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“That’s all for today, everyone,” Trin announced, his voice calm, polished, and deliberately steady, though inside he was quietly savoring a sense of relief. His students, of course, made no effort to mirror him. Chairs scraped the floor, backpacks zipped, and they surged toward the door as if the classroom were suddenly on fire.
“Remember,” he called over the chaos, “your paper’s due in two weeks. Don’t wait until the day before. Impress me, procrastinate only until two days before.”
A smattering of halfhearted promises drifted back, more habit than sincerity. Under normal circumstances, that would have been his cue to lean back in his chair, smooth his tie, and slip out the door with a quiet sense of satisfaction.
But today was not normal.
Amid the dispersing crowd, one student moved with a deliberate purpose, weaving through the scattered bodies like a shark among minnows.
Trin’s pulse skipped a beat. He knew who it was, and he knew exactly why this was happening.
One does not confiscate Victor Boonterdtoon’s phone and expect to escape without confrontation.
Victor slowed as he neared the desk, eyes flicking to the tiny rectangle of temptation resting innocently on the corner.
Sunlight from the tall windows caught in Trin’s sharp jawline and high cheekbones, highlighting the elegant curve of his neck and the subtle strength of his frame. His posture was impeccable, effortless, every bit the image of calm authority. Yet he was feeling the opposite.
“Yes, Mr. Boonterdtoon?” Trin said, his tone carefully neutral, deliberately using the full name he knew grated on Victor’s nerves. “Did you need something?”
Victor’s dark brows twitched in mild irritation at the formal address. “My phone, sir. I’d like it back.”
Trin’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, fighting to maintain decorum. “For what? So you can take more pictures instead of paying attention to my lecture?”
Victor shrugged, utterly unbothered, a mischievous glint lighting his eyes. “What can I say? You’re… very photogenic, sir.”
Trin’s brow arched. “Victor, what exactly were you photographing?”
Another effortless shrug.
Victor extended a hand expectantly. “I’d like my phone back. Now.”
Trin crossed his arms, the picture of immovable authority. By now, the classroom was empty save for the two of them. Any remaining students would have been treated to a masterclass in psychological warfare.
“No, seriously, I need it back,” Victor pressed, his tone sharper, hinting at impatience.
Trin remained unmoved, studying him carefully.
To anyone else, Victor might have seemed the typical spoiled, handsome golden boy. But Trin had seen beneath that polished exterior: a brilliant mind, capable, genuinely thoughtful, someone with the potential to do great things. Which made it all the more important to curb his entitled tendencies.
And then, of course, there was the flirting.
Subtle.
Constant.
Infuriating.
Usually it was easy to ignore, but Victor’s gaze, even in silence, was a sharpened arrow that never missed its mark.
“You can’t keep my phone. It’s my property,” Victor said, frowning.
“I’ve yet to hear an apology from you,” Trin replied smoothly.
Victor’s frown deepened in thought, then shifted into something sharper, more calculating, and Trin’s stomach sank.
Victor stepped closer.
Instinctively, Trin straightened, but the desk behind him left no room to retreat.
Suddenly, the boy was close enough that Trin could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. The air seemed to shrink, carrying Victor’s scent and a hint of playful danger. Trin’s pulse jumped; his normally composed mind stumbled, heat creeping up his neck to color his cheeks.
“I’m very sorry for being so naughty in class, sir,” Victor murmured, voice low, warm, dangerous. His breath brushed against Trin’s lips, and the professor froze in mortified shock.
“Victor,” he said, striving for sternness and only catching strangled uncertainty, “you… you really need to…” His gaze flicked traitorously to Victor’s mouth, and suddenly the words failed him.
“Need to what, sir?” Victor asked, innocent and teasing at once. “Is an apology not enough? Do you need… a different kind of convincing?”
A slow, deliberate movement of Victor’s fingers traced over Trin’s chest, daring, teasing, down toward the hem of his pants.
For one wild, primal heartbeat, Trin’s mind flashes with the glorious idea of bending Victor over his desk right then and there, but his rational brain immediately shrieks in horror and shoves the thought into oblivion.
Trin reacted. He shoved Victor back, making the boy stumble but not fall, and in the same motion snatched the cursed phone from the desk and thrust it into Victor’s hands. His cheeks were now a shade of crimson that could light a room.
“Out,” he snapped.
Victor blinked, then that slow, triumphant grin spread across his face. He threw a mock salute, grabbed his bag, and sauntered out with all the confidence of a boy who had just won a championship.
Trin collapsed into his chair, pressing his palms to his face, drowning in a mix of humiliation, disbelief, and mortification.
He had underestimated Victor.
He had so underestimated Victor.
And then his phone vibrated.
A message. From Victor.
He opened it. His stomach dropped.
It’s a picture of his ass when he had bent over earlier to pick up a pen he dropped, underneath the picture the caption reading, ‘see? very photogenic ;)’
Trin slammed his head onto the desk and fought the urge to launch his phone across the room.
Trin had never felt such relief at seeing one of his students graduate until Victor Boonterdtoon.
Trin tries not to dwell on the relief that washes over him, knowing full well it is complicated. Part of it comes from the inevitable end of Victor’s relentless classroom flirting, but another, more dangerous part comes from the knowledge that should he ever act on his more carnal impulses, there would be no immediate consequences.
Of course, he fights the thought. Tries desperately not to imagine the things he might, no, the things he would do to Victor if he gave in. It is impossible not to picture, especially when he is lying awake at night, alone, the memory of his last encounter with anyone else fading over a year ago.
Still, Trin resolves, reluctantly, to continue this torturous exercise in self-control. He is not some impulsive animal, jumping at the first opportunity. He has discipline. He has dignity.
But god, does Victor look good in those jeans.
Before he can properly mourn his wavering resolve, Victor enters the classroom without knocking, the door closing behind him with a soft, almost teasing click. A slow, mischievous smirk curls across his lips.
“Hello, professor,” he purrs.
Trin’s composure falters, heat rising to his cheeks.
“Victor,” he clears his throat, forcing his gaze down to the papers strewn across his desk, shuffling them with exaggerated diligence. “Did you need something?” He bites back a curse when he realizes he is repeating the exact same words he used last time, the words that nearly, nearly broke him.
The click of a lock turning cuts through the tension. Trin looks up, startled, to see Victor holding a small key between his fingers.
“Thought we could use some privacy,” Victor says casually, slipping the key into his pocket and sauntering toward the desk.
Trin narrows his eyes. Students should not have access to classroom keys. “Where did you…”
“The janitor,” Victor replies with a shrug, walking deliberately, hips swaying just enough to catch Trin’s attention before he forces himself to look away, determined not to meet that smug, knowing gaze.
“Do you not have a graduation party or something?” Trin asks, trying to sound normal, though the tightness in his chest betrays him.
“I figured I should thank you first,” Victor says, voice low, almost teasing. “For being such a great teacher.”
He does not stop at the desk. Instead, he moves with a predator’s grace, circling it, tracing a finger along the polished wood. Trin’s eyes follow, uncomfortably fixated, until Victor finally stops beside him. Leaning just slightly over Trin’s chair, he looks down with a lopsided smile that makes it impossible to think straight.
Trin shifts his chair back slightly, looking up at his former student’s face and trying to keep his eyes from wandering down. “It’s really not necessar-”
“I’d really like to show you how grateful I am,” Victor insists softly, the roguish spark usually in his eyes dimmed down to something more heated, more hungry. He glances down at Trin’s crotch and Trin swallows thickly.
“Victor–” he starts, the words then getting stuck in his throat as his former student leans down, both hands placed on Trin’s knees, slowly sliding up.
“Victor, this isn’t the place for this!” His voice almost cracks as Victor’s thumbs massage his inner thighs and he’s embarrassed at how quickly he’s growing hard, but Victor only seems delighted with it.
“I think it’s the perfect place, actually,” he murmurs with a sly curve of lips as he pushes Trin’s legs further apart, and kneels between them.
Trin breathes a prayer underneath his breath, a plea for forgiveness, before Victor’s hand slides up the bulge in his pants and it turns into a curse halfway through as the button becomes undone with a pop.
“You have lost your mind, Vi–,”
Victor leans forward, and takes the zipper of his pants between his fucking teeth, Trin breathing out a stuttering exhale as his eyes are glued to the scene. Before he can help it his own fingers are sliding through Victor’s hair.
“Shit.”
Victor merely grins, clearly enjoying his reactions. “How long’s it been since anyone sucked your cock, sir?”
Trin’s face burns with heat, and he keeps his mouth tightly shut.
Taking his silence as an answer, Victor looks down at his groin again, his erection only covered by his briefs and straining against it. He starts tugging it down and Trin helps a little by lifting up his hips briefly against all better judgement, letting out a relieved sigh when his cock is finally freed from its confinements.
Victor’s fingers are light around the base of his shaft, frustratingly so.
“You’re gonna love this, then.”
And with that, the young man leans down, his tongue sliding over the darkened head. Trin hisses at the moist heat, biting down on his lip even as a deep hum escapes him. He squeezes his eyes shut, his mind fixated on the sensation of the tip of Victor’s tongue rubbing over his slit, circling around the tip, but nothing more than that.
He’s being teased or at least, that’s what he thinks until he finally opens his eyes to glare down at Victor and the young man smirks briefly before parting his lips and swallowing his whole cock down in one move.
Trin makes a sound between a groan and a gasp, fingers tightening in Victor’s hair.
Victor sucks and Trin is completely at the mercy of his rhythm as he starts bobbing his head, gagging only once or twice before growing used to Trin’s size and taking him in as far as he can go, nose brushing against soft, blond curls of hair.
“Fuck,” Victor is far too skilled at this; the vibrations alone when he moans around Trin’s cock is making his toes curl in ecstasy, and there’s little chance of him enduring for longer than a few minutes when it’s been so long and Victor is so good at this. “Fuck, fuck, fuck–”
When Victor then pulls away, Trin is less than satisfied. He looks down at Victor in confusion, watching him wipe a mixture of saliva and Trin’s pre-cum off his chin with the back of his hand.
“Why’d you–” Trin takes a deep breath, trying to regain a semblance of composure. “Why’d you stop?”
“I want you to fuck me,” Victor says, eyes dark with craving as he stares up evenly at Trin, who almost swallows his own tongue. “On this desk. Right now.”
“For fuck’s sake, you-”
Victor reaches into his pocket, taking out a little bottle of lube and a condom, throwing both at him, Trin nearly fumbling the catch. “Yes or no?”
Now there is a question he doesn’t even have to think about.
“Fuck, yes.”
Victor moans downright obscenely and Trin can only marvel at the beautiful curve of his spine as he’s lying facedown on the desk, fingers hooked on the edges, sweat glistening on the back of his neck. His shirt is discarded on the floor next to Trin’s chair, neck and spine covered in bruised kiss-marks.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” Trin breathes reverently, inhaling with a sharp breath as he pushes in further and feels the pleasant tightness of Victor’s inner walls straining around his dick, pausing only when he’s buried to the hilt.
“Less talking, more fucking,” Victor groans, eyes squeezed shut.
Trin’s hands move down from Victor’s lower back to his hips. The first thrust has him breathless and Victor’s nails scraping over wood. It seems like he isn’t the only one who hasn’t had sex in a while.
Either that or Victor is just particularly sensitive, squirming and writhing with every drag of Trin’ hips.
“Faster,” he breathes demandingly and Trin obeys without thought, one sharp thrust making the desk shake and Victor sigh in delight. Trin’s muscles are already burning, arms shaking as he leans both palms on the desk, continuing the quick pace and trying his hardest to keep in control, but it’s really fucking difficult when Victor is moaning in a broken whimper of a voice that only makes him want to fuck harder.
He leans down further and starts pressing kisses to the back of Victor’s neck, the young man breathes out heavily, one hand blindly reaching down until he finds Trin’s and his fingers curl around his wrist. Trin slows down his thrusts briefly as he watches Victor pull up his hand and kiss his knuckles as if in reply, then sucking on his middle-finger and Trin nearly loses it right then and there.
He rips his hand away from Victor’s mouth, instead moving it down to wrap his fingers around Victor’s shaft and the young man gasps and the way he arches his spine is the most beautiful thing.
“Sh-shit, sir,” Victor can barely speak, Trin’s grip on his hip enough to bruise as he’s thrusting slow but deeper than before, angling it consciously to hit him where it feels best–at the same time, his hand on Victor’s cock stroking the shaft with a tight grip, pre-cum dripping over his fingers. “Fuck–fuck–I th-think I’m g-gonna–”
Trin can’t speak at all as he buries his teeth in Victor’s shoulder, eliciting a soft hiss as his thrusts grow more erratic and wild the more the heat builds up, threatening to swallow him whole. He’s not going to be able to keep this up for much longer.
Victor’s voice breaks halfway through a moan and Trin feels it before Victor can even warn him–a breathless gasp, fingers clawing at the desk, heat tightening around his cock in a sudden flex of muscle, and cum all over his hand.
“Holy shi–,” Trin’s orgasm rocks him so hard he loses all grasp on words, mouth dropping open in a soundless moan as the pleasure singes his nerves from head to toe. He nearly collapses on top of Victor but manages to keep himself upright, both of them not moving at all for a moment.
Cum-stained desk aside, this was definitely one of the better experiences he’s ever had in sex.
Victor stares up at him and smirks slightly when Trin still hasn’t moved, too dazed to. “Mind pulling out, sir?”
Trin blinks and realizes this must be starting to feel uncomfortable for Victor, nodding briefly and carefully pulling his softening member out. Taking a step back, he rolls off the condom and drops it in the little trash can. Victor has already opened a drawer and is cleaning himself up with a tissue, pants still around his ankles and unabashed about his nudity.
In the aftermath, however, more than a few questions arise as Trin nervously zips himself up and tries not to look at the young man he just fucked over his desk when he’d been teaching him just a week ago.
“So,” He clears his throat as Victor pulls his pants up. “Are you hu-”
“You have my number, right?” Victor interrupts him as he reaches down for his shirt, snatching it up and slipping it back on.
Trin nods, and Victor merely smiles at him. “Cool.”
And that is all he says before picking up his bag and walking toward the exit with a slight limp in his step, which Trin notes with quiet satisfaction, leaving the classroom and him behind.
Trin gazes at his back, full of mixed emotions, as he unlocks the door. “Does that mean–”
“It means call me, sir.” Victor replies with a wink before slipping out the door without another word, closing it softly behind him, just like the way he came in.
Trin practically collapsed into his seat a moment later, still reeling from the entire ordeal and half-convinced he had just survived a very elaborate daydream.
He looked down at the mess left behind on his desk and groaned.
He was going to have to clean that up.