Closer
Shifting slightly in your seat, you glanced at the clock, conscious that the next bus wasn’t for a few hours if you missed the one at 4:00. It was now 3:45.
“I hope I’m not boring you, my dear?” Your professor raised that eyebrow again, pausing in what he was saying to check his watch too.
Hurriedly, you reassured him, “Not at all, Otto, just making sure I don’t miss my bus.”
“Ah yes, that tardiness this morning was a one off, right? I can’t have my assistant making a habit of being late, that would set a bad precedent,” he nudged you with his foot, “promise you won’t be late again?”
“Oh no, I was only late this morning cause it was cancelled, you know the weather isn’t great for public transport at the moment.”
“Yes, this horrid rain,” he grimaced, “you don’t have a car then?” Was that concern in his voice?
“No, sir, can’t afford one,” you nudged him right back, “not all of us are on fancy university professor salaries. Plus, the buses are usually fine.”
He nodded, “Well I promise to leave a big tip next time I come to your bar.”
That eked a laugh out of you, and the two of you settled into a comfortable silence.
But the way he was sitting, how close he was, it was setting your brain off again. He had pulled up a second chair for you, placing it next to his own - just behind the desk - so that your thighs were practically touching his. If he swivelled his chair slightly, his left leg would slot neatly between your calves, and all the thoughts of a knee between your legs were flooding your mind. It was like that handshake, and the moment in the doorway: oddly intimate.
“Anyway,” he tapped your leg with his pen, “once we finalise the paperwork, your income will be slightly larger, and then you can think about that car.”
You looked at him in surprise. “You aren’t going to interview me first, find out my credentials? Just sign a few forms and then go? Seems a bit sudden.”
He looked sheepish, “Well, no one else has applied, and I already know you can hold a job down successfully..”
You smelled bullshit. “What else?”
“Ok, I may have pulled up your CV in my lunch break and talked to the dean about getting you as my assistant -”
Shocked, you retorted, “I hadn’t even decided to apply at lunch! Were you anticipating me?”
“I was hopeful!” His hand was suddenly on your knee, “I thought you’d apply and I wasn’t really prepared to offer anyone else the position once I saw you in my class.”
“Ok, whatever, dude.” A sudden burst of happiness ran through you, and you grinned at the doctor, “So I’ve got the job then?”
“Of course! I’ll just grab the forms, they’re in this drawer somewhere…”
He began fumbling with a sheaf of papers, dropping several of them in the space between you.
“Shit!”
“Otto,” you laughed, “watch your language! Don’t worry about the papers, I’ll grab them.”
Ducking down to the floor, you began collecting the documents, ‘accidentally’ bumping Otto’s legs a few times until you were neatly positioned between his calves. It looked almost innocent, until you realised he had stopped what he was doing and was watching you intently, his eyes fixed on the image of you kneeling between his legs. He went to adjust the sudden tightness of his trousers before thinking better of it and merely resting his hands on the arms of the desk chair.
Propping yourself onto the balls of your feet, you looked up at your professor, at the hands clenched around the chair, the gritted teeth and intense stare that made you almost drop the papers you had assembled into a haphazard pile. You half-smiled at him, noting how his eyes had gone dark again, and nervously ran a hand through your hair which was now slightly mad with static.
“Professor?”
Wordlessly, he held out his hand for the documents, eyes never leaving your own. As you handed them to him, your fingers touched for a split second and you realised just how warm he was. You also realised how badly you wanted to stay kneeling at his feet, the image of him above you was tantalising, and you had to restrain yourself from licking your lips.
He leaned over, elbows resting on his legs, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Otto didn’t take his hand away though, and gently ran his thumb over the scar on your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw down to your lips. He seemed transfixed by the sight before him, and you could imagine what his thumb would feel like on your lower lip, teasing the soft flesh before pressing into your mouth.
“Yakiri.”
His voice was little more than a whisper, and he seemed about to do something he might regret before suddenly remembering himself. The older man shook his head and offered up a soft smile, stretching his hand towards you. It felt like a peace offering, one you accepted as he pulled you to your feet, pushing back his chair as he did so.
Now the two of you were standing facing each other, the tension palpable in the air, your hand still clasped in his until he almost regretfully pulled it away.
“Thank you,” you murmured, “was that all the papers?”
Otto suddenly remembered why you had been kneeling between his legs in the first place and quickly rifled through the bundle in his hands. “Yes, that seems to be all of them.”
“Cool beans, what do I need to sign then?”
He looked at you quizzically before bursting into sudden laughter, depositing all the papers you had collected back onto the floor.
“Otto! What?” you almost yelled at him.
“Cool beans? I have never heard that before in my life, that is completely hilarious!” he chuckled. “You continue to surprise me, yakiri.”
As you both knelt to collect the papers again, you finally summoned the courage to ask the question that was bothering you, “Ok, you have to tell me now, what does ‘yakiri’ mean?” he glanced at you, “Oh come on! You can’t keep calling me something and not expect me to want to know what it means.”
Awkwardly, he placed the papers on the desk and sank back into his chair, pressing his hand to the back of his neck, wincing as he did so. You stood before him, leaning slightly back onto the desk, arms folded as you awaited his answer.
He hummed slightly as the knot at the back of his neck was relieved slightly, but still avoided your eyes. “Well,” he groaned, “why don’t you tell me what that Greek word means, and I’ll teach you a bit of Hebrew?”
Narrowing your eyes, you stalked over to his chair and placed your hands onto the arms, leaning until the two of you were at eye-level. “Not how this works, buster,” you growled, “you first, or I am walking out of this room and won’t come back until the next class. And you can be sure I’ll be late.” You winked at him, hoping your tone wasn’t too forceful.
Something flickered in his eyes, and he leant back into the plush leather, a playful smile ghosting his face. “Alright, my dear, you win.”
“Ha!” you punched the air, “Go on, then, what does it mean?”
He gestured to your chair, indicating he wanted you to sit, but you were feeling buoyed up by this minute victory, and perhaps wanting to bend the rules a little bit more (hadn’t they been broken the moment you had knelt at his feet and he’d held your face in his hand?) so you perched on the edge of the desk, careful to avoid his computer and piles of papers.
Otto’s eyebrow once again was raised, but he let it slide, pulling his chair forward until there was barely breathing distance between the two of you. This time, he had a direct eyeline to the exposed patch of skin around your misfit, and the tantalising sight of black lace just above your trouser belt.
“Yakiri is Hebrew for ‘darling’.” Ignoring the look on your face, he continued, “I’m not quite sure why it popped into my head all of a sudden, but old habits die hard and it’s nice to bring out the bilingualism once in a while.”
Yes, you thought, old habits do die hard. That vow of not dating teachers was getting further and further from your mind with every passing minute you spent in Otto’s presence.
Trying desperately not to let him see the effect that had on you, you smirked at him, “And do you call all of your students ‘darling’, or am I your favourite?”
A brief look of panic flitted across his face, to be calmed by a soft wink from you.
“I’m only teasing.”
“I know, but you’re right. I shouldn’t be… it’s inappropriate.” he stammered, suddenly realising how close the two of you were. “I am your teacher, after all -”
You stretched again, letting your shirt ride up your stomach. “Technically you’re my boss. And it’s not like we’ve done anything.”
He tried to answer, but the sight of so much exposed skin made the usually collected Octavius fumble his words and drop all pretence of not staring directly at your thong. Pushing his chair back and rising to his feet, Otto cornered you against the desk edge. Unsure, and a little scared, you shuffled backwards until you were fully seated on the mahogany, Otto’s arms either side of you.
“Oh, yakiri, you’ve done plenty. Don’t think I didn’t see the look in your eyes when you were kneeling between my legs. Very well orchestrated, by the way, I commend you.”
“Uh, um, thank you?” You managed to choke out, so very conscious of the millimetres between your bodies, the precious space and material that separated his hips from your own.
As if he could read your mind, he suddenly pressed into your body, slotting neatly between your legs, craning his neck until his mouth was once again inches from your ear, “Well, my dear, what was that Greek word you were going to enlighten me about?” His voice was so soft, but carried with it so much darkness. Musky with… lust? You couldn't tell, focusing solely on not wrapping your legs around him and pulling him closer until he would be fully in between your legs, how desperately you wanted to relieve that burning need for -
“(Y/N), care to enlighten me, darling?”
You gulped, arching your back as his breath sent shivers down from your ear to the base of your spine, spiralling from there into a burst of fire in the pit of your belly.
“F-fuck,” you hissed, “ok ok. Erototropía. It means romance, or courtship. Just Roy trying to be funny and embarrass me in front of you.”
“How very apt.” Otto moved his mouth even closer to your neck, pressing a soft kiss to the skin that flushed pink at his touch. “Presumably derived from the god Eros, and just like the effect of his arrows, I’m not sure I can stop…” he groaned, kissing your neck again, bringing one hand to the small of your back, pulling you even closer to him, bringing that much needed friction between the two of you.
“Please, yakiri, tell me to stop.”