go hard and tight, feels it like a distracting little buzz.
He keeps his chest off the desk though, so he can keep staring Smith in his smug face.
Mr. Smith smirks at him and steps around the desk, steps up beside him, and lays his hand on the base of Levi’s neck. His hand feels just as big and strong as it looks, but it’s soft, gentle, warm. He curls his fingers around Levi’s neck, and Levi feels his heart skip into overdrive.
Smith pushes him down against the desk, firm and demanding, and Levi’s eyelids flutter when his chest and cheek and the hard peaks of nipples press into the cold, smooth wood.
Fingers drag down Levi’s spine, soft and… Levi swallows around the thought possessive and it hits him all again, hits him hard, who is touching him and why. He puts his elbows on the desk, curls his finger tips around the opposite edge as Smith steps in closer behind him, close enough that Levi can feel a hard bulge in his jeans where he rubs up against Levi’s ass.
His fingers catch in the waistband of Levi’s pants and he tugs lightly, but it still jerks Levi’s hips back from the desk, makes a shocked little breath puff from Levi’s lips.
Mr. Smith doesn’t speak when he reaches around and unbuttons Levi’s jeans, jerks them down around his thighs, and Levi doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. He has to struggle not to gasp and pant like he’s running. He wants to. He wants to go limp against the table and let Smith man handle him.
Hell, he wants to punch the fucker in the gut and then ride him until they both come screaming. Or maybe--
His thoughts white out in a shocked, humiliated blur when Smith puts his hands on Levi’s bare ass, spreads his ass cheeks and digs his thumbs into Levi’s flesh in a hard, kneading sort of motion that makes Levi’s face burn and his dick throb.
He’s still silent, satisfaction rolling off of him in palpable waves, and Levi thinks, He’s gonna fuck me. He’s gonna fuck me in the middle of his fucking office and I’m gonna come all over his fucking desk.
The click of a bottle tugs Levi back, and he realizes it is dead silent in the office except for the buzz of the air conditioner and Levi’s harsh, irregular breathing. Fuck, he’s so hard.
Smith spreads Levi’s ass cheeks again, hums in appreciation. His voice is low and gruff when he says, “You’re really such an attractive boy, Levi. It’s a shame you glare so much.”
“Thought I was glaring at you?” Levi replies, voice equally gravely. “I was wondering what you’d look like with my cock down your throat.”
“Were you now,” Smith says, leaning low over Levi’s back, putting his lips against Levi’s ear.
Levi feels wet, cold, slick lube squeezed over his skin and he grits out, “Sure. Figured you--”
His voice stutters and dies. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath so loud now he’s convinced someone can hear it in the hallway.
Smith’s finger is thick and warm and surprisingly gentle. He pushes it in slowly, eases in to the first knuckle and then back out again, dips in and out and in and out until Levi’s squeezing his hands so tightly into fists he can feel his own nails bruising his palm.
His breath hitches, loud and obvious, and Smith’s finger sinks deeper, deeper, all the way--
Levi’s eyes roll back in his head and he breathes out slow, has to fight not to make another sound. Mr. Smith is still breathing into his ear, his breath hot and loud, but even, controlled.
He’s being too soft. Levi can’t stand it. He’d expected to be shoved up against the desk and just-- just like that, just fucked, he hadn’t really expected foreplay, and he certainly hadn’t expected slow, luxurious teasing. He hadn’t expected it to fucking feel so good.
And he certainly didn’t expect the low groan that spilled from his lips when Mr. Smith found his prostate. He doesn’t expect Smith to zero in on the exact motion that caused that low groan and he certainly doesn’t expect him to do it again. And again. And--
Levi’s shoulders go limp, and he groans again, except it can’t really be called that. It’s a proper moan now, completely involuntary, like the hint of tremble that’s started up in his knees, like the first spikes of pleasure shooting up his spine and into his fingers and toes.
Smith says, “There’s a good boy.”
Levi forgets he is trying to be angry and contrary. He forgets he doesn’t want Smith to know exactly how turned on he is.
Smith draws his finger in and out, lets it slip slow and natural, unrushed and--
Jesus christ he’s good at this. Levi bites his lip, but his knees are shaking. He’s never had anyone do this to him before. He’s sorta hit a nice spot a few times with his fingers, or maybe if he was sitting on someone’s dick and he could control the angle, but this is very different. Smith knows what he’s doing. He’s found the exact right place to press almost immediately and now he’s just massaging the tip of his finger there so slow and careful and fucking patient and Levi can’t believe how good it feels, can’t believe the luxurious build of pressure and--
“Ready for another?”
Jesus, Levi hadn’t even realized, hadn’t realized he’d been doing that with just one.
He eases his hand back, and Levi arches reflexively, moans too loud when he feels himself stretch around Mr. Smith’s thick, warm fingers.
Mr. Smith shushes him, breaths a soft, “Shh, quiet now,” against Levi’s ear, but he still pushing deep in a steady, unbroken press. He brushes the hair off Levi’s cheek, out of Levi’s closed eyes, and Levi doesn’t quite feel like himself when he sinks against the desk again.
Fucking, fuck, it's better. Levi struggles against it, bites his lips together, wants to urge Smith on because the slow, careful build is maddening and also terrifying. Levi is thoroughly certain he has never felt anything so incredible in his life, is certain he could come right now and it would be the best orgasm he’s ever had, except he’s not even there yet.
He’s breathing out through his nose, hard and fast, feeling electricity spark through his whole body now at the slow, steady, rhythmic fuck of those incredible fingers. He feels drunk on it.
“Oh, you’re pretty when you’re trying not to moan, Levi. Do you like my fingers? Do they feel good?”
Levi doesn’t mean to do it. He really, truly does not. It’s just that for a second, he forgets that this is real. He thinks he’s dreaming, or fantasizing, that he got a little carried away while he was waiting for his mythology class to start or something, and he moans, “Mister Smith.”
He would not have said that if he’d been thinking clearly. He wouldn’t have said anything. Certainly not Mister anything because Jesus shit fucking Christ what a way to remind the man with his fingers in Levi’s ass that Levi is a college sophomore, fuck he’s still technically a teenager, and Smith is--
Fuck, he’s a fucking sex god for one. If this is what fucking a man with experience is like, Levi’s never hooking up with a drunk frat boy again.
He hears Smith laugh against his ear, lips close enough to Levi now that he could kiss him if he wanted to. Levi doesn’t really expect him to. This doesn’t seem like that kind of arrangement, although Levi also hadn’t expected to get finger fucked until his soul left his body and it looked like that was what Smith intended to do to him.
“Such a good boy, Levi, really, you’re doing so well.”
“It’s good, isn’t it? Has anyone ever made you feel like this before? You’re not a virgin, are you, Levi?”
“God-- shit, no-- yeah-- no, not-- oh fuck.”
“You are?” Smith says, voice goading, but maybe also a little sharper than he had been speaking.
“No,” Levi gasps. “Fuck, no, but-- oh my--” He sucks in a sharp, high breath, and then another, and a third, and he’s coming all over the front of the desk and all over himself and he’s clinging to the desk and practically sitting back on Smith’s hand because his legs suddenly don’t want to work.
It surprises him how hard it hits, and how suddenly it comes. Sure, Smith had been at this for a while now, but usually Levi can see his orgasms coming, can feel the build, but that wasn’t like this. It was like flipping a switch, like all at once all of Mr. Smith’s slow, careful attentions hit Levi in the gut and he couldn’t stop or slow it down, felt totally helpless to it.
He’s never come so hard or so long or so fucking loud in his life. He feels his cock pulse and splatter him with come, feels his hole squeeze around those fingers, and can’t help the loud, choked moans.
Mr. Smith squeezes his hand over Levi’s mouth, hisses into his ear, “Quiet, Levi, come on, you want someone to catch me like this?” But he doesn’t stop his insistent goddamn finger fucking, and Levi’s knees are shaking so hard he really isn’t sure if he’s holding himself up anymore. “You’re so quiet in class, I figured you’d be able to keep your fucking mouth shut.”
He still doesn’t stop gasping, not until he feels the last violent pulse of his poor neglected cock, pressed almost painfully into the wood of the desk now, and still rock fucking hard.
He finally goes quiet, sucking in frantic breaths through his nose, and Mr. Smith says, “Not bad, but I think we can do better,” and adds a third finger.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-- you-- oh-- god--”
“Did you think you wouldn’t enjoy this, Levi? What kind of man do you think I am?”
His fingers are too fucking big. Two felt good but three is torture. It’s a wonderful, blissful torture, but it’s torture nonetheless because Levi is convinced they shouldn’t actually fit. Smith doesn’t press as deep now, but he still finds that perfect spot to rub and grind against and Levi is seeing spots flash behind his eyes.
“Too big,” he chokes and can’t believe he said that out loud either. It’s like his stupid fucking mouth wants Smith to remember how inexperienced he is, wants him to maybe second guess this and stop, or fuck, worse, pity him, condescend to him and--
“I think you can take it,” Mr. Smith whispers. “My cock is bigger.”
He pushes his fingers deep then, and spreads them enough that Levi feels the stretch, feels the way his body pulls too tight. Fire races over his whole body and he moans too loudly again, helpless to stop it.
“See, you like it.”
“Yes, yes, fuck, fuck--”
“I think you’re a regular little cock slut, aren’t you, Levi?”
“Pretty little size queen? Bet I could fit my whole fist inside this tight little hole--”
Levi comes again. It is just as unexpected, even more violent, and Smith has to hold him down on the desk with his hand across the side of Levi’s head while Levi shoves his own fist in his mouth to muffle his shocked, euphoric scream.
Smith laughs in his ear, fucking laughs at him, but instead of sounding aloof and condescending he sounds vindicated. “Beautiful. Beautiful. You gonna come on my cock too, Levi? You gonna take it like a good little whore?”
Levi isn’t sure. He’s not really sure he can’t stand right now.
He can’t, actually. Smith pulls his fingers out of Levi’s ass, and steps back, and Levi nearly falls off the desk. His legs feel like jelly, don’t want to hold him up.
Smith shoves him back against the wood, mumbles a shockingly soft, “Careful,” after all the filthy things he just said, and then pulls away again. Levi hears foil crinkling with relief because condoms were the last fucking thing on his mind but obviously a good fucking idea, and then Levi thinks nothing at all, because he feels the blunt head of his fucking mythology professor’s dick pressing at his throbbing asshole and he can’t fucking think around that.
He tries to suck in air, realizes his fucking arms are hurting from trying to hold himself up, and he shoves one back, stops Mr. Smith with a hand on his chest. He steps back from Levi, one hand a steadying presence on Levi’s hip.
Levi twists around, throws himself back on top of the desk (knocks a folder organizer and a desk calendar on the floor as he does it), and wordlessly shoves his right foot against Smith’s chest. Mr. Smith looks down at him, grins, gets the picture, because he pulls Levi’s shoe off, and then wrestles Levi’s jeans down around his ankles, gets one leg free.
He flings that leg up over his shoulder, presses into Levi all at once, and peers down at him, eyes dragging over Levi’s heaving chest and hard, dripping cock. His eyes stop there, and he palms Levi gently, curls his hand around Levi’s cock and makes Levi moan shamelessly.
“You’ve got a fat cock, Levi.”
Levi’s chest heaves and he looks at Smith, the sound of his own ragged breathing too loud in his ears.
He’s acting on instinct now and desire. He doesn’t think of how they got here, doesn’t force himself to play the part of shy, young, submissive like he’d almost been doing before, when he’d been half afraid Smith would decide half way through fucking him that Levi is too inexperienced to be worth his time.
He doesn’t think of any of this.
He uses his foot to hook Mr. Smith forward, lifts his arms and yanks Smith down into a desperate, hot blooded kiss. Levi thinks of completing a circuit, of a light flipping on, and he is only distantly surprised that Mr. Smith kisses him back, hard and wet and possessive.
Levi swims when Mr. Smith brushes his hair out of his eyes again, off his forehead, and says, quietly, “Still good?”
It strikes Levi as strange, and also painfully sweet, which is at odds with how all this started. He hisses back, “Come on.”
“You want me to fuck you,” he breathes, some of the laughter returning to his voice.
“Grade’s not gonna change itself, fucker,” Levi spits, just to regain a little bit of ground. “But if you’d rather choke on my fat cock, I won’t stop you.”
Smith chuckles, once, and the next few seconds feel all jumbled. Smith is feeding his cock into Levi’s hole and he’s fucking relentless. He’s slow, and gentle, just like he was with his fingers, but he doesn’t change pace, doesn’t stop, and after a few delirious seconds, Levi realizes he has either made the biggest mistake of his life or the single greatest decision to ever cross him.
He has most certainly never had anything even resembling the size of this dick inside of him. He keeps expecting it to hurt and he’s surprised when it doesn’t, when Smith just slips in deeper and Levi feels himself squeeze around him.
The slow, gentle rocking of his fingers, the patient coaxing of pleasure, it suddenly makes a lot more sense now. If he’d shoved Levi against this desk and just gotten to it he would have fucking split Levi in half.
Levi isn’t making any sound, breath locked in his throat. Mr. Smith palms Levi’s cock a little more roughly now, solid, heavy weight of him pressing Levi into the wood.
His voice is loose, syrupy with pleasure, when he breathes, “Knew you could take it. Such a good boy.”
Levi’s breath comes unlocked again and he’s a moaning, drooling, nearly sobbing mess in about three seconds flat. It’s just so big and-- oops-- he-- he said that out loud, Smith is laughing at him, his deep, smooth voice making Levi’s skin prickle and his head swim.
“Too much for you?”
Smith fucks into him hard, and Levi fucking screams like a little girl, back arching up off the desk and--
“Shh!” Smith hisses, bending low and clapping his hand over Levi’s lips again. “I didn’t lock the fucking door.”
“‘S not--” Levi gasps, struggling to stay quiet, “My fault-- you’re a fucking idiot--”
Smith glares at him and then fumbles with something out of Levi’s line of sight. A pencil holder, Levi assumes, because when Mr. Smith draws his hand back, he’s holding a shiny, unsharpened yellow pencil.
“What the fuck’r you--”
Mr. Smith drops it between Levi’s lips, and says, “Hold that.”
Levi glares at him and keeps the pencil clamped between his teeth before he slurs out, “I can still make noise--”
“Keep your mouth shut,” Smith tells him. “Unless you want to fail the course.”
Levi bares his teeth, about to groan furiously, but then Mr. Smith starts fucking him again and all he can do is hang on for the fucking ride. He does his best to keep his teeth clamped together, and it reminds him to keep his mouth closed, muffles the noise just enough-- which is good because Levi is making a lot of noise now. He didn’t know he could be this loud during sex. He’s never been loud before but holy fucking shit it’s just so good. Smith is so good, and Levi has that thought again-- he’s never fucking a man his age ever again. It isn’t worth it.
Smith is stronger, holding Levi down, and more sure of himself. He talks better than any guy Levi’s ever been with who tries that shit. The shit Mr. Smith says actually goes to Levi’s head, squirms down into his guts. And then there's that fucking cock.
He’s moaning around the pencil, only partially aware he’s trying not to drop it.
“You gonna come again?” Smith hisses, voice low.
Levi shakes his head, shivers, babels a frantic, muffled, “I can’t” back.
“I think you can,” he replies, voice getting really breathless now. He wraps his lube covered hand, the one he’d been using to fuck Levi’s ass, around Levi’s cock and starts to jerk him off with perfect coordinated strokes.
“I think you like doing what I tell you to, don’t you, Levi?” he teases. “I think you like playing the whore.”
Levi has no idea how he’s fucking Levi like that and jerking him off at the same time. The fucking coordination-- and Levi’s poor neglected cock is throbbing in Mr. Smith’s hand; Levi wants to moan in relief, so happy that he finally had a little fucking friction. He’d needed it so so badly.
Smith changes position, shoves Levi’s knee down against Levi's chest, makes Levi’s ass curl up off the desk, and Mr. Smith pounds into him so hard the desk moves.
And Levi can’t help it. The pencil falls out of his mouth. He moans the name again, and again, Mister and all, and is thoroughly shocked when Smith gasps, when his hips stutter, and Levi can feel that massive fucking dick throbbing inside him, filling him up--
It sends him over an edge he hadn't realized he was approaching, and he splatters his own chest with come, can’t avoid the mess with the way Mr. Smith has him curled up like that, one knee pressed to his chest, one leg outstretched, hand still wrapped around Levi’s cock even though he can’t really jerk Levi off from this position.
Levi clenches around him, and Mr. Smith, chokes out, “Fuck, yes-- come for me, come on my cock--”
Levi doesn’t hear what he says next because he’s fairly certain he passes out. He has no other way to describe the white wave of bliss that washes over him, the mind melting way all his muscles clench and flair, how hard it is, how much effort, even though he can’t stop it, and the deep, quiet, euphoria when it’s over.
His whole body is buzzing, tingling, shooting little sparks of pleasure down to his fingers and toes, when Smith finally moves. Levi’s legs fall, and Smith pulls out and Levi is just sprawled across the desk, dazed and shaking from head to toe.
Smith is breathing hard, and Levi doesn’t open his eyes while he listens to him, presumably, get rid of the condom.
Then he does a strange thing.
He wedges himself between Levi’s legs again, and pulls Levi forward, lifts him up, and pulls him into a smug, pleased kiss. Levi kisses him back, lazy and spinning and too thoroughly fucked to wonder if post-coital kisses were a typical part of this whole ‘fix a grade for sex’ deal.
Mr. Smith breaks away, but he’s close enough that Levi can feel his breath on his lips. “Mmm. How was that?”
Levi realizes this is a question but it makes no sense to him. He mumbles a wordless reply, and Smith goes on, “What you wanted?”
Levi has to open his eyes now, because this is not normal boasting. He can tell. There’s a sleepy, satisfied quality to Smith's voice, something strange about the way he’s speaking. “Fuck’r you talking about?” Levi slurs, leaning back a little.
Mr. Smith’s big blue eyes sparkle. His hair is falling across his forehead, so rich and golden it looks like spun sunlight. “I’ve never actually done this, you know,” he mumbles. “Was it everything you hoped for?”
Levi pulls away from him for real now, and stares at him.
“What’s wrong?” He actually sounds-- he sounds genuinely alarmed.
“What the actual fuck are you talking about?” Levi demands.
“What do you mean, what am I talking about?” Mr. Smith replies, clearly bewildered. “What you want to keep playing?”
“Play-- Are you stoned?”
Smith actually looks hurt all of a sudden and it’s weird. “What’s wrong with you? Did I do something wrong?”
“Something wr--” Levi starts, mouth falling open. “You just--”
“I just did what you said,” Smith replies, bemused now, waving one hand. “So I assumed--”
“What I said?”
“Yes,” he says slowly.
“What I said when?”
“Saturday,” Smith replies giving Levi a slow, almost owlish blink.
Levi stares at him, face utterly blank.
“Saturday!” Mr. Smith says again, voice rising now in obvious annoyance. “At the bar, you said--”
“The bar,” Levi repeats dumbly. He’s fairly certain he hears glass shattering somewhere when he hisses, “That was you?”
“What do you mean that was me?”
“I mean,” Levi says tightly, “I was shit faced Saturday, I don’t remember a fucking thing.”
Mr. Smith draws away from him, mouth open in absolute shock. His expression crumbles all at once, and he actually puts one hand over his mouth.
Levi stares at him.
He stares back.
“You. You don’t. Remember.”
“Not a damn thing,” Levi repeats.
“How could you not remember,” Smith says, voice surprisingly small. “You-- you came at me with your whole hot for teacher thing-- and you don’t--”
“No,” Levi says. And then he feels a prickle of smug satisfaction when he says, “No shit, I came on to you?”
“You were all over me!” he hisses. “I was grading papers, you were-- you did not seem drunk.”
Levi furrowed his brows. “You were grading papers at a bar?”
“I get there early and have a drink before the evening rush. I was leaving when you came in with your friends, and then you sat down--” He swallows very hard, and then says, “Levi-- I’d never-- I mean I’d never-- I submitted your final grade three hours ago, it was a ninety six, you--”
“What did I do?” Levi presses, unable to hid the giddy amusement from his voice now.
Mr. Smith disentangles himself from Levi’s legs and says, “Oh, this is very embarrassing.”
“What did I do though?” Levi insists.
“You. Well-- it happened so fast,” Smith protests. “I never would have-- if I’d known you weren’t sober--”
“Okay but what! Did we do!” Levi demands, laughing now. “Fuck, was it anything like that because holy shit, I’m gonna need like, therapy to recover that memory.”
Smith blinks at him. “No, we didn’t.” He takes a breath, steadies himself, and then says in a deep, rolling voice, “We kissed, you came in your jeans, you told me all the things you wished I’d do to you.”
Levi wrinkles his nose a little because coming in his jeans wasn’t really great. But he does know he’d known whatever happened Saturday had been fucking good so it must have been better than that.
“This was all your idea,” Smith said. “I was just trying to. You know. Play to the fantasy.”
Levi just stares at him, still fuzzy headed and loose-limbed, and can’t help the slow, lecherous smile that creeps over his face.
Levi snickers, “I came on to my professor and it worked, holy shit.”
Smith scrubs his hand over his face, and makes a distressed sound. “You must understand, I-- really, I’ve never done anything like this before, you have to--”
Levi snickers. “Don’t worry, Teach, I’ll be your dirty little secret.”
Smith looks at him and blushes pink over the strong bridge of his nose and his perfect cheek bones. Levi is truly stunned to realize he’s into Levi, like, for real. But Levi can see it in the way he’s looking at Levi right now, the odd, pleading look in his eye. Fuck, he’s gorgeous.
Levi says, “Fuck did I say to you?”
“I told you.”
“Nah, you gave me, like, a fucking summary, I want a play by play, I’ve never come on to an older guy before, much less my fucking professor--”
“I’m not older,” he says, flushing.
“Older than me,” Levi says around a laugh. “I’m nineteen, the whole goddamn world is older than me--”
Smith jerks away from him and puts his face in his hands. He sits down in one of the chairs he has set up facing his desk, quickly tucks himself back into jeans at the same time that he hisses, “Oh, for fuck’s sake--”
“What did you think, I’m a sophomore!” Levi insists.
“You said you were twenty four, you bought your own drinks all night.”
Levi winces. “Oh, yeah, that ID is fake as fuck.”
“You should go,” he says, moaning a little in what is apparently mortification.
Levi sniffs, tries to slid off the desk since he’s still butt fucking naked, and ends up stumbling into Smith’s fucking lap. Smith gives him a slightly dirty look, must think he did it on purpose. Levi’s heart is suddenly racing and he feels like he’s about half a breath away from getting hard again. “Cut me some slack, I came like three times.”
Smith puts his face in his hand again, uses the other to steady Levi while he struggles back into his jeans.
“I’m going to lose my job. I’ve lost my mind.”
“Before it comes back, you wanna give me your number?”
Smith looks up at him, shocked, and then annoyed again, and he mumbles, “You have my number.”
“I do?” Levi says. He manages to stand, and he fishes his phone off the floor once he realizes it had fallen out of his pocket. He checks the contacts, and then announces, “There’s no Mister Smith in my phone, so--”
Levi looks at him for a second, shocked for some reason at the sound of the name. He’d always assumed the ‘E’ in ‘E. Smith’ had stood for ‘Eric’ or ‘Edward’ or something.
He scrolls to the ‘E’s in his phone, and sees it, just that name, without the last.
It makes something warm and pleased and potent curl in Levi’s chest. He likes that name, feels it connect in his head with the man in front of him, and in a very strange rush of memory, the professor veneer falls away, and Smith-- Erwin-- he’s just a man. A very perfect man who fucked Levi like God had built him for that task specifically, but. A man all the same.
Levi buttons his jeans, steps back into his discarded shoe, and then startles Erwin when he kisses him on the mouth. He leans over him when he does it, tilts his chin up so Levi can reach his lips, and he feels Erwin shiver, feels him kiss back like he can’t help it, for all his complaints and protests to the contrary.
Levi whispers, voice low in the quiet space between them, “Do you have my number?”
Levi kisses him again, feels the ghost of a memory, now that he knows to look for it, a feeling-- his lips against Erwin’s, his hand twisted in Erwin’s tie, pulling Erwin down to him. Erwin whispering back, This is stupid, I can’t-- and going quiet again when Levi tightened his grip.
“Good,” Levi says. “I want to know all about my whole hot for teacher thing.”
Erwin’s blush gets deeper and he looks down at Levi’s naked chest. “Oh, f--”
He lurches up, digs some napkins out of a drawer for Levi to clean up with, and then looks at his desecrated desk in obvious distress. Levi leaves him to it, tugs his shirt on, and his back pack, and says, “Ninety six, you said?”
Erwin waves his hand, still flustered, not looking Levi in the eye now. “Of course.”
Levi grins. It’s not something he does often, smile all out like that. But a fizzy, giddy joy is spreading under his skin, and his fucking knees still feel like warm jello and he can remember the way Erwin’s whole body moved when he came.
Erwin stops staring at his desk, looks back at Levi, and Levi finally figures out what he’s been reading in Erwin’s face. Resignation. Helplessness. He should be grinning right back at Levi, all satisfied lechery, but he’s just frowning a little, a tiny wrinkle between his brows, like he can’t quite figure out why-- why any of this.
Levi isn’t going to tell him-- it’s not like Levi knows. He was too fucking shit faced to remember what he’d said but, fuck, it must have been good.
Of course, if what they'd done then had come even close to what they’d just done now-- no wonder Erwin hadn’t been able to resist.
“See ya around, old man,” Levi says with a little wave, and slips out the door before Erwin can splutter too furiously about the jab.
He gets back to his dorm, finds he’s alone among the half packed suitcases and boxes he and his suit-mates had been trying to fill all week.
He slips into the bathroom, showers quickly, head still buzzing. He wants to laugh. He wants to fucking tell someone, but of course he can’t.
Instead, he steps out of the shower, catches sight of himself in the floor length mirror, and can’t help but snap a picture, hair in front of his face, towel held open around his waist with both hands. It takes him a few minutes to get a good picture at that angle, since he’s holding his phone and a handful of towel, but he’s pleased with the result. It’s… pretty skeevy actually, kinda full on fuck boy, but Levi’s abs and chest and fat cock look fan-fucking-tastic, so he sends it.
His phone is silent. His suit-mates come back. They ask him what he’s in such a good fucking mood for; he tells them he did well on his final.
His phone is silent for hours-- Levi doesn’t text much, and everyone he cares to talk to is here in this room. That’s why he knows who it is when, maybe three hours later, his phone dings.
He opens the text, cupping the phone with his hand, and sees a picture that is, if possible, even sleazier than the one Levi had sent. The man in the picture had been careful not to include his face. Hell, Levi doesn’t even see much of his shoulders. The main focus is a very impressive, very familiar, mouth-wateringly beautiful dick framed by a neatly trimmed and maintained coil of golden blonde curls.
Levi texts back the nastiest, kinkiest shit he can think of, and tries very hard not to let his suite-mates see him smirking.