If Steve Rogers could only describe his student, Thor Odinson, in one way, it would have to be something about his size.
Thor was big, tall and broad, with the ranginess of a youth who hadn’t yet acquired the muscle and bulk that adulthood would bring. He dwarfed the rest of the student population and nearly all of the teachers. Steve was one of the few that could match him, and actually outweighed him. The bigness was accompanied by the kind of good looks that inspired envy or lust in just about anybody he met—bright blue eyes, long, pale blond hair, teeth that seemed too white to be natural and the kind of bone structure that made Steve’s hands ache to trace it with charcoal.
But though Thor might look the part of some higher being, Steve found very little admirable about him.
He wasn’t someone to be looked up to. He had flaws, the most immediate one for Steve was the fact that Thor was failing his class, but the others were far more troublesome—pride, vanity, arrogance and stubbornness. To make it worse, he could be—and frequently was—cruel to his fellow students. Thor was a poster child for the typing of bullying schools were trying to stamp out—the popular kids using their influence to make others miserable.
Once, Steve had caught Thor harassing another student between classes. The kid, Loki, was one of those odd ducks, strange and closed off, a loner except for the small clique he belonged to. But for all his quietness, or maybe because of it, he was brilliant, the kind of intelligence that only comes along rarely. And as Steve watched the kids pass, he saw Thor check Loki with his shoulder, then promptly turn and shove the thinner boy into a bank of lockers, snarling.
Those in the immediate vicinity gathered round, sensing blood. To give him credit, Loki didn’t cower or attempt to run, though he was paler than usual. His fists clenched at his side, but he stood his ground, shoulders square. “Fag,” Thor sneered, and Steve saw Loki flinch as he pushed his way through the wall of students.
Finally, Steve shoved his way in and grabbed Thor by his collar, ignoring his protests as he dragged him away and hauled him straight to the dean’s office. He knew it shouldn’t have been so satisfying to see the smug little prick squirm as he was chewed out (and Steve knew that Thor was nervous, regardless of how he tried to hide it—he couldn’t afford to be suspended or expelled), but it had been; it had been almost too satisfying to see him raked over the coals, to see someone so prideful reduced to nervous boy in a chair.
The second time Steve saw Thor that nervous, the boy was standing instead of sitting, but he wasn’t any more confident for it.
“Please, Mr. Rogers, you can’t fail me.”
Steve laughed, and he silently berated himself for the edge of cruelty to it. He shouldn’t take pleasure in seeing a student fail. He was a teacher, for Christ’s sake. “Pretty sure I can.”
“You don’t understand,” Thor pleaded. “I need these credits or I won’t graduate.”
“Then you should have thought of that before you decided to treat my class like a joke.”
Thor’s hands tightened on the straps of his backpack. “Please, Mr. Rogers, I’ll do anything.”
Steve turned away from the coat hanger where he hung his messy, paint-covered apron, cocking a brow at his desperate student. He dropped into his seat, intending to grab his grade book to show Thor just how impossible passing his class was going to be, when Thor moved.
After dropping his backpack, Thor edged his way around the desk, toward the side where Steve was standing. He seemed to hesitate, eyes glued to Steve in an alarmingly intense fashion as he came closer. Puzzled, Steve watched him draw closer until Thor stood directly in front of his chair. Then he leaned over, and suddenly the young man became incredibly suggestive with his body language, his voice dropping when he added, “I really do mean anything.”
Steve sat there, frozen. It was clear that the popular student, probable wet dream of damn near every student in the school, who had no interest in Steve or his work, was trying to seduce him for a better grade. Steve wanted to snarl, wanted to spit because he was so angry. Thor really thought this would work? Steve was a good person, he had morals. There was no way he would accept such a...a sleazy, underhanded offer.
And yet…if Steve was honest with himself, his hands hadn’t been the only thing to ache when he caught sight of Thor’s face or physique.
Before Steve could respond, however, Thor stepped closer. Another step would bring him directly between Steve’s legs. Catching his eyes, Thor deliberately licked his lips and Steve felt his entire face, neck and chest suffuse with a red-hot blush.
Thor might be big for his age, but he was still smaller than Steve, and Steve had never before felt intimidated by his student. But now, with Thor standing—looming—over him, invading his personal space, he already felt dominated.
That was, until Thor dropped to his knees.
“Thor!” Steve hissed. “What are you—?”
Thor silenced his teacher by reaching for his belt. “Thor!” Steve said, voice strangled. The boy looked up, his own cheeks red, his gaze determined, but just a bit scared. Oh, and that did it. That little bit of fear and uncertainty kept Steve’s hands at his side. Swallowing, Thor glanced back down, undid Steve’s belt quickly, and worked open the button and fly of Steve’s pants. By now, the bulge of Steve’s crotch was unmistakable, and he had to bite his lip against making any sound with each brush of Thor’s fingers over it.
After taking a deep breath, Thor tugged Steve’s briefs down, freeing his cock. He hesitated a moment more, and then confidently wrapped his hand around it as he looked up. Steve could only gasp, throw his head back, and clutch at the arms of his chair.
As his student carefully brought the head of Steve’s cock to his lips, Steve shuddered, helplessly staring down at Thor’s devious blue eyes, traces of the former apprehension gone. His pink tongue snaked out to teasingly lick the tip, glancing up at Steve through thick, long lashes, and then Thor slipped the head into his mouth, lips stretched wide around Steve’s erection as he slid down.
His tongue rubbed against Steve’s cock, firm and wet, and his mouth was hot and slick. Thor kept moving forward until his nose was nearly buried in the soft curls at the base of Steve’s erection, his hand coming to grasp what little he couldn’t fit in his mouth. It was such a practiced, natural motion—all of this was, Steve noted—that Steve was certain Thor had done this before. Sucking cock in a casual manner didn’t come without practice.
His mind flashed back to the hallway, to Thor’s hateful face as he called another student a fag, and with the small portion of his brain not devoted to resisting the temptation to simply fuck into Thor’s face, wondered how much of that hate was actually directed at himself.
How had this muscular, arrogant jock learned to give the best blow job Steve had ever had? Steve reached down, hand hovering near Thor’s hair, waiting for approval, and when Thor looked up at him again and smiled around his cock, Steve fisted a handful of blond locks and pulled Thor deeper down, causing the boy to moan rather than gag.
The sound sent a ripple through Steve’s skin, and he gripped his hair tighter, searching for anything to anchor himself. Suddenly the wet heat was pulling off his cock, and Steve whimpered, looking down as Thor licked his lips and stared up.
They locked eyes for a moment, and Steve wondered just how many cocks Thor had taken down his throat to be able to do that. Had he slept with members of the football team? Steve had to shut his eyes as an image popped into his head, one of that same, gorgeous face, spattered with come, two of his teammates’ cocks in his hands. They’d all be in the locker room, with that beefy center Volstagg sitting on the bench, Thor, their golden boy quarterback in his lap, speared on his cock while two of his teammates held his legs open, the rest encircling them, shoving their cocks forward for Thor to suck, to stroke, to tease, until they finished on him, painted him white with their semen—
Steve swallowed thickly as Thor descended on his cock once more, unable to hold back the whimper that escaped his mouth. Thor continued bobbing his head, teasing his teacher with his deceptively—innocent gaze, as Steve’s cock slid in and out of his throat with ease. The entire thing was absolutely shameful, the way Steve allowed allowed himself to take advantage, and the way Thor treated the incident like a professional, as if this wasn’t the first time Thor had bargained his services in light of poor academic performance.
Steve tugged on Thor’s hair, pulling his cock free from the young man’s mouth in an unexpectedly heated, jealous fit of anger, but it didn’t stop anything. Thor kept his mouth open, continuing to look up at Steve, presenting his mouth while his hand returned to the base of Steve’s cock, stroking at a faster pace. That image of Thor, face spattered with the come of his teammates flashed through Steve’s mind once more, and he couldn’t take it. He threw his head back again, a low, deep moan echoing through the empty room while he came, striping Thor’s mouth and face with his release. The boy was eager to take it, swallowing and licking away any that reached his mouth, and running a thumb over whatever threatened to drip off of his chin which otherwise would have been wasted on the floor.
“Fuck,” Steve hissed, looking away from Thor. His body was ready to go limp and collapse, unable to handle such an intense orgasm after being ignored for some time, and already he felt that pool of pleasure deep in his belly transform into a stab of guilt. Thor’s eyes spoke of more, that he wasn’t done yet, and Steve sadly shook his head, beckoning the young man to his feet.
“Clean yourself up,” he said, gesturing to his face, one hand pulling up his boxers and pants. “There’s a sink in the back corner near the kiln.”
Thor looked confused, and Steve knew he was wondering if his plan had worked, if Steve would now give him better marks because he’d gotten on his knees and sucked his cock. Mixed in with the confusion was a bit of worry, and Steve wondered if the boy ever felt used doing this, ever felt that his body was all he had to barter. It was a sad thought, one that Steve couldn’t shake as Thor stumbled off to the sink, returning as he patted down his skin with his t—shirt.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve said, rubbing his palm with his thumb.
Thor nodded, and Steve could see that lingering uncertainty in his eyes as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out of the room.
Christ, what had he done?
The next day, Thor actually managed to show up for class. It was a shocking, not only to see him there, doing some actual work (well, trying), but knowing what they had done yesterday continuously flashed through Steve’s mind. He couldn’t even sit at his desk that morning. And now any time he called Thor’s name, walked to the same area of the classroom, or simply exchanged a look, all Steve could think about was his come splattered upon Thor’s face. It was almost unreal, considering Thor hadn’t done one suggestive thing during class.
By the end of the day, Steve felt overwhelmed just thinking about what had occurred the day before, and Thor was being so calm, not saying a word. He stayed behind in the classroom after his last class of the day left, finishing a few personal projects to distract him from the silence.
Then, he heard the door open and shut, footsteps approaching. The gait was instantly recognizable. Thor didn’t have to say a word to announce his presence.
“What happened doesn’t mean you’re going to pass, Mr. Odinson.”
Thor didn’t answer, and when Steve thought that maybe it wasn’t him, he turned around. The boy was staring at Steve with wide eyes, biting his lip.
He shook his head. “I wanted to do it.”
Something about those mumbled words sent a little jolt through Steve’s body. “Excuse me?”
Thor shrugged, gaze still trained on the floor. “I wanted to.” His eyes finally met Steve’s. “I still want to.”
Suddenly, as if the confession had triggered it, all of Thor’s confidence returned, and he strode forward, licking his lips the way he did before.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Steve held his hands up, ready to push Thor away. “We can’t do this. We can’t make this a regular thing!”
“Because you’re a student, and I could lose my job, that’s ‘why not.’” Steve sighed. “I’ll give you a good mark for what you did, but...no more. That’s not how you’re going to earn a good grade in this class.”
Thor’s face fell. He seemed distraught and frustrated, nostrils slightly flared, mouth agape, and Steve saw his fingers slowly curl into a fist, one that wasn’t tight, just nervous. “I...I understand.”
Steve’s expression softened as Thor dropped his head and backed away, heading for the door. “Thor,” he called, and the young man stopped, glancing at Steve over his shoulder. “If you...if you come to class and put some effort in, I’ll go easy on you. Might not be an A, but I’m fairly certain that if you try hard enough, you’ll pass. Maybe even well enough to keep it from affecting your GPA.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”
“See you tomorrow, then.”
To Steve’s surprise, Thor did just that.
He showed up to class the next day, early even, and worked through the whole period, only pausing once to joke with the student next to him for a few minutes. Steve didn’t even have to rebuke him to get him back to work, because as soon as there was a lull in the conversation, Thor picked up his charcoal once more and continued drawing. Steve passed by while making rounds through the room, and while Thor’s work wasn’t the best, the sheer amount of smudges on the paper showed that he had at least been trying.
It’s just one day, Steve thought sardonically. He’ll be back to how he was by the end of the week.
And so, each day, Steve expected Thor not to show up, or to slack off during class like he usually did, texting with his phone under his desk, or horsing around with his friends, yet Thor worked diligently throughout the whole hour, every day. He showed up early, and was late leaving once, having gotten distracted by a piece of his work and missed the bell.
Steve was, to say the least, impressed, and a bit shocked. He didn’t think Thor had any kind of a work ethic, at least not for schoolwork; the boy was a jock, good on the practice field and a slacker elsewhere. Day after day, however, Thor came to class and listened and worked patiently, his tongue a little pink line between his lips as he frowned in concentration.
Even after the first week, however impressed Steve might have been, he still expected it to end. After all, this was the student who had sucked his cock in an attempt to get his grade boosted, and Steve didn’t picture this sort of hard work to continue on indefinitely.
But it did for another solid week, and Steve was forced to admit that perhaps he had been wrong about Thor. Maybe underneath the thick-headedness and arrogance there was something else? It was something Steve had to consider, and as he watched Thor, absorbed in his work, with a sepia pencil in his hand, Steve wondered if he had just overlooked it all along. He was careful not to comment on it, afraid that if he drew attention to Thor’s new work ethic, it would just make the boy confident that his ploy had worked and he’d stop actually trying.
Two days later, however, Thor skipped class.
Steve had seen him that morning, laughing with his friends in the parking lot before school, with that smile that Steve had always thought was dopey, yet now couldn’t help but find a bit exciting. But Thor never showed up to class, even as Steve anxiously looked at the clock, praying that Thor would rush in a few minutes late and save the new reputation he had been building for himself in Steve’s eyes.
Steve didn’t give up hope until halfway through the period, at which point the cynical, spiteful side of him took over in a sort of I told you so fashion. With a sigh, Steve wrote up the absence and sent it to the office, along with a request to see young Mr. Odinson after school if that were possible.
To be honest, Steve didn’t think that Thor would bother to show now. He knew he was in trouble already, and after their...encounter...Steve was still fairly certain that Thor didn’t rank him as one of his favorite teachers.
When Thor showed up a few minutes after the final bell, backpack slung over one broad shoulder, Steve was shocked. He had just been rinsing some brushes out in mineral oil, cleaning up after one of his painting studio classes, when Thor knocked lightly, standing just inside the room.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Rogers?”
“I, uh, yeah,” Steve said, tapping the brushes against the side of the jar. He shook the excess mineral oil from them before walking over to the sink, his back to Thor. “I missed you in class today.”
Steve shook his head. He didn’t want excuses, not just yet. “We agreed that if you came to class and worked, I’d pass you.”
“So why weren’t you here today?”
Thor sighed, and Steve heard him set his books on one of the desks. “I didn’t honestly think you’d give me a good grade. You haven’t said two words about it. I thought I’d fucked it up somehow.”
“I keep my word,” Steve said, a terrible, awful, wonderful plan forming in his mind. He finished rinsing the brushes, using the time to further think things through. He shook the brushes out before turning around to face Thor, leaning on the counter. “How do you propose you’ll make up for this?”
“I...I can come in during my lunch break and work if you’ll be here, or before school.” He paused. “Or I can work on the stuff at home.”
“What?” Thor’s face was confused and near desperate. “Why? There has to be something I can—”
Steve cut him off with a wave of his hand. “When you said you’d do anything...would you still?”
Thor looked a little flustered. “Would I still do anything for this grade?” he asked, cheeks turning slightly pink. He looked down, unable to meet Steve’s stare. “Y-Yes.”
“Then drop your pants and put your hands on that table.”
Thor sucked in a breath. “I...really?”
“You said you wanted me.” Steve fiddled with the paintbrushes. He couldn’t believe he was even contemplating this, couldn’t think beyond the way Thor’s eyes turned up when he smiled or how his muscles shifted beneath his shirt. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. We can think of something else.” He turned away, putting the brushes onto a towel, and reaching behind himself to undo the ties to his smock, but the sounds of a heavy book bag dropping to the floor, followed by the rasp of a zipper and fabric rustling distracted him, and Steve peered over his shoulder to see Thor leaning over the table, his jeans now at his knees.
No underwear, he noted. Thor had been sitting in his class, commando, for God knew how long. Had Thor been waiting for something like this to happen? The thought made him instantly hard.
He pulled the smock off, balling it up and letting it fall to the floor, and walked back to Thor, who looked at him over his shoulder, nervous yet wanting, biting his lip in anticipation. Steve’s eyes drifted from his face down to his arms, muscular and shapely even beneath his gray cotton henley, down over his back to his buttocks and legs. He was still staring when Thor coughed, and Steve shook his head, dragging himself back to reality and stepping past Thor to lock the door, grateful he had a shade over the window.
With any potential distractions or interruptions eliminated, Steve was free to do as he pleased. He moved behind Thor, pushing his shirt up to expose the cheeks of his ass, firm and round and simply begging to be touched. Thor hissed softly when Steve did just that, his hand cupping Thor’s ass after sliding up his hip.
He twisted his head, trying to stare at Steve over his shoulder. A small grin played on Steve’s lips as he drew his hand back, smacking Thor’s round ass with his palm and enjoying the resounding clap. Thor gasped and pitched forward, and the change in posture made him all the more submissive. With his left hand holding Thor’s shirt up, his right hand delivered three more smacks, each strike harder than the last, Thor’s ass turning bright pink under Steve’s ministrations.
“Are you going to skip my class again?” Steve asked, and Thor shook his head, gasping as Steve delivered another smack. “Good.” Steve switched hands, using his left to slap the boy now, his right keeping Thor’s shirt midway up his spine. He didn’t stop until both sides of Thor’s ass were bright red, some of the slaps so hard that they left the outline of Steve’s fingers in pale white before the blood rushed in. Thor was mumbling and whining, his face almost as red as his ass, and Steve could feel him bucking and twisting against the table.
“No more, please. I won’t skip,” Thor pleaded as Steve carefully kneaded his ass. He bucked into the touch, gasping as Steve’s rough fingers skimmed over abused flesh.
“Good.” Steve’s hand delved between the cleft of Thor’s ass, seeking out the tight pucker, his finger brushing across it. Thor’s resulting moan was like music to his ears. “Don’t move.”
Thor whined, but did as he was told, remaining bent over the table while Steve walked back over to the sink, retrieving the brushes he’d left there, along with the bottle of fresh mineral oil. He saw Thor’s expression pale a bit when Steve set them on the table, and Steve’s eyes darkened.
“Spread your legs more.”
“Mr. Rogers, please—”
“Do it,” he whispered, and Thor shivered, pushing his pants down a bit more so he could spread his legs wider.
“That’s better,” Steve said, running his hand up the outside of Thor’s thigh. Thor shuddered and pushed his hips back, presenting himself. Steve saw him bite his lip and turn away when he reached for the brushes, picking out one that was about the same thickness as his index finger, before he unscrewed the lid on the mineral oil. A liberal amount was poured onto his fingers, which slipped between the cheeks of Thor’s ass once more, circling his entrance as Thor groaned, pushing back in a desperate attempt to get Steve to penetrate him.
Steve laughed softly. He placed the tip of the paintbrush against Thor’s hole, just holding it there for a moment before slowly pushing it inside. It went in easily, the already smooth handle being aided by the liberal coating of oil. Inch after inch of lacquered handle slid inside Thor’s body, requiring very little effort from Steve, even as he watched the ring of muscle clench and unclench around it. Once it was in as deep as he deemed safe, Steve let go, watching almost in awe as the writhing of Thor’s body, combined with the natural shape of the brush, served to push it out slowly.
He caught it before Thor completely expelled it and pushed it back in. Thor was panting now, making high, whining noises, and unless Steve was horribly off, they were noises of want, signaling that Thor wanted more. Grabbing another brush, Steve just dipped it into the bottle of mineral oil to coat it, held it for a moment to let the excess drain, and then touched the tip of that brush to Thor’s entrance. He prodded for a moment before the muscle gave, allowing him to slide the second brush in along side the first.
“Oh, fuck,” Thor gasped. “Fuck.”
“How many could you take?” Steve wondered, now working both brushes in and out. This couldn’t exactly be comfortable. Even if the thickness of the two brushes was no more than two of Steve’s fingers, there was no give to the wooden handles, no yield like that which would be found with actual fingers or a cock. “Another?” he asked. Thor’s answering sound wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either.
A third brush joined the first two, and Thor gasped as the widest point stretched him. Steve grinned a bit and slowly pushed the handles apart, spreading and stretching Thor’s hole even further. The action caused Thor to choke out a moan and Steve couldn’t help the low one of his own that escaped. This was wrong, so wrong, but God help him, he didn’t want to stop. He grabbed the last brush off the table, hand shaking slightly as he oiled it as well, and then carefully pushed it in between the space he’d made with the other three. He seated them as deeply as he felt was safe to do so, and then just held them there while Thor bucked and writhed.
So wide. Thor was stretched so wide at this point that it had to be past the line between pleasure and pain. Steve shuddered. If anyone saw them now, his career, his life would be over, and all he wanted was to keep doing this until Thor screamed for mercy. Biting his lip to stifle a groan, he slid the brushes back, until only the ends rested in Thor and he was squirming and gasping, rocking his hips on the table, and then pushed the back forward, as deep as he had before.
“F-Fuck,” Thor stammered, trying to widen his legs further, his jeans stretched tight at his ankles. His chest was pressed flat against the table, hips raised slightly. “Hurts.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
Thank fucking God Almighty Himself, Steve thought, drawing the brushes out and pushing them back in in another slow, languid thrust. He didn’t want to go fast; Thor was already stretched to his limit, and Steve didn’t want to actually hurt him.
He did want him to feel it the next day when he sat down, however. And from the sight before him, Thor would.
There were a few more slow, gentle thrusts with the brushes, Thor shutting his eyes and pushing back as Steve slid them in, and Steve groaned at the sight. His cock was tight in his pants, and he knew he could come like this, from just watching Thor and teasing him until he begged, but there was still more to be had.
With one final thrust, one that was notably harder than the others and had Thor groaning and straining, Steve drew the brushes out, kicking the garbage can out from under the table and dropping them in there while Thor nearly sobbed from the loss. Before Thor had any real time to process the loss, however, Steve’s fingers were at his hole, finding it slick and open and twitching eagerly each time his fingers grazed it.
“Please,” Thor whispered. “Need...after that....”
“Hmm?” Steve teasingly slid the tips of two of his fingers in, Thor’s body offering almost no resistance. He sighed appreciatively, Thor squirming, rising up onto his toes to try and encourage Steve. He started to slowly fuck Thor, just using the tips down to the middle knuckle, enough to aggravate him but not enough to truly satisfy.
Thor gave a frustrated snort, and Steve saw him clawing tiny marks into the table. He clucked his tongue, plunging his two fingers in and Thor inhaled sharply, his hips snapping up as Steve scissored his fingers. Steve grinned mischievously, his fingers crooking inside Thor and pressing downward until he found that spot that had Thor twisting and writhing.
“More,” Thor begged. “Please, more.”
Thor threw his head back, sobbing under his breath as Steve fingered his sore hole. The sight of the tough, carefree student losing his mind like this, ready to cry out and do whatever his teacher demanded, made Steve feel predatory. He wanted to use Thor until the only thing the boy was capable of doing was begging Steve to fuck him.
The young man beneath him shuddered, helpless, bringing his arms up onto the table to bury his face in them and hide.
“Don’t,” Steve ordered in a wrecked voice. “Don’t do that. Show me.”
Thor whimpered in response and turned his head to glance back at Steve, his eyes red and wet, looking as if he was ready to plead or cry.
Steve grabbed his ass, nails digging, threatening. “Do I need to remind you what’ll happen—?”
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, god, Mr. Rogers, please, I can't...I can't, please." Thor interrupted before biting his lip. “Please! I can’t take it anymore! Please, just fuck me!”
Steve was forced to swallow back a pleased moan. He didn’t say anything at first; it wasn’t enough just yet, with his fingers scissoring and stretching that hole, a third joining in as Thor bucked his hips back, riding them. He was gorgeous.
“Mr. Rogers, please!”
Steve’s gaze travelled from the round, abused cheeks of Thor’s ass to his flustered face. “What?”
“I need it!” Thor gasped, waiting for Steve.
“Need what? You’re going to have to be—” he made his point with a hard thrust of his hand, “be a little more specific than that, Mr. Odinson.”
“Oh God!” Thor struggled as Steve’s fingers drove him over the edge, sending him to madness as he was teased. “Fuck me! God, please!”
Steve had to keep himself from indulging in sick laughter. He pulled his fingers out, earning another small gasp from Thor when he fumbled at his pants with his clean hand, shoving them just open and down enough to free himself. He reached for the oil again, pouring it in his hand before gripping his aching length. He continued to watch Thor as he fisted his cock, timing his hand to the boy’s heaving, ragged breath.
He wasted little time in aligning himself to that abused entrance, pushing inside with a single thrust, Thor tensing up and groaning. He was loose and slick and hot, and the moment he was inside, Steve wanted to rut like an animal into the boy, just fuck him over and over until he spilled inside him. Thor whimpered, his hands shaking on the table, and Steve leaned over him, pressing his lips to the shell of Thor’s ear before placing his hand over one of Thor’s and knitting their fingers together.
He started to thrust, hips snapping up in quick, furtive motions, Thor pushing back against him, gasping each time Steve brushed against his prostate. “Like that, please,” he panted, and Steve tightened the grip on his hand, picking up the pace, Thor meeting each of his thrusts.
It was good, like this, and Steve knew if he kept going he would certainly finish, and from the sounds of things, Thor would, too. But he wanted to see him undone, not just watch him with his face pressed into some wooden table with uneven stain and peeling finish, and so Steve stilled his hips and slid out, Thor just about sobbing in frustration.
“Take your shoes off,” Steve said. “And the jeans.”
Thor moved quickly, shucking his shoes and the jeans, and the moment they were dropped in a heap on the floor Steve pushed him at the shoulders and guided him down to the table on his back, Thor parting his legs eagerly as Steve nudged between them. He pulled Thor until his hips were at the edge of the table, and then guided the tip of his cock to Thor’s hole, sliding in again in one fluid motion as Thor tilted his head back and shut his eyes.
Steve leaned back down over him, Thor wrapping his legs around Steve and pulling him close as he resumed thrusting. Thor’s face was flushed, his mouth slack in pleasure, and his whole body shifting with each of Steve’s thrusts. Steve’s hands scrabbled for his shirt, pushing it up over his chest and pectorals, exposing almost all of Thor’s torso to his eyes, and Thor gasped as Steve flicked one of his nipples, tweaking the pink nub between his fingers.
They locked eyes for a second, until Thor twisted away, closing his eyes again as Steve teased the other nipple. Thor was close—he could feel it, could sense it in how he was trying to spread his legs wider, to pull Steve deeper, in how his back was arching so perfectly off the table. Steve was almost there, too, but Thor was the one to orgasm first, shuddering violently and groaning, his legs locking tight around Steve as he spilled onto his own stomach. The sight of him, so completely and utterly undone was too much for Steve, and he pitched forward, his hips pistoning into Thor, moaning as his release hit him.
Neither moved for a long minute after, both of them panting softly, until Thor dropped his legs from around Steve and Steve slid out. He took a second to admire what a glorious wreck Thor was, his thighs and buttocks coated with slick, his hole abused, red, and leaking cum, his hair tousled and face flushed. But then Thor sat up, wiping the cum off his chest with his fingers and looking expectantly at Steve.
He was still dazed, but coherent enough to tear off a few paper towels, handing them to Thor who wiped his fingers off on them and cleaned up the mess between his thighs. Too ashamed to look at Thor, Steve turned away and fixed his pants, patiently waiting for the young man to finish dressing himself.
When he was tying his shoes, Steve spoke.
“You get an A,” he said, voice weak. “For the rest of the year, for any other classes you take with me. On one condition, though.”
Thor looked up, and Steve wondered if he were going to protest. “Which is?”
“The moment you graduate, you find me.”