An Opportunity
For the rest of the day, you absorbed yourself in your studies, vigorously making notes on your laptop, trying desperately to ignore the odd tightness in your chest that had lingered ever since Otto’s hand had left yours. This stupid old crush had got to go, he was your teacher, and a great deal older than you. Despite your track record of dating older men and women, you didn’t enjoy the rumours and nicknames that came with that kind of reputation. Sleeping with teachers was a line you swore you’d never cross again, and you weren’t going to break that rule for anyone, no matter how attractive.
When it got to the end of the day, you found yourself walking down the corridor with a boy from your Greek class, who also happened to be in Theatre Studies; he didn’t seem to share your reservations about teacher/student relationships. Roy - your new friend - was gushing about a certain professor, about his curly auburn hair, his imposing height, and his lovely thighs…
You came to an abrupt halt, “Wait, hang on dude. You’re talking about Doctor Octavius?”
“Yeh, have been for the last like 8 minutes but thanks for noticing now!” he laughed. “Why else do you think I’m going to his office? I’m gonna apply to be his assistant and get unrestricted access to that doc cock!”
Wincing slightly at the joke, you wonder about the assistant position. You’d forgotten about that.
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Roy grinned at your expression, a mixture of confusion and excitement, “I thought he’d be just your type, why don’t you apply too? May the best one win blah blah.”
You tripped over your words for a solid 10 seconds before simply nodding.
“Great!” he exclaimed, “Hurry up, then, we should get there before the others do! Increases our chances.”
But Roy had miscalculated, and there was no one else there, no long line petering out from Otto’s office door, no crowd of excited students. You started to question Roy’s taste in men, and yours too for that matter.
You started to protest, “Dude, I don’t know, maybe this isn’t the best idea, I’m kinda having second thoughts - ”
“Second thoughts about what, my dear?” A deep voice made the two of you jump, and Roy let out a yell of surprise, “I hope you’re not questioning applying for the assistant position, (Y/N), I’d have thought you’d be a perfect fit.” Otto grinned at your stunned face before turning to Roy and winking.
You sensed mischief brewing between the pair of them, presumably at your expense.
“Ooh la la, ‘my dear’? I can see that me applying for this position would be in vain, your mind is made up, professor.” Roy feigned hurt, raising his hand to his forehead dramatically, “To ensure that this lovely little ερωτοτροπία goes unfettered, I withdraw my application!”
You swatted him gently, your cheeks heating up at the Greek and its implication, “Roy! You don’t need to do that!” you hissed, avoiding Otto’s gaze.
The professor arched an eyebrow, “Erototropía?” he stumbled his way through the pronunciation, “I’m not sure what language that is, let alone what it means. Care to enlighten me?”
He was standing awfully close to you, and your brain was having a hard time keeping your thoughts in order. Erototropía was Greek for courtship, or romance, and the fact that Roy had so brazenly called out the slight flirting between you and your professor scared the piss out of you. If he could see it, surely that meant it was conscious? Did that mean that Otto was flirting with you, that it wasn’t just in your head?
“Nope.” Roy cackled, “I leave that to (Y/N) to explain. Have fun, you two!”
With that lovely display of mischief, leaving you a similar shade to Otto’s sweater, Roy pushed through the doors and rushed off into the car park, pulling his hood up to hide from the torrential rain.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve put your faith in the wrong man. Roy appears to have run off.” Otto seemed to find this hilarious, and didn’t catch the way your breath hitched at the word ‘sweetheart’. When he spoke in that husky tone, his voice made your brain malfunction.
“That little shit,” you whispered under your breath, “god fucking dammit.”
Otto gently cuffed you around the ear admonishingly, “Language, (Y/N),” he growled, before breaking into peals of laughter at the look on your face, “don’t look so shocked, yakiri, I’m only playing around. Why don’t you join me in my office and we can discuss your application, and perhaps some linguistics while we’re at it?”
“I-um.. well,” you stammered. What the hell did yakiri mean?
“Come on in, (Y/N), I promise I won't bite.” As if to counter his point, he chuckled, revealing a set of slightly crooked, rather sharp teeth. Your brain suddenly decided to work again and began supplying you with various images of Otto sucking hickies onto your skin, teeth breaking the surface in a delicious stab of pain -
“(Y/N)?” Otto was staring at you. You were suddenly aware that you hadn’t spoken in a couple of minutes, your hands clenched tight around the strap of your satchel.
“Yeh, um, sure. Let’s talk about the, uh, application. Sorry, my mind was elsewhere -”
“I can only imagine,” he grinned.
You decided to try something, testing a theory in a way. “Sorry, sir, been a long day,” you sighed, stretching your arms over your head which made your shirt ride up over your stomach, revealing the waistband of your trousers and the lace front of your underwear, “I guess I just need to relieve some tension later, you know.”
Otto’s eyes flickered up and down, a barely imperceptible shift, save for the slight twitch in his face. His tongue darted over his lips and he swallowed, “Oh yes, yakiri, I know exactly what you mean.”
Bingo.
He held open the door for you, but stood in the doorway so there was little room to pass without brushing into him slightly. It was probably intentional, you hoped.
“Oh, and (Y/N)?”
“Yes sir?” You paused in the threshold, looking up at him. His arm was resting just above your head, and if you moved half a centimetre forwards, the two of you would be pressed up against each other.
“Didn’t I tell you to call me Otto?” He was almost whispering, his voice was so soft and low. Even if you stood on your tiptoes, you would have been still half a foot away from eye-level, but with him leaning over you like this, you felt even smaller than before, almost caged beneath him. You like it.
“Yeh, well, I’m a stickler for formality.” You retorted. His eyes flickered down to your waistband again, shirt still bunched up slightly to show that thong you knew had been a great idea to wear. “I’m joking, Otto,” he looked back up, “force of habit, calling people ‘sir’. Plus, I’m not great at doing what I’m told.”
He smiled, eyes darkening as he leaned further down until his mouth was next to your ear, “We’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” he whispered.
Your brain froze. Holy shit.
“Right,” he straightened back up and motioned to the office, “shall we get started?”
Fuck yes.