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“Oh come on now, it can’t be all that bad,” Hob said, “my deepest, most secret fantasy was so obvious, I didn’t even have to spell it out in detail for you to get the full picture. Now it’s your turn to share - it’s only fair.”
Dream rolled away from him, burying his face in the pillow. Hob watched the way his thin shoulders rose and fell with each breath, unable to resist the temptation to trace a finger down the long, elegant line of his pale spine. Dream shuddered under his touch, like he always did; the movement delicate.
“The first time I sat in on your class, I couldn’t look away. It’s almost as if you transformed into a whole different person. There was something about the way you moved and the way you spoke. You were so in your element, so in control of the classroom, and I spent the whole three hours…
Dream stopped, as though the idea of having a crush on a colleague was a secret so deep and profound, putting the confession into words was akin to lifting a piece of his soul. Hob felt immeasurably fond. He waited patiently, as if they had all the time in the world, and eventually Dream spoke again, still facing away from him, his blue gaze drifting out towards the window.
“I used to imagine – what would it be like if I was actually one of your students. What if I was actually as young as I looked. I imagined you noticing me, telling me I’d earned some special prize. Letting me – teaching me something that was very much not on any curriculum, as if I’m someone who had never, you know… So,” Dream’s voice trailed off. “That’s it, really. Bone-crushingly embarrassing, I know.”
Not a crush on a colleague then. On a teacher. “It’s only embarrassing if you want it to be,” Hob said, pressing a kiss on the slope of his shoulder, letting the affection linger, knowingly.
*
“Murphy,” Professor Gadling said, and Dream looked up from his notebook.
Professor Gadling was at the head of the massive table where the seminar gathered around, his jacket off today in the lingering beginning-of-term heat. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, just a little. Dream could see the corded muscle under his tan skin, and the dusting of hair on his forearms. He swallowed, feeling his mouth go suddenly dry.
“Yes – yes sir?”
“Stay a moment after class - I would like to discuss something with you. In private.”
“Yes of course sir. Am I… in trouble?” Dream asked. In his mind’s eye, he heard someone snicker and say something along the lines of “ yeah, right ”.
Professor Gadling just smiled at him for a moment, his chocolate brown gaze warm as usual, but something about the faintly mocking tone with which he spoke made Dream shift in his deeply uncomfortable chair. He could feel his cock stiffen a little. Outside, chatter and footsteps filled the hallways. It was good that he had to stay after class, then. Or else, he would have to suffer the indignity of carrying his bag in front of him just to make it out the door without anyone noticing anything.
But then the room was empty and Professor Gadling was speaking to him again. “Come up here for a moment,” and when Dream bent down to reach for his bag, Professor Gadling pointedly shook his head.
“Leave that where it is,” he said, and Dream hesitated before straightening back up.
Professor Gadling shot him a quick look, but his warm gaze did not linger. Nevertheless, Dream felt his cock stiffen just under the attention alone.
“I want to discuss with you the paper you submitted. Your, shall we say, attempt at an analysis of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116,” Professor Gadling said, flipping through the stack of papers in front of him. “I have to say, Murphy, I was quite disappointed. This really was nowhere near your usual standards.”
“It… It wasn’t, sir?” Dream said, trying desperately to disguise his mortification. “I thought my structuring was excellent, and I did exceed the word count by a negligible amount –”
Professor Gadling let out a chuckle. The shape of it lit up his face in such a lovely way, and Dream had to bite his lip, hard.
“Murphy, a higher word count in no way implies a superior analysis,” he said. “You have always been one of my higher performing students, in this class or otherwise, but in this particular case I feel compelled to point out that you’ve missed the central themes quite entirely. You really tried to make the argument that Shakespeare should not have bothered putting his thoughts on love into verse, since one can prove his earlier proclamations to be false. ‘ If this be error and upon me proved’ , as it goes.”
“Well – yes precisely, sir.”
Professor Gadling tapped a finger on the paper on the desk and looked back up at Dream. His gaze lingered for longer this time, and Dream felt his warm attention move along the lines of his throat, coming to a rest where the dip of his shoulder started.
“Murphy. You’re still a virgin, yes?”
“I… um –” Dream said stupidly. He tried to swallow. “Sir –”
“There’s no shame in admitting it,” Professor Gadling said in his usual friendly tone. “The fact that you have never felt the touch of a lover is abundantly obvious in your paper. If you were going to do the kind of analysis that I expect from you. You’ll really need to learn more about love. Since that’s a bit rarer to come by, it wouldn’t hurt starting with sex. I would recommend gaining a bit of practical experience, so that in the future, when you come across a passage like ‘ Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks, Within his bending sickle’s compass come’ , you won’t end up writing earnest but ultimately incorrect nonsense like about your parents’ marriage problems and whatever this metaphor is about your sister. For now, I will have to fail you for this assignment. Please take my advice and have it re-written by next week.”
He paused, still looking at Dream. And then abruptly, he looked away. “You’re dismissed.”
Dream stood up and made it to the door, moving in a daze. That was not fair at all, he screamed silently in dismay. You couldn’t just – suggest someone go have sex as homework and then expect them to just — for someone to just want to — this wasn’t a legitimate piece of pedagogy. He wrapped his hand around the handle, and paused. Then he reached a bit further down, flipped the lock, and turned back to face Professor Gadling.
“The assignment you just gave me was unreasonable,” he whispered in a hushed tone, feeling his cheeks burn. Red hot. “And you’re right. I have never – not properly. Not with someone who knew what they were doing. Given what you just said – you should show me.”
Professor Gadling took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Fuck,” he said, and then, still not making eye contact with Dream, whispered, “you really shouldn’t’ve asked me that.”
That was not a no . Dream made his way back to the desk. “Please, sir,” he said, and Professor Gadling opened his eyes.
“Good god,” he said, shaking his head. “What would you like to learn?”
“"I would like to suck you off," Dream said, quickly, before Professor Gadling could come to his senses and decide to backtrack. He came around the big table and dropped to his knees. Professor Gadling made a choking noise at the back of his throat, almost a chuckle but not quite, and said, "Always so eager for knowledge, Murphy. Fuck."
He leaned back a little in the flimsy chair and undid his trousers. Dream could see his cock, thick and half-hard in his pants, and when Professor Gadling pulled it out, he surged forward.
"Patience, Murphy," Professor Gadling said. He put a hand in Dream’s hair and held him back. His other hand was wrapped around his shaft, moving a little bit, making himself harder. "’ Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks ’... learn to take your time."
"Yes sir," Dream said, although it was terribly difficult; Professor Gadling’s cock jutted from his hand now, dusky, a bead of liquid gathering jewel-like at the tip. Dream could feel saliva gathering in his mouth. He swallowed, and it made a wet noise.
"How long, sir," he asked. Professor Gadling simply said, "fuck," and spread his knees so that Dream could edge his way in closer.
"Open your mouth," he said. A simple enough command.
Dream did, his eyes darting between Professor Gadling’s cock and his face. Professor Gadling closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them again and then the head of his cock was pressing against Dream’s lips, tracing over them; Dream stayed obediently still and then Professor Gadling fed it to him bit by bit, so excruciatingly slowly, until it was heavy on his tongue filling him up, pressing in deep enough that Dream felt choked. The taste was rich and salty and Dream could feel his mouth flooding again, and tried to swallow but couldn't quite manage to do so. He could feel drool trailing down his chin, and Professor Gadling’s warm thumb there, wiping it off.
"Look at you," Professor Gadling said quietly. "That's good. Just get used to it."
Dream nodded. Or rather, he tried to; he tried to move, to, to make it good for Professor Gadling, but the hand in his hair tightened and stopped him.
"Patience," Professor Gadling repeated, drilling the lesson home. He rolled his hips, still holding Dream in place, his cock moving thickly along Dream’s tongue, then deeper, until he couldn't help it and coughed and choked.
When he could breathe again, Professor Gadling fucked back into his mouth with the same excruciating slowness; deeper, again, pulling away each time for Dream to cough and then coming back. It was endless, and Dream knew how he must look – wet now down to the collar of his dark jumper, the choking making his eyes tear up more than it usually did. He was so hard that he had to reach down to press a hand against himself to stop the hurt of it, and when he did Professor Gadling pulled out again and didn't push back in.
"Have you thought about this before, my beautiful boy," he asked, and Dream couldn't lie; he nodded desperately, still half-rocking against his own palm.
"Please, allow me to – " he said, and then, “sir – "
"Is this all you think about?" Professor Gadling asked. "Sucking me off on your knees shielded by this ridiculous table, with the rest of campus just on the other side of the door?"
"No sir," Dream said, his voice coming out strange and scratchy.
"Take your cock out," Professor Gadling replied. A clear instruction. "And then tell me."
Dream half-shoved his jeans down, still kneeling; his cock ached so much that he gasped as he got a hand around it.
Professor Gadling made a noise, unpleased. "Tell me you don't just jerk off dry like that," he said. “Boys. Good grief. At least get your hand wet. Use your mouth."
Dream put a finger in his mouth, and then, when Professor Gadling raised an unimpressed eyebrow, he shoved two more in; his mouth stretching around them. It made him feel the loss of Professor Gadling’s cock again and he sucked at them desperately as some kind of replacement until Professor Gadling reached out, grabbed his wrist, and said, "Fuck, that's good. That’s very, very good."
"Tell me what you thought about," he demanded when Dream wrapped his soaking hand back around himself, and Dream shoved into the wet heat there and said, almost brokenly, "You – fucking me. Sir. Please."
"Right here?" Professor Gadling asked. He sounded slightly out of breath.
Dream nodded. He was going to come already, and as soon as he thought it he couldn't stop; he was spilling all over his hand and the floor, making horrible high-pitched noises like he was injured.
"I'm sorry – I couldn't – " Dream said. He could feel his cheeks burning, the way his body shook. "I'll – clean this up."
" ’Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken’ ," Professor Gadling said vaguely, and then, "Stand up."
Dream stood. He had to grasp the table to stay steady; he still couldn't quite feel his legs. Professor Gadling was stroking his own cock again, more slowly than Dream had managed it to earlier.
"Would you still like me to fuck you?" Professor Gadling asked, and then he waited – so that Dream had to nod, and then when that didn't work say, "Yes," and then, "Yes, sir, please."
"Bend over," Professor Gadling instructed.
There were papers and stationery all over the table but he didn't clear them, so Dream laid over all of it. His head was turned, so that his cheek pressed into the wood and someone's problem set.
Professor Gadling laid a warm hand on his back for a moment, and then he pulled Dream’s jeans and pants the rest of the way down so that they puddled around his ankles.
"Spread your legs," Professor Gadling said, and Dream tried but he could only manage so far, caught in the tangle of fabric, and Professor Gadling made a sort of groaning noise.
" ’That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark.’ "
Dream felt Professor Gadling touch his thigh, and then his hands moved up to Dream’s buttocks, cupping him. He spread Dream apart and Dream closed his eyes against the hot burn of embarrassment. Then there was the noise of a cap clicking open and closed, and wetness sliding along his crack. Professor Gadling’s finger followed; he circled Dream’s hole, and then pressed into him, slowly but inexorably.
"Breathe out," Professor Gadling said, and added another finger; Dream tightened instinctively at the stretch and Professor Gadling stopped.
"Murphy," he said. "Breathe."
He slapped Dream sharply with his other hand, flat against his upper thigh, and the dull aching sting of it surprised Dream into gasping, and then Professor Gadling’s fingers were moving in him again; pressing, urging, and Dream breathed and gasped and cried out when it felt suddenly, embarrassingly good.
"There you go," Professor Gadling said, pushing the wetness into Dream until he felt soaked from the inside.
The next press was bigger, blunter. Dream, eyeing the locked door, said, "Sir, are you going to – a condom?"
"I don't have one," Professor Gadling said. Then: "Would you like me to stop?"
Dream shut his eyes. "No," he said, and Professor Gadling made a noise of approval.
"It's okay," he told Dream. "I'm clean; and you're a virgin." Then he was pushing in. The stretch of it was worse than his fingers; it felt impossible. Dream couldn't breathe around the burn of it. He tried to move, but the table was there, and Professor Gadling’s hand came down hard against him again.
"Patience, dear boy," he said, and Dream nodded; sheets of paper crumpled under him. It was slow and endless and then he was full, Professor Gadling pressed up all the way into him.
"You’re so good," Professor Gadling said. He pulled out and pushed in again, and Dream cried out; it hurt but the fullness was worth it, and the slick drag inside him, lighting him up everywhere, making constellations explode behind his eyelids. He could hear himself get louder with each thrust, moaning, writhing against the table; he was hard again, his cock tugging against mahogany.
"My goodness," Professor Gadling said, "You're loud – someone will hear. Do try to shut up," but Dream couldn't; he just simply couldn't. And then Professor Gadling’s hand was over his mouth, and Dream sobbed and moaned into it, the sounds muffled.
"Fuck," Professor Gadling said, again. Dream vaguely wondered how many times he’s said that word during their encounter, but he couldn’t keep thoughts straight in his head anymore. Professor Gadling was fucking him faster now, almost wildly. "I've never – you're gonna make me come so hard, Murphy, shit, god, Dream -- " and Dream could feel it when he did; wet pulses, soaking him, even as he tried to pull out and just kept coming against Dream’s upper thigh.
"Let me make you come, darling," Hob was saying. He always got so sappy after an orgasm; he was kissing Dream as soon as he turned him over, laughing at himself even as he did it, and his hand felt big and familiar and good. He came messily between them, wet all over Hob’s nicest suit and so hard that he kneed Hob in the stomach.
"God," Hob said, still touching him. He ran his hand down between Dream’s cheeks where he was sore and stretched and wet. "Are you okay, was that --"
"That was marvelous," Dream said. He wanted to get up and move to their bed, but he couldn't quite make his limbs work just yet. The ache of embarrassment lingered, but now transformed into something pleasantly warm, and he tucked his face as much as he could into the Hob’s chest to ride it out, reveling in the way those lovely hairs felt on the tip of his nose. "Did you have to make me write that ridiculous of a paper, though? I suppose a problem set and trying to model emotions in maths wouldn’t set the mood nearly as well as poetry, but really, I know how much you detest Shakespeare –"
"Mmm," Hob said absentmindedly as he planted kisses into Dream’s hair. "Yes, Dream, anything you say." His finger pushed a little inside Dream, idly, and Dream tightened around him out of instinct.
"Fuck," Hob said again, hauling them both off the dining room table. "I'll give it to you again, sweetheart. I have half a mind to have a repeat performance of this but the other way around, pretending to be upstairs in your lecture hall. But that will have to wait. Don’t think I’ll be able to handle anything but in a bed, for at least a little while. Goodness, my fucking hips."
Dream agreed with all of the above, of course. Wholeheartedly. But he wouldn’t mind lingering here, for just a little while longer.