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thalwri · 2 months ago

Text

TEACH ME, SIR!

part 2!

STARRING: art professor!rafayel x art student!reader

synopsis: you've been struggling in your art classes, and your professor hadn't made it any easier for you. who would have thought he'd come looking for you when you stopped coming to the lessons?

warnings: porn with plot, all characters are aged up (and in university), fingering, body worship, cunnilingus, cockblocking, male masturbation, dirty talk, cock slapping, overstimulation, cum eating, pure filth.

wc: 7,5k

MINORS DON'T INTERACT!

you were more than prepared to throw that chunk of clay out the window. you could feel the pressure looming over you, mostly on your neck. you were just over a month away from your practical exam and you were drowning in absolute shit.

how did you end up in this unworthy predicament?

out of the kindness of your heart, and the fact that you owed them big time, you decided to take up an art course with one of your closest friends so that she wouldn’t be lonely throughout the semester.

you were registered and everything, with the needed supplies clean and fresh and ready for use. the glossy joy of it slowly disappeared when you slowly came to realise over the following days that your friend wasn’t attending classes for a reason. she dropped out. not of the class. of the university. and ran to another country with her boyfriend for a six month vacation.

perfect. now you were all on your own in an art class as someone who had no clue on how to draw, paint, or do anything art related. the only consolation – and misfortune – was your unnaturally handsome professor. despite his pretty face and alluring voice, he had a certain knack that always got on your nerves.

based off the rumours you’ve heard, professor rafayel worked as both a teacher of art and classical music, specialising in opera. apparently he had a voice so divine that half the auditorium fainted or fell ‘madly’ in love with him. his artwork was basically on par with his voice.

not only was he a renown artist globally, he often worked on pieces to send to the gallery near the university which attracted multiple art lovers from all corners of the world. he was rarely in lectures in the previous years but this year he decided to buckle down and teach full time.

and the first thing he had you do for your finals was a trial sculpture. you had started with something basic: a fish. a cute little fishie that would be surrounded by a wave. not too simplistic but it had enough detail to be easy to look at and mark.

you were almost certain your professor would compliment you for the detail you’ve meticulously added to your work. the way you’ve made something so simple so beautiful especially for your first time.

“it’s lazy.” that melodic voice quickly soured into a baneful buzz of noise. rafayel stared at your work with a hint of disdain on his face. your hopeful smile slowly fell in disbelief. you spent hours on that. hours. you could hear the giggles from the girls in the studio erupt behind you.

it wasn’t surprising that the professor had gathered a cutthroat fanbase of women who would do anything to gain his favour– and from some others, fuck him. solidarity clearly didn’t exist when it came to the illusive rafayel.

“this is something a child would do,” he scoffed, brushing his finger across the still-drying fins of your poor fish. “this may be a trial practice before the real thing, sure. but it’s no excuse to show no effort. you’ll get a 50 for this if it gets moderated.”

a pass. barely. those charming purple-blue eyes scanned your solemn face before he glided off to the next sculpture, immediately grazing the artist. but not as badly as he did with you.

you stared at your little fish, its form now scorned with the assault of his graceful, well maintained finger. for someone so effortlessly handsome, he was such a bitch. and you weren’t afraid to say it out loud. in fact, you did.

it came out as a mumble low enough not to be heard. yet he somehow did. those ethereal eyes glanced at you momentarily as if he acknowledged it, and a small grin curved on his lips.

you wouldn’t say you were accustomed to his ‘bullying’. however, it wasn’t the first time he’d pick on you. during the theory-based lectures, rafayel would turn his attention to you, poking and prodding you endlessly for the historical accounts of artists that you didn’t know existed. then he’d ask you – mind you, only you – which techniques should be used with which equipment for whichever type of painting style that came up in that stupidly pretty mind of his. that extensive mind covered and protected by a mane of purple wavy hair.

you had often wondered how soft his hair would be. and what his hands would feel like in yours. soft? calloused? he was always well dressed, adorned in expensive garb, always appearing in ways that would have any passerby fall madly in love.

he must have been some kind of siren. you were almost lucky you weren’t damned to hear his voice live.

but the picking and scolding was becoming unbearable. you were beginning to question your worth in the class. you knew you had minimal experience from the get-go, and you never dishonoured yourself by lying or trying to fake it.

with that being said, there’s only so much slander you can handle from not only your peers but your own professor before it becomes unbearable. eventually, like all straining predicaments, today was your inevitable breaking point.

you sat as you usually would, smack bang in the middle of the lecture hall, taking notes of whatever your professor said as quickly as possible. you took every word seriously, even if he repeatedly mentioned things like “you all should already know this,” or “which you should have learned from last year,”.

you had worked diligently, listening and writing and occasionally glancing at the board to keep up, in a constant flow determined to finish the course well. up until the lecture hall fell quiet, followed by multiple rings of notifications, even your phone vibrated.

and one by one, giggles erupted around you, gradually bursting into relentless chortles and laughs. the classmate seated beside you, showed you her phone revealing a devastating sight.

your trial sculpture, that was graded with a bare pass, was crushed and ruined before it could even dry. and right in front of the crime scene, stood a very familiar purple haired artist looking down on your besmirched work. his face was not fully clear in the image but you could see what you believed was a scowl.

with blurring vision, blinded by your tears scorching your eyes, you raised your gaze to rafayel and the professor’s face masked no shame, no grief, no remorse, just confusion. almost like he didn’t realise what had taken place.

but he must have. especially if he gave you such a low grade. your teeth ground and pressed against each other, forcing a tick in your jaw. you watched his face slowly contort in a slight realisation of what was happening. he stepped forward, his plump lips slowly split to speak but your things were already packed in your back and you were on your feet, ready to leave.

to make matters worse, the exposure clearly wasn’t enough to embarrass you. of course you had to sit in the middle of your row and stumble out under the sharp, scrutinising gaze of your peers. their snickers, hisses, and cruel whispers did not fall deaf to your ears. you absorbed them like a sponge, your face hardening more and more.

if it meant saving the last few threads of your dignity, you’d keep your head high. you stormed down the stairs, not sparing anyone a glance to push the doors wide open marking your escape.

and by your word, that was the last time you would ever touch that lecture theatre for the rest of the year.

“i shouldn’t have bothered with that course,” you hissed, stabbing your fork into a fresh pastry. “i should have dropped it when i had the chance.”

it had been three weeks since that embarrassing event. you kept your word to yourself and didn’t bother going to the lectures or the studio sessions. your absence initially did not go unnoticed. as expected, your more confident peers would occasionally tease you or laugh behind your back to get a kick at you. fortunately you knew better than to bite back.

like clockwork, the whispers dulled into eventual silence and you were at peace for once in the last few months. good riddance.

“you need to go back to your lectures.” zayne, a close companion of yours, muttered as he reached to have another piece of cake. that would be his third slice in the last hour. “your prac is in less than a week.”

“you’ve got a med lab tomorrow and yet you’re here for a limited cake.” you scoffed, watching his eyes light up in delight from the bursting flavour of chocolate mixing with vanilla. you wondered if he would have the same reaction with a carrot cake. mind you, he was likely going to be your future doctor.

“that handsome dickhead thinks he can almost fail my trial and then destroy it?” stab, stab, stab went your fork until it made the table shake. zayne swiftly held his plate up to protect his cake. “does he think i won’t report it to the dean?”

honestly, if you did there was a high chance you wouldn’t succeed. with rafayel’s reputation and the allegations of his donations to the university, you were more likely to be bullied into either apologising to rafayel for causing a ruckus or you’d be forced into silence. judging by the look on his face, zayne seemed to have the same idea.

“it’s only a month left of this crap. i’ve just got the prac and i can put all of it behind me. besides,” you stabbed the pastry again, visualising it as that stupid professor of yours. again and again, you stabbed until you felt it would reach your heart’s content.

and then a striking idea seeped into your mind. what better revenge than to crush him too?

“besides?” zayne repeated with a raised brow. he held out his hand, waiting for you to explain yourself.

“i have a plan.” your lips spread into a devilish grin. zayne cringed at the sight. he knew that face well. and it only meant trouble was near. “i’m going to make a sculpture of him. dying terribly.”

“isn’t that unethical?”

“i saw someone make a sculpture of their dick, i’ll be fine.”

your alarm went off abruptly, bringing your mind back to your revenge plot. you had already started creating rafayel’s annoyingly perfect head, using pictures you found of him online as a reference.

you were supposed to do it at the studio, but one of your senior art friends let you use their private room to prepare it. you would do anything if it meant you’d never have to see him more than you had to. after that stunt he pulled, he’d never get the chance to make fun of you again.

you quickly said your goodbyes to zayne – quickly swiping a bite from his cake – and rushed back to the art faculty, beelining straight to the private studios. you mind buzzed with images of you drowning rafayel in the ocean, watching him gracefully swim with fishes, of you burning him alive, of him seducing you with his looks and his tragically angelic voice as his bare form lay for you to replicate with clay–

a mere pause wasn’t enough for you to gauge what you were just thinking about. those juxtaposing thoughts had your hand on the wall to hold you upright in case you toppled over from your breath being wheezed right out of you.

since when did you find him that hot?

in all honesty, it wasn’t a lie. rafayel’s an insanely attractive man. truly, if you weren’t more reserved with your attraction to him, you’d probably tried to shoot your shot like all the other desperate people in your class.

his skin was almost pale like he had spent his entire life underwater, clear and soft and constantly emphasising his damn perfect features. not to mention the moles all over him. it was only up to your imagination what everything beneath his clothing was like. perhaps he hid his muscles well under his clothing.

you quickly shook your head, swatting away those mischievous thoughts about him. those visions of him kissing you, and painting you– fuck.

you deeply inhaled, filling your lungs with as much air as you could muster. your eyes fluttered shut, holding back the profanities brewing deep in your throat.

“that damned–“ within an instant your centre of gravity was toppled and travelled to your arm, which was bring dragged by an almost inhumane amount of strength.

you couldn’t look at who was pulling you without completely losing your balance and toppling over. you stumbled as your dragger’s pace sped up until you were yanked into complete darkness except the small ceiling lamp dimly illuminating the small space.

as your vision adjusted, you observed the room noting a second heavy breath outside of your own. you felt for whatever was close to you. soft bristles, cold metallic cylinders, the overwhelming smell of chemicals. of paint. this was the supply room.

“where were you?” a siren’s melody swam into your ears like water clearing out the impurities from your hearing. rafayel.

you swiftly turned to face him, following his voice. and fuck damn.

he was disheveled. like, roughed up like he ran all the way across campus just to find you. that dumb big chest of his rose up and down las if a child was using it as a trampoline. small beads of sweat dripped down the opening of his button-up shirt to his abdomen, hidden by silk.

he asked again. “where were you.” less of a question this time, more like a statement.

“that isn’t any of your business.” your eyes narrowed in scrutiny. why would he care?

“it is my business.” he protested, stepping towards you. instinctively, your legs took you an equivalent step back. this was reminding you too much of those cliche scenes– and they only ended in two ways.

to be frank, you wouldn’t have minded the more action-based ending. you may hate the man but that didn’t mean his face wasn’t pretty.

again and again he draws near and close, and again and again does the space between you and the cabinet full of paint grow smaller and smaller. your tongue slipped out, lubricating the small cracks forming on your dry lips.

a small groaned erupts in the room, rafayel slapped his hand over his mouth and halted in his steps. those purple-blue irises rolled back for a millisecond then returned both hazed and dilated. you tugged at the collar of your shirt, your body warming up the more you brought air into your lungs.

he was acting weirdly. was it the smell of paint?

“you haven’t been attending classes.” you couldn’t help but laugh. since when was that his concern? “it will affect your final mark.”

“i’ve checked the handbook,” you scowled. yes, you took the time to read the handbook in depth to make sure you weren’t going to get screwed for skipping lectures. “attendance is recommended but optional.”

pink slowly tinted his cheeks under the dim light, contradicting the enraged look on rafayel’s face– almost a bit too similar to the face he made when he scrutinised your sculpture. your lips twitched, almost exposing your smug satisfaction.

truly, you had no reason to be in his class anymore other than the fact that you had given too much of your time to it already. all those sleepless nights, those days of endurance, those moments of temptation– temptation to walk out the door and never turn back. you wanted it. you often felt that you desperately needed it.

but you knew better. your friends knew better. in those three weeks of your absence zayne persisted in ensuring you finished what you started, whether it was forcing you to work or giving you moral support by making his own botched version of whatever assignment you had to complete. though it did end up helping him when it came to making notes on anatomy.

you’ve had endless mounds of support in those three weeks. where you felt like absolute shit. where you wanted to just hide. where you were almost willing to drop out.

fucking rafayel wasn’t going to take that away from you. you had nothing to lose. and he wasn’t going to plague you any longer.

“so if you think dragging me into this supply room will do anything, it’ll only get you into a very dangerous meeting with the dean.” you harshly grinned, waving your phone in your hand. rafayel’s eyes slowly widened upon seeing what was displayed on the screen.

you were recording the conversation. you had been since you got tugged away.

“no donations and pretty artworks can take away the blow of harassment,” your phone rested on top of a can of paint on the floor as you glided towards him in a new air of confidence and spite. “professor.”

his response was disappointing. literally, he said and did nothing. like a marbled statue purely there to be admired. damn him, he was so unnecessarily handsome on a godly level. those disrespectful plump pink lips parted and closed as if trying to figure out what words to spout.

your smile twitched in agitation under his gaze scanning you from your hair to your skintight top pronouncing your curves, and back up to your face. your stance remained rigid, head held high and face taut with wavering spite.

rafayel’s calmness as unsettling, too calculating for your own preference. “you bite your pen when you concentrate in lectures, did you know that?” his voice dropped an octave, reaching a husky flow. a shiver rolled down your spine as it arched in response to his voice. like a siren calling a damned sailor.

“what?” your disbelief came out in a choked whisper. the moisture in your throat was wiped clean from you, leaving complete dryness almost worse than a desert.

“and you like to listen to the questions,” rafayel continued, moving closer to you in tandem with your rising pulse. his eyes were locked on yours, dragging you deeper into his abyss intending not to let you go. “you bite your lip whenever my voice deepens. and you always have questions but choose not to ask.”

he was getting too close. you were too close. the heat of his breath fanned your skin as his height forced you to raise your gaze to maintain your stare-off. something about it felt a little too hot for your liking. your skin prickled in sensitivity rubbing against the fabric of your clothing.

there was no way this was getting you aroused. no fucking way.

“do you know why you don’t ask?” his hand gripped the edge of the cabinet, just a few centimetres from your head. the distance between your lips slowly yet inevitably closed. your breath was trapped in your throat almost clawing for release but it remained trapped.

“you’re scared.”

“i’m not afraid of drawing, rafayel.” first name basis already? you were really testing your luck. you expected him to return to that unsettling silence again before telling you that your suspension was pending.

instead, rafayel broke into a chuckle, sweat-slick chest and shoulders shaking as he laughed. he quickly straightened his lips upon seeing your eye twitch, only to burst into another fit of suppressed laughs.

“who in their mind would be afraid of a bit of paint?” his voice returned to that familiar serene, light tone. the one that brought half the student body to its knees. “no, no, no. i’ve managed to reduce it to two things.”

you instantly jerked back as far as you could – which wasn’t really that far because were already at your dead end – and balled your hand into a tight fist, ready to punch him square in the jaw. the side of your neck tickled with heat as his lips hovered by your ear.

“me, or the chance that you’ll do incredibly well.”

bewildered was an understatement. you were discombobulated at the least. you couldn’t even say it was a bizarre assumption because it was true.

not the fact that you were afraid of rafayel– he’s a walking model who pouts whenever someone speaks to him with a bit more sass than him. even his relentless critique of you doesn’t illicit fear. the only thing he’s gained from that was you growing to despise him.

but your confidence in your artistic abilities were never high. remember, you only joined the course for your friend. and they ditched you last minute. you walked into the studio with the mindset of knowing that you were likely to fail even if you put your hardest work in.

clearly, he noticed.

“you walked into my class knowing nothing,” rafayel leaned back to face your gaze once more with a stern look on his face. “it’s only understandable that you’d be afraid of messing it up. i can see it in your art. i can sense the fear.”

“yeah, right.” you huffed, turning your face away to blink away the stinging sensation burning your eyes. “you prefer to call it lazy and then destroy it.”

for the first time in however long its been since you were trapped in this room with him, rafayel’s facade broke. a flicker of guilt flashed in his gaze. then confusion.

“destroy?”

“don’t act coy.” he could not just play coy. “you destroyed my trial sculpture. there are pictures of it spreading everywhere. you know what you did.”

rafayel slowly shook his head. “i found it like that,” his voice was grave, eyes almost darkened just from the memory. “i was trying to get a scope of the damage to see if i could redo it for you, but it was beyond repair.”

a grave heaviness weighed on your heart. he wanted to fix it? despite being so cruel to you he was that willing to repair your work on your behalf… but that didn’t answer the footage.

“and the picture?” what was meant to come out as a scrutinising hiss escaped as a whisper, holding back the many tears brewing in your eyes.

“i had heard giggles outside the studio, but they ran out before i could check.” his perfect brows furrowed as he observed you. it was more than just intuitive for him to comfort you, console your shock away. his hand reached to hold your arm, to transfer his remorse through his body’s warmth. “i am sorry about what happened to your sculpture. really.”

“don’t.” the involuntary pang in rafayel’s chest did not go unnoticed. his lungs filled with shaking air, unsure of how to proceed. you weren’t pushing him away nor were you hiding. it looked like you were equally as unsure.

“the mark you gave it–“ you seethed, voice cracking as the venom of your tongue delivered each words with malice. “the embarrassment. the shame it left me drowning in, all of it. it was you. and you think you can play innocent and ask why i haven’t shown up?”

rafayel’s fingers twitched, hovering over your skin hesitant to move away. perhaps he was too hard on you, too particular in his interest to monitor your growth in the arts. his face scrunched up, unsure of what you’d allow him to try without violating your space.

“you think you can use that stupidly pretty face to ask for forgiveness?” it was clearly intended to be a mumble that he wasn’t supposed to hear but he did. loud and clear. the tips of his ears instantly warmed and his brows rose.

“stupidly pretty face?”

shit.

of course he heard you. of course he fucking heard you call him pretty. you just wanted to crawl into a pint of paint and choke on it until it filled your lungs with chemical pigment. and there was no way out of this too. rafayel quite literally had you trapped with his body.

his tall, divinely sculpted, soft, gorgeous body. that artistically designed form that you’ve dreamt of touching, that you’ve touched yourself to in your quiet nights– not that you’d ever admit it to anyone let alone him.

warm, almost hot, fingers slide up your arm trailing the standing hairs on your skin. they rounded your shoulder and meeting with the fabric of your clothing, fondling it to check its quality. they reached higher, and hotter, slow and intentional feeling the curve of your throat until the pad of his thumb reached your chin, lifting it until your gaze found his. a raw, newfound level of unspoken, familiar need engulfed you— and you weren’t uncomfortable with it.

“you think i’m pretty?” that husk tone returned, tickling away your nerves replacing them with something more feral.

“everyone does.” you huffed, trying to maintain the front of rafayel’s charms not affecting you. it was almost obvious to you both that you’d fallen in deep.

and yet despite embarrassing yourself, rafayel refused to back down. his thumb’s touch on your chin roughened into a grip with his hand. a mischievous glint twinkled in his eyes.

“say it again.”

it was either the way he said it or the way he looked at you while saying it. regardless, it left your core warm and throbbing with an unprecedented level of need. this was wrong but it felt so right.

you slowly swallowed. “say what?”

the distance between your lips slowly closed, bit by bit. “that i have a stupidly pretty face.”

“no.”

his soft laugh fanned your face like a warm, mint scented breeze. “say it.”

your eyes darted between his own, noting how unnatural yet befitting the colours mixes and emphasised his almost inhumane beauty. it used to sink you yet now you could tell he was starting to drown in yours.

“make me.”

an erratic charge surged between you like lightning striking a tense, hot night. rafayel softly tutted, shaking his head– almost desperate to shake off his unspoken desire to pursue this. to pursue you. his hands did not leave you though. his grip on your face returned to your neck, securing a gentle hold on the base of your exposed flesh, both soft and pulsating with nerves.

rafayel pressed his forehead on yours, your connection anchoring him to reality and restraining his needs. “tell me you think i’m pretty.” his eyes grew heavy with heat, hazing in and out of focus as they moved from your spit-slick lips, your eyes, and every distinguishable feature on your face.

in twisted, lewd synchrony, your lower lip found itself caught seductively in the bite of your teeth. the corners of your lips twitched like they wanted to expose your snarky grin. like your body wanted to show rafayel how you’ve dreamt of that moment.

you should be pushing him away. you should minutes ago. but you didn’t. you didn’t want to. your eyes fluttered shut as rafayel’s grip on your face tightened, finally pulling you both into the passionate embrace of your lips.

the first contact was a shock, forcing you into a soft jolt. his lips were even softer than you imagined, his hands gentle yet crushing to keep you in his hold rubbing small circles on your skin with his thumb.

then the erratic hunger kicked in like a shot of vodka. your faces pushed deeper into each other almost desperate to keep yourselves deep in your embrace. your fingers tangled in his soft locks, your mind drowning in the flowing currents of his scent.

lips waltzing in a push and pull fell into an intoxicating dance of tug and bite. it drove you insane until it was just too much.

you slowly pulled your head back, still connected to him by his teeth latched onto your lower lip nibbling at your swollen flesh.

“this can’t be right.” you sighed against his lips, leaning your head back to catch some air without feeling like your face will get hotter. “we must be violating some code of conduct.”

that irritating chuckle escaped his lips again. “then push me away.”

you should have. you definitely should have. before you could even consider it you found your lips back on his, drooling tongue sweeping past the enclosure of his lips to meet his. it was hot and deliciously wet meeting in a careless fight to taste as much as your breaths could allow.

you rolled your hips against his– slight and subtle– just enough to feel a slight brush of him. to feel it. he felt so big and thick.

a sharp curse flooded your ears, his hands tugged at your waist to pull you closer and make you feel it. his fingers twitched and squeezed you, caressing your waist without abandon, rising ruthlessly higher until his hands disappeared under your shirt. he was boiling, a human inferno trapped in a body of flesh and bone restricted by restraint yet fuelled with hunger.

they reached inchingly closer to the swell of your breasts, barely contained by your bra– you needed him to rip it off at this point. they curved over the lace and enclosed on each one, pulling your perked nipples out to fondle.

his tight hold on you dragged out a sound not meant to leave your lips. it was enough to make him snap. two hot bodies pressed to each other, clothing almost completely unravelled, and the door behind you still unlocked.

the air was thick and hot with heavy pressure and mutual need.

a low grunt rumbled deep in rafayel’s throat as he pulled away from the intoxication that was your lips. “tell me to stop.” his lips ghosted over your skin, dragging a light trail of your mixed saliva down your neck until it stopped with a gentle peck. “tell me to walk away.”

“fuck no.” you panted. your hand tugged at his soft hair, pushing him deeper into your neck. “finish what you started.”

he laughed against your skin, marvelled by how much wittier you became when you weren’t tense. when you were fogged in temptation. he could only imagine how much more of you he’d experience the further down his lips went.

perhaps you tasted just as good as you smelt. his knees buckled at the thought, the mere sight of his eyes looking up to you as you lost composure was as unprofessional as it could get. his cock throbbed in his slacks, pumping so loudly he could barely hear himself breathe.

still gripping your fleshy mounds, rafayel sunk beneath your gaze never breaking contact with your beautiful eyes. one hand slowly crept down out of the warmth of your shirt to your alarmingly short skirt.

it was the third time he had seen you wear it since you joined his class. and every time his eyes were attached to you more than before. the vision of raising it above your pretty ass had always crossed his mind but he always had the mind to maintain decorum. the sea must have blessed him with this privilege today.

“need to eat you,” he whispered into your skin, spreading kisses all over you like invisible marks of his name. “taste you.”

your imagination conjured many things for you to indulge in, but this was beyond what even you could dream of. his glossy gaze, deliberate hot touch, his damned soft lips searing you with his affections… how could you say no?

your head hit the edge of the cabinet as you nodded in desperation, so needy for his mouth to explore you everywhere, so aroused that nothing could hold you back from sinking deeper and deeper. your legs slowly split apart, welcoming rafayel’s gentle hand with grace.

completely sat on the floor, the professor stared at your legs in a daze of reverence and worship. he was salivating the scent of your dripping pussy reeling him in like a fish swimming to bait. and he wouldn’t even consider himself damned if it meant being hooked by you.

his grip tightened on your thigh, fingers pressing into you to memorise your shape and how you felt by his touch. his hand slid down your leg in a great struggle to hold onto the last of his restraint while your pants and soft moans just made things so much worse.

“don’t make too much noise,” he quietly groaned, licking a line up your thigh up to the lacy panties covering your warmth. his eyes rolled back as your scent flooded his senses like a drug. in a fuss, rafayel pushed your skirt up revealing red lace.

he almost came on the spot.

his fingers slipped between the hem, feeling you up and down. he just had to go a bit further… just a little to get a taste of that sweet nectar. his eyes darted upwards to find you completely disheveled, pretty lips parted, chest heaving with your nipples pressed against your shirt, and your hands holding his head as close to your cunny as possible.

rafayel’s lips curved into a lustful smile and finally pushed his fingers further into your panties, brushing over your sensitive nub. a sharp gasp sounded in the room, his scalp ached from the harsh tug you forced on him before slowly pushing him back where he was.

you were so cute.

you didn’t feel cute. you felt like you were boiling up, throbbing to the point where it hurt, dripping like a fucking river. you were surprised your wetness wasn’t dripping down your legs already. rafayel was definitely the type to lick it up to prevent it going to waste.

his fingers crept around your clit, ghosting circles round and round in a teasing tickle almost like he wanted to pull a reaction out of you. every subtle reaction, every jolt and twitch, and every hesitant tug at his hair made his hips jut into the air with his cock roughly straining his slacks.

he tilted his head, lips enclosing around your clothed clit, swiping his tongue sloppily around you, loudly moaning at your taste. his fingers finally found your pussy, soaking before they even went inside you. you slapped your hand over your mouth. he was going to drive you insane.

loud squelches echoed around you with his fingers teasing and tapping your hole to draw out as much of your nectar as he could. your pussy lips were as swollen the lips he kissed and bit, sensitive to his finger sliding up and down before slowly plunging into you.

just as his lips parted more– a loud bang! shocked you both out of your trance of indulgence. you yelped and jerked back, pussy walls tightening around his fingers as he swiftly moved his head away from your core– a string of saliva connecting him to your clit cruelly reminding him how far he let his desire take him.

the shockwave of the noise sent the door rattling as if someone was about to walk in on you. rafayel adjusted your underwear back in place and tugged your skirt down, rearranging it so that you were somewhat presentable. your hands shakily fixed his messed hair in a sore attempt to ignore the aching need your pussy screamed to you.

your clothes stuck to your skin from the heat, your vision hazed by lust and interrupted pleasure so filthy and sinful that you couldn’t help but bite your lip.

rafayel licked his lips as he rose to his feet, knees aching even though it felt like he had only been beneath you for seconds. he straightened his clothing, mustering the courage to face your gaze. you were dangerously close. dangerously beautiful. dangerously arousing. he just had to kiss you again.

“i’ll deal with the person that damaged your sculpture.” his voice both husky and cracked still rumbled deep within you. “please forgive me and the incident.”

without another word, he stalked out of the supply room leaving you to fully dissect what just happened.

he almost ate you out.

rafayel, your professor, almost ate you out. in a supply room. and he left you in need for so much more. a single step would send your poor clit, and your pussy really, into a frenzy– both sore and soaked, vibrating with pleasure.

you were going to have to figure out how to deal with it.

but rafayel was determined to deal with it now.

he almost sprinted to his office, dizzy with lust. it was locked and dark with only candles giving him light. stacks of paper was spread out all over his desk left abandoned while he sat in front of his recent work– a completely blank canvas.

gods, his length was already leaking through his pants and aching so fucking hard that any subtle movement would have him cumming for hours.

rafayel didn’t bother removing himself with the delicacy of taking care of himself properly. his hands fumbled at the buckle of his belt, fingers slipping out of control before he could tug it off and toss it to the floor.

his vision was blurring him blind and abandoned him in the memory of your lips, your divine mixing scent, your melodic voice, and your taste. your noses had brushed and bumped into each other while his tongue ventured deep in your mouth, tasting the remains of the sweet pastry and bitter coffee you had consumed beforehand.

the office was somehow as hot as he was, the air burned with the fading remnants of your scent driving into a state of great distress. the zipper to his pants were already forced down from the sheer will of his cock raging and throbbing against its confines. he barely bothered himself with pulling them down, hurriedly gripping his girthy length both recklessly pulsating and near suffocating in dribbling precum.

his fingers rose to his lips, rubbing at the swollen effect of you attacking him with your teeth. it still stung from a light touch and that only aroused him more. his fingers were still sticky from caressing and plunging into your juicy cunny— explicitly reminding him how delicious you were.

without further thought, he pushing his digits on his salivating tongue and the flavours that were you burst into his senses like an inferno raging through a dry forest. rafayel’s eyes fluttered as they rolled back, a loud and deep moan soon to follow.

“f-fuck.” he could just curse and curse for hours. “you did this to me.”

his tongue swirled between his fingers to absorb and savour as much of you as it could. he wasn’t too sure on whether he’d get the privilege to be so close to you again. he suckled on the tips of his finger like he would with that swollen clit of yours. fuck, you just somehow got a grip on him that he couldn’t shake off.

every moment he spent observing you just made him attach more and more even when he knew he shouldn’t have. but you intrigued him. your determination despite your lack of confidence. your thick skin in the face of his - often unnecessary - critique.

not to mention of good your lips felt with his own.

a shaky sigh shuddered out his lips as his hand slowly stroked up and down reaching to his base and tickling the leaky slit of his reddened tip. his hips jerked into his hand violently sending his head lolling back over the couch.

the tandem rhythm of his hips remained constant, thrusting into the air and being squeezed tightly by his hand to simulate that jaw clenching strength your pussy walls used to grip on him. no matter how hard he’d try nothing would be able to replicate the effect you had on him.

your name bouncing on the walls in an endless prayer turned to a song of moans and grunts. rafayel’s saliva-slick hand ran down his neck to his chest and slipped through his shirt to circle his perked nipples now rendered completely sensitive to even a breath.

while feeling each vine surrounding his cock pulsate, a lewd idea slithered into his mind like his most devious desires slipping right out to control him. he was so painfully hard it hurt. his clothes were sticking to his skin, dampened by his sweat and precum mixed together.

and then he raised his palm and struck it across his cock. smack! the sound struck through the room like thunder.

a gasp, then a laugh, then another smack! followed by a husky moan.

the sting melted into rousing pleasure so instantaneously it almost gave him whiplash. he did it again.

smack!

and again.

smack!

up until the pain was enough to knock him unconscious. with each swing, his cock flew back upwards and jutted into the air shooting drops of precum up. rafayel bit his lip at the sight, greedily laughing at the pure slutty act he performed for himself.

he could only dream for you to do the same thing.

his hand did not stop once it returned to stroking. the plap! plap! rapidly sounding as his hand fisted his cock to oblivion was disrespectfully slick. but it could be so much wetter. rafayel swiftly leaned over his length and spat straight onto his sobbing cockhead, pulling his hand right up to swirl and mix it all with his palm.

the wet friction alone was debilitating. he fucked himself into his hand like a rabid animal in intense heat, rutting like a fool drunken by a mere whiff of your scent. his hips lifted right off the couch, chasing his climax and hand that wasn’t even running from him– though could imagine you would.

“so– fucking– tight–“ he squeezed harder until his entire cock was red. the pain no longer affected him. his only devotion was hitting his edge in the hopes that it would feel like a fraction of what it would be like inside you.

inside your wet mouth, stretched wide open for him, drooling down your chin right onto your tits. or even inside your sweet cunny, throbbing and fluttering as your walls squeeze him with each thrust that tickles you to multiple orgasms.

“take it– take– oh fuck.” his voice cracked into a whiny whimper as his hands rolled over his leaking slit every time his hand brushed over his tip. the other hand continued to assault his chest, abusing his sensitivity to the max.

the hand pumping his cock raised to smack it over and over, left and right in a broken tempo. his cock jumped, legs practically shivering from the pleasure and spreading wider and wider like you sat between them to take him deep in your mouth.

he couldn’t help himself. smack! the pain felt so good. smack! it was so wrong yet so stupidly right. smack! he’d do this for hours if he could. his core tightened, awaiting his incoming climax as his cock pulsed in a plea for him to stroke it to oblivion.

his grip became utterly brutal, rapidly pumping his shaft like his hand was a fucking fleshlight. he was messy, wet, and his lewd mixture of fluid was dripping down his legs onto the couch beneath him, staining and soaking the fabric. he twisted his hand right at the tip shocking his senses beyond the board.

he brought his hand to his tongue, lapping up all the precum sitting so impolitely on him, swallowing every drop like sacred water. his free hand slid down to finish what he started and rubbed and stroked with the intention to push him right to the end.

his body tensed as one more cruel squeeze snapped the tight thin rope within him. his eyes crossed, seeing only pure white. his breath hitched, and thick ropes of hot, sticky cum shot up like rockets and splattered all over him like fallen paint.

moans and whimpers shivered out of him like a broken record, your name remained mixed within his curses. his hand didn’t stop its relentless strokes. it persisted in dragging him through his high no matter how many times he’d try to stop himself.

his cock ached and weeped, leaking hot white all over his hand as it gradually slowed. it had gone right up to his chin. rafayel lowly groaned, both fucked out and ruined beyond comprehension. ruined by his own hand and the thought of what more you could have done in that supply room.

rafayel raised his shaking hand to his face, analysing the way it glistened over his flushed skin. his tongue poked out of his lips and swiped all the way up from his wrist to the tip of his finger then took it deep inside. the flavour of his own juices mixed with your own, drawing a lustful moan from him.

he slurped it all up, licking his hand completely clean in an obscene and deliberate manner. like he was putting on a show for you, even though you weren’t actually there, and swallowed it all with great satisfaction.

he slouched into the couch, breath still laboured and heavy. he was still filthy and drenched and yet he still had the greed for so much more.

that beautiful laugh replaced the echoes of his lewd noises once his high slowly dissipated.

all that from a kiss?

rafayel was fucked.

might just post a calm part ii if you guys like it

#✧.* thalwri #✧.* thalwri works #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #lnds smut #lads rafayel #rafayel smut #lads smut #rafayel x you #lnds rafayel #l&ds rafayel #love and deep space rafayel #rafayel #love and deepspace

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