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“Ah. You’re still here?”
Pantalone is too professional to jump. Instead she just inhales sharply and grips her pen harder. “You’re not supposed to have lab hours until the morning.”
Dottore shrugs off her coat in the lab entryway. “What can I say? Inspiration waits for no one. Science is an art just as much as the next discipline. At least, it is the way I do it.”
Pantalone resists the urge to roll her eyes. This must be Dottore’s way of saying that her experiments are all bullshit. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a little more to work with than ‘it’s an art.’ The grant applications don’t exactly write themselves.”
Understanding dawns on Dottore’s face. She leans in over Pantalone’s shoulder. “Is this what you’ve been up late working on?”
She’s leaning too close. Her breath is warm against Pantalone’s shoulder when she speaks. Pantalone swallows and sets down her pen. “Yes. The Zapolyarny Institute grant application needs to be sent off tomorrow morning, so I’m working until it’s complete. It’s taking a while, as you can see.”
“Don’t criticize my methods,” Dottore scoffs. “You knew what you were signing up for.”
“I didn’t,” Pantalone points out, raising one eyebrow. She only applied for an undergraduate research assistant position; she didn’t know they’d assign her to the most unpredictable, most funds-eating grad student in the whole university. “It’s not like I chose to be yours.”
Dottore gives her a strange, dark look. “Mine?”
Shit. Pantalone’s heart does something stupid in her chest. “Your assistant. Your research assistant.”
Dottore smiles, soft and small and terrifying. “Of course.” She stands from Pantalone’s desk. “Don’t let me keep you, then.”
When she leaves, her hips sway in her tight-waisted slacks. This pair climbs up her waist and clings to her like liquid, so her thighs are more defined than usual. Pantalone stares at her for a solid three seconds before she remembers the grant application in front of her—the one she has to complete by the morning, in fact—and quickly looks down.
Dottore busies herself doing something noisy and conspicuous across the room. Pantalone doesn’t look up. She only needs to get the research money. She doesn’t need to know what it’s for.
Well. She kind of needs to know what it’s for, because the grant application needs more than the bare-bones, ego-fueled high vision Dottore keeps pitching. But trying to get her to talk sense is like pulling teeth.
Not for the first time, Pantalone almost wishes she’d been assigned to someone else. Maybe she could have kept the budget for Rosalyne’s couture fashion project, or managed the recording logistics for Columbina’s experimental violin thesis. She’d even take a menial position, like writing down data from Sandrone’s many robotics tests. Anything but this.
But Dottore turns around and leans against the wall, and her blouse is falling open a little too far for lab safety and her slacks are painted on and Pantalone doesn’t quite know what she’s doing, anymore, so. Here she is.
Dottore crosses her arms over her generous chest, which Pantalone does not take notice of at all. “What’s the matter with you?”
Pantalone blinks. Right. The application. “I’m having trouble with one of the grant application essays. Your research is… so groundbreaking that it’s hard to describe succinctly.”
Dottore tilts her head. “You’re saying you can’t make sense of it?”
“I said ‘hard to describe succinctly.’”
“Then use more words.”
Pantalone sighs through her nose. “Would you give me something to work with? Anything at all? Just a tagline for your next project, even. I can only refer to past projects so many times before it starts to feel suspicious.”
Dottore’s mouth ticks up into half a smile. “You’re asking for my help now? And here I was told wordplay was your specialty. I never imagined they’d send me a research assistant so incompetent as this.”
“It is my specialty,” Pantalone says defensively. Her face is hot, half with shame and half with anticipation. “Now if you’ll only give me some words to play with, I’ll be just fine.”
Dottore looks at her for a long, even moment. She stands from the wall and stalks closer, one slow step at a time.
Pantalone inhales sharply. “Don’t tell me you’re already taking mercy on me,” she says, trying to sound haughty and probably failing abysmally. “I thought you’d put me through the wringer for a while longer. Are you already offering your assistance?”
Dottore grins. She leans her hands on Pantalone’s desk and looks down at her. “Oh, yes. I’m here to help.”
Pantalone blinks. She didn’t expect that. “Please, be my guest.” She slides the grant application paperwork across the desk. “The specific question I’m answering is on the third page. Take a look and tell me what angle you think I ought to take. If you’ll just flip through here—”
But Dottore just laughs.
Pantalone’s heart sinks. Of course it was too good to be true. “What do you want?” she snaps. “If you’ve only come here to torment me, then I’ll remind you that your lab hours don’t start until the morning, and you’ve got no reason to stay.”
“Torment? You think this is torment?”
“Isn’t it?”
“You already know I’m capable of much, much worse.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Pantalone says, more confidently than she feels. “You can’t risk offending me. If you mistreat me, you’ll lose your university position, and no laboratory will take you back. You’ll have to get private funding for your research, and trust me, that’s much harder than having me around to take care of it all.”
Dottore’s smile widens into something sharp and shimmering. “See? There’s your sweet mouth. I knew you had it in you.”
“My what?”
“A figure of speech,” Dottore says, waving her hand vaguely. She leans in closer over the desk and—oh, fuck—and tucks her head just below Pantalone’s jaw to breathe her in.
Pantalone swallows thickly. She’s sure Dottore notices her throat moving. “Professional,” she says drily, ignoring her racing pulse.
“A test,” says Dottore. “Your mouth isn’t sweet after all. You smell like cigarettes again.”
Pantalone breathes a thin laugh. “You’re not exactly an easy woman to work with. You can hardly blame me for having a vice.”
“I can when it’s those vile things.”
Pantalone rolls her eyes a little fondly. She pushes her chair back to put some distance between them again. “As fun as it is to banter with you, I’ve got work to do. Although you’ve made it crystal clear you have no desire to help, I’ll have to at least request that you don’t get in my way. It’s your money on the line.”
Dottore looks at her intensely. “I never said I wouldn’t help.”
“I am capable of reading between the lines, you know.”
“You are,” Dottore says. “But evidently not enough.”
And she drops to her knees right beside Pantalone’s desk.
Pantalone blinks down at her, bewildered. Her face is already twice as hot, and her mind twice as dirty. “Are you quite alright?”
“Fine,” says Dottore calmly. She begins unbuttoning her blouse further. “Proceed as you were. I’ll be a minute. This thing is tricky. Lots of buttons, and it’s rather delicate.”
“I can’t see how undoing your blouse is a priority right now.”
“You like to look at my tits.”
Pantalone’s mouth goes dry.
Dottore smiles, just a little. “Not bothering to deny it, I see. Clever girl.”
Pantalone grits her teeth and turns back to her desk. “I’ve got no idea what mind games you’re trying to play with me, but I really must get this done.”
“In other words, you have to focus.”
A little surprised, Pantalone nods. “Yes.”
“I can help you.”
Pantalone inhales with the patience of a saint. “Zandik, please. You have to understand that a beautiful topless woman sitting next to me is very distracting.”
Dottore finally finishes unbuttoning her blouse. Well—she doesn’t finish, exactly, because she leaves the bottom few buttons closed. It’s almost dirtier this way, like she’s trying to keep up an image of composure rather than trying to strip. Under the blouse, her lace-lined black bra peeks out generously. It falls low on her chest, teasing the barest hint of a brown nipple underneath one side.
Pantalone is a weak, weak woman. She stares at her. “Surely you don’t wear that for all your experiments.”
“No. Just this one.”
“This experiment?”
Dottore looks at her beneath her eyelashes. “What? I thought you’d like to feel special. I’ve never worn this for anyone else, you know.”
Pantalone deserves a goddamn award for tearing her eyes away after that comment. She looks back down and grips her pen so tight she fears the ink might explode onto her hands. “Quit it. I’m not a subject for you to toy with as you please, no matter how special it might make me. Now if you’re quite finished, I’m writing this damn application.”
“By all means,” says Dottore, too pleased. “Go ahead.”
Pantalone ignores her. She has about two seconds to pick up her pen and look at the question on the application again before—
—Dottore’s hand slides up her thigh, under her skirt, up up up until—
Pantalone slams her thighs closed. “What are you doing?”
“Helping,” says Dottore sweetly. “Surely you’ve heard that sexual stimulation is a quick and efficient way to increase focus?”
Pantalone blinks rapidly. She’s never heard this before in her life, but Dottore is right there between her legs, with her intense eyes and her unbuttoned blouse hanging onto her chest for dear life. And perhaps Pantalone has imagined this a few times, imagined Dottore being kind to her for once, rewarding her for earning all her research funds…
Quietly, she lets her legs fall apart.
Dottore grins. “Interesting.” Her fingers slide further up, all the way to the crease of her inner thigh. Pantalone squirms and tries valiantly not to look down at her. She knows why Dottore’s hesitating. Knows what she’ll see, if she looks. Maybe Dottore will take mercy on her. Maybe she won’t call it out.
But her hopes are dashed when Dottore’s thumb hooks under the thin waistband of her panties.
“Very interesting.” Dottore twirls the string between her fingers. “You’re hardly in a position to criticize my bra when you’ve been wearing these all day.”
Pantalone exhales shakily. “I wasn’t criticizing it.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Dottore says smugly. “You’re enjoying it very much, aren’t you? Almost as much as I’m enjoying your little thong. I did wonder why you were wearing a skirt. Usually you respect the lab safety rules too much for that. But now I know.” She pinches the string and lifts it from Pantalone’s hip. “If you’d gotten even a little wet, it would have soaked right through.”
Then she lets go, and it snaps back against Pantalone’s hip. Pantalone hisses at the flash of pain. Her head is swirling. She feels like she’s relearning how to breathe, clumsy with it.
“But you don’t have to worry about that.” Dottore slides her other hand over the front of the thong. “I’ll make sure these get ruined, so you’ll never have that problem again.”
“You talk a big game,” Pantalone says, her heart racing. “But I’ve yet to see you do anything even remotely useful. You haven’t even taken off my skirt.”
Dottore laughs. “You think I need to? I don’t think I even need to take off your cute lingerie to make you come.”
Embarrassingly, Pantalone feels herself get wetter. Damn. It’s not like she likes Dottore’s stupidly big ego, but sometimes it has its merits. “You’ve always been ambitious, yes. But you haven’t always followed through.”
The look Dottore gives her is downright dangerous. She doesn’t bother replying. She just hikes up Pantalone’s skirt and licks right up the center of her panties.
Pantalone actually gasps. She tries to muffle the sound with a sigh, but it fails abysmally.
“You shaved,” Dottore murmurs into the crease of her thigh. Her breath is hot and wet and Pantalone isn’t sure she’s hearing properly. “A shame. I thought you’d have bush.”
Pantalone did indeed have bush a few months ago. She started clipping it short after a particularly intense fantasy about Dottore fingering her to tears in the shower. Unfortunately Pantalone is rather bad at sexual fantasies, and also imagined the cleanup, which was much more arduous with bush than it would have been without. “It got inconvenient,” she says, which is at least partly true. Inconvenient for the sex she imagined them having, at least.
“Hm,” Dottore says, like she knows Pantalone is full of shit. “I’ve got no complaints. I’m sure having less hair in the way makes you more sensitive.”
“Why don’t you find out,” Pantalone says, which is a foolish move because then Dottore tilts her head back down and kisses her over her underwear sloppily, like she’s trying to make out with it, like it’ll kiss her back, and—
“Fuck,” Pantalone mutters, slumping forward on the desk. “My god, Zandik, you aren’t—oh! Oh, you aren’t playing around…”
Dottore doesn’t bother stopping to respond. Instead she just sucks harder on Pantalone’s clit through her stupid little thong. Hard enough to make Pantalone’s head spin and her thighs clench together involuntarily.
“Oh, stop, stop,” Pantalone pleads, dizzy with it. “You’ve made your point…!”
Dottore pulls off with a soaking wet sound. Her mouth is flushed red, like she’s put on too much lipstick. “Have I?” she rasps, eyes dark.
Pantalone’s stomach twists. “I’ve got to finish,” she says, holding weakly to her pen like a lifeline. “It’s important.”
“You’ll finish,” Dottore murmurs. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She’s got that look in her eyes again. Oh, fuck. “I didn’t mean—ah, ahh…”
This time Dottore licks over her clit intensely, paying no attention to anything else. When Pantalone’s legs clench around her head, trying to resist, Dottore just moans, undeterred.
Pantalone makes the fatal mistake of looking down at her. Dottore’s eyes are half-lidded, and every time her tongue moves, her tits bounce with the movement. Her unbuttoned blouse is only getting more and more disheveled, and her eye makeup is a little smudged. And worst of all, she looks so determined.
That’s the look she gets when she’s experimenting. The look she gets when she won’t let something go, not for anything.
Fuck. She’s really going to keep doing this until Pantalone comes in her panties.
Dottore’s canine snags on the edge of the thong, and she pulls it into her mouth. She sucks on it, getting it soaking wet. Pantalone just watches, her head spinning. She thinks the pen might have slipped out of her hand, but she can’t remember. This time, when Dottore sucks her off again, the wet fabric makes the sensation harsher. Pleasure spirals through her, intense and unyielding.
Pantalone moans, high and embarrassing. She squeezes her thighs closed one last time, just in case. It’s fruitless; all it does is push Dottore’s face further into her cunt.
And then Dottore’s fingers press against her entrance.
She doesn’t even move the fabric aside. Just nudges her fingers against her cunt through the panties, barely even stimulating her. Like she’s testing her give. Testing how much she can take.
Testing her. Like an experiment.
“Oh, god,” Pantalone says weakly, and she orgasms quick and dirty in her soaked panties.
Dottore keeps mouthing at her underwear, like she’s trying to lick up all the wetness spilling from her. She finally pulls the thong aside, but doesn’t do anything. She just… watches her come. Watches Pantalone clench around nothing, and spill useless slick down her cunt.
Helpless, Pantalone doubles over her desk and gasps for breath. The aftershocks travel through her thighs, making her tremble with pleasure.
Dottore wipes her mouth off with the back of one hand and looks up, satisfied. “So?” she says, smirking. “Are the results in yet, Doctor?”
Pantalone glares at her through her hazy eyes. “Shut your filthy mouth. You didn’t get it all, by the way. You’ve still got my come on the left side.”
Slowly, maintaining eye contact, Dottore licks the corner of her mouth.
Pantalone drips a little more. She squeezes her legs together again, trying to keep her cool. “Other left.”
Dottore gives her a look. “Don’t play with me, Feofan.”
“It was fine,” Pantalone says, which is a blatant lie because she’s still soaking her underwear with the remnants of her come. “Now go away so I can finish writing.”
“Not so polite now that you’ve gotten what you want, hm?”
“What I want?” Pantalone gapes at her. “What on earth gave you the impression that I wanted—that my primary desire was for you to—?”
Dottore looks down pointedly at her own black lace bra, peeking out from her shirt.
That’s a very good argument, actually. Pantalone has been doing an admirable job of not staring at that fine rack, but now that it’s back on her radar, she can hardly look away. She clears her throat. “I’ve never indicated that I wanted you to eat me out through my panties.”
“Oh,” says Dottore thoughtfully. She grins with teeth. “That’s very true.”
Pantalone frowns. This has to be a trick. “Yes, it is. Now leave me be.”
“You never asked for your pretty panties to be in the way.”
Pantalone stares at her.
“Darling,” says Dottore, so sweetly it’s cruel. She sits up again, placing her hands on Pantalone’s thighs and spreading them forcefully. “You know I’ll do it properly. I’ll make sure you never have reason to doubt me ever again.”
She leans in close. So close that her breath sends cold spirals down Pantalone’s spine when it hits her still-soaked hole.
Pantalone inhales deeply. Don’t engage. Don’t engage. If Dottore finds her uninteresting, she’ll surely do the responsible thing for both of them and stop. She picks up her pen. “That’s nice and all, but I’ve got an application to write. If you’ll excuse me…”
Dottore takes the fabric of her panties in her teeth and tears them off.
Pantalone shudders. She uncaps the pen with shaking hands.
“Don’t forget,” Dottore murmurs, “who this lab belongs to.”
“The university, actually,” says Pantalone, just to be annoying, and then—
Dottore scoffs. Instead of responding, she dives into Pantalone’s cunt tongue-first and immediately sucks her clit into her mouth like she’s trying to make it come in her mouth.
Pantalone practically squeaks. “Fuck,” she mutters, trailing off into a moan. She grips the pen so tight her knuckles go white.
Dottore hums into her cunt. She slides her mouth upwards and then, without warning, sinks two fingers into her. Pantalone hisses and clenches on instinct, but she’s so wet that the fingers slide in easily, without resistance.
Dottore smiles up at her. “Go ahead,” she says. “Didn’t you have an application to write?”
Pantalone blinks. “You’re kidding.”
Dottore gives her a dangerous look. She crooks her fingers up into Pantalone’s sweet spot and dives back down, tracing her tongue in tight circles around her clit.
Shit. Okay. There’s no way Pantalone will be able to write like this, but Dottore’s looking at her expectantly. So she carefully—so carefully, so slowly—directs the pen to the page, and starts trying to write.
Applicant name. That’s an easy section. Pantalone grips the pen tightly and starts to write it out. All she has to do is write the letters of her research candidate’s name.
Z.
—Dottore hums into her clit like she wants her to feel it. Pantalone whimpers—
A.
—Her fingers dig into Pantalone’s sweet spot so hard it almost hurts, and it sends her stomach swirling, sends her tumbling forward onto the desk, but she holds steady and finishes the line—
N.
—“Good girl,” Dottore says roughly, nose still pressed against her clit, fucking her fingers into her like she can get off with them, hard and selfish and mean, “I know you can take it,” and Pantalone’s thighs shake—
D.
—She pushes in a third finger, relentlessly confident, and Pantalone grits her teeth against the pain pleasure pain and moans loud enough that she’s glad it’s midnight and there’s no one to overhear, or else they’d both be getting kicked out of this lab for the semester, and Dottore flicks her tongue over her clit over and over and—
I.
—It’s just a straight line, and it’s shaky, and Pantalone can barely even see the paper, her vision keeps going blurry and all she can focus on is how good it feels and how much she wants to come, god she wants to come, she wants to come, and Dottore knows it she has to know it because she’s gone to sucking her clit and pressing her fingers up instead of fucking them in, just pressing pressing pressing and shit shit shit—
Pantalone grips the pen so hard it explodes all over her hand. Right as it gives up, she collapses forward and comes with a sob.
Dottore fingers her through it, nice and slow and luxuriously pleasurable. When she pulls off, her mouth shimmers and one of her nipples has fully peeked out of the bra. She looks rumpled and winded and ruined. She looks gorgeous.
“We need better pens,” Pantalone says, staring at the ink dripping from her hand. She might be stained blue all week, at this rate.
Dottore laughs and flops down on the floor. “The pen is the least of our worries. What about the grant application? You’ve ruined it with that ink. No one’s got a second copy at midnight the night before it’s due, do they?”
Pantalone looks at her judgmentally. “I’m on top of it. Trust me.”
“With that application? I don’t think so.”
“I submitted the Zapolyarny Institute funding request eight days ago, Zandik. This one’s a decoy. An enrichment copy, if you will.”
Dottore stares at her. She bursts out laughing. “Bastard! Of course. You’d never risk me ruining your real work. You and your attention to detail. You knew why I came here the minute I walked in, didn’t you?”
Pantalone leans back in her chair and laughs, too. “Get me some cleaning solution.”
“Last I checked, you weren’t the one who gave orders around here.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” Pantalone says. “Get me some cleaning solution, and then take your clothes off and sit on my face.”
Dottore’s eyes go wide.
“Oh—but keep the lacy bra on.” Pantalone gives her a look over the rim of her glasses. “Someone rightly pointed out that I like to look at your tits, and you went to all the trouble of framing them nicely for me. It seems a shame not to enjoy the effort.”
Dottore’s mouth splits into a wider grin than ever. “In that case,” she says, “I’ll make sure your hands have never been cleaner.”
Pantalone smiles.