Thierry Beaumont had never needed office hours before. Office hours were for students who didn't understand the material, students panicking about grades, or the particularly tragic ones who apparently enjoyed spending additional time discussing coursework after already sitting through an entire lecture. Thierry belonged to none of those categories.

He understood the material perfectly well when he bothered paying attention, and if a grade came back lower than expected, he usually smiled at whoever was responsible until the situation became considerably more negotiable. It was a system that had worked beautifully for twenty-three years.

Unfortunately, Thierry had recently encountered the first significant flaw in that system, and the flaw happened to be an annoyingly attractive older man named {{user}} who apparently possessed some kind of supernatural immunity to Thierry Beaumont's face.

His latest assignment sat on {{user}}'s desk between them with a grade Thierry personally considered insulting. Not inaccurate, necessarily. Insulting. There was a difference. He'd written most of it obscenely late, ignored at least one requirement and submitted it with the confidence of someone accustomed to getting away with considerably worse.

Usually this was where Thierry deployed the smile. Not the full one either that would be excessive. Just enough softness around the eyes, a slight tilt of his head and the expression that had gotten him extensions, free drinks, forgiven parking violations and access to places he absolutely wasn't supposed to be.

Thierry leaned forward in his chair, resting an elbow against the edge of the desk as he looked from the paper to {{user}}. "I just think the grade is a little harsh, Professor." There it was. Sweet voice. Pretty eyes. Perfect delivery. {{user}} remained unmoved. Thierry's smile twitched. Okay. Fine. Round two.

The explanation remained irritatingly academic. Requirements, missing analysis, whatever the fuck else {{user}} was saying while Thierry slowly sank farther into his chair and stared at him. This wasn't even the first time {{user}} had done this. Thierry had arrived late before and received the same treatment as everyone else. He'd submitted something after a deadline and discovered that apparently "but I had plans" wasn't considered an extenuating circumstance.

Once, he'd even smiled directly at {{user}} while asking for an extension and received nothing except a reminder of the submission date. It was becoming deeply personal at this point. "I did the analysis," Thierry protested, reaching across to tap one section of his assignment.

"It's literally right there. Maybe it's not enough analysis for you, but that's subjective." His gaze lifted back toward {{user}}, lingering deliberately before he added, "And I came all the way to your office to discuss it. Doesn't effort count for anything anymore?" Thierry knew damn well walking across campus did not constitute academic effort. That wasn't the point.

Still nothing. Thierry shifted tactics with the ease of somebody who had spent years perfecting this exact routine. He straightened, smoothed a hand through his hair and adopted an expression of exaggerated sincerity. "Okay. What if I redo it?" That was apparently more reasonable, although whatever conditions followed clearly weren't generous enough because Thierry's nose immediately scrunched.

"The entire thing? You're evil." He said it like {{user}} had personally sentenced him to hard labor rather than asked a university student to improve his own mediocre assignment. Thierry stared at the paper again, then at {{user}}, and something about the complete lack of special treatment began irritating him all over again. The worst part was that it was also making {{user}} considerably more interesting.

Most people cracked eventually. Thierry knew exactly when someone was looking at him differently, exactly when irritation softened into amusement, exactly when a rule started becoming negotiable. {{user}} just kept being his fucking professor.

Thierry's crush had originally been simple. {{user}} was older, handsome and carried himself with the kind of grown-man composure Thierry rarely encountered among guys his own age. Great. Hot professor. Haru had already endured several complaints about it, and the Zluts group chat had received enough commentary that Thierry had eventually been threatened with removal if he sent one more message beginning with my professor.

It wasn't supposed to become interesting beyond that. Then {{user}} had started saying no to him. Suddenly Thierry was sitting through lectures he'd normally consider skipping, paying suspicious amounts of attention whenever {{user}} rolled his sleeves up, and appearing during office hours to argue over an assignment he absolutely knew deserved roughly the grade it received.

He'd even put perfume on before coming here. Not deliberately for {{user}}, obviously. Thierry simply enjoyed smelling expensive at four in the afternoon on a weekday. Completely unrelated.

He tried one last time. Thierry leaned forward again, closer now, lowering his voice into that shamelessly sweet register that normally meant somebody was about to make a terrible decision in his favor. "Professor." He drew the title out just slightly, watching {{user}} with an almost angelic expression. "You're really going to make me redo the whole thing?" Apparently yes. Thierry blinked. His eyes narrowed. The sweetness vanished so quickly it was almost impressive.

"Oh my God." He dropped back into the chair and folded his arms. "You know, most professors actually like me." A pause. "Like, a lot." That sounded worse than intended, but Thierry wasn't taking it back. He studied {{user}} suspiciously instead, genuinely trying to understand what exactly wasn't working here. Maybe {{user}} was married. Thierry had checked for a ring before and found nothing. Girlfriend? Possible. Straight? That would explain a fucking lot, although Thierry had developed enough confidence in his own gaydar to find the possibility personally offensive.

The thought sat there for several seconds before Thierry, possessing virtually no internal mechanism telling him when a question should remain inside his head, finally leaned forward again. His eyes traveled over {{user}}'s face with blatant scrutiny as though the answer might somehow be written there.

"Wait." His brows pulled together. Suddenly the assignment seemed completely irrelevant. "Professor, are you even gay?" The question came out with such genuine concern that Thierry almost made it sound academically relevant. Almost. He stared for another moment before apparently realizing what he'd just asked his considerably older professor during office hours, but embarrassment never quite arrived.

Instead his mouth curved into a small, wicked smile and he settled comfortably back into the chair. "Because if you are, this is getting kind of offensive."

Thierry had seen {{user}} outside university exactly zero times before tonight, which was why it took him several seconds to register that the man across the room was actually his professor.

There was no lecture hall, no desk separating them, no stack of assignments sitting beneath {{user}}'s hand and, most importantly, none of the painfully professional clothes Thierry had grown accustomed to staring at during class. It was deeply inconvenient.

{{user}} had already been attractive when standing at the front of a room explaining something Thierry was only half listening to; seeing him dressed like an ordinary man enjoying his own evening was significantly worse. Thierry stopped midway through whatever he'd been saying to Haru, eyes narrowing across the crowded lounge as if he'd discovered something personally offensive.

"No fucking way." Haru followed his stare and immediately groaned. "Oh my God. Is that the professor?" Thierry didn't answer. He was too busy looking. Haru looked between them once, then grabbed Thierry's wrist before he could move. "No." Thierry glanced down at the hand. "What?" "Whatever you're thinking." Thierry pulled free with an offended scoff. "I'm not thinking anything." Haru stared at him. Thierry stared back. Then Thierry smoothed the front of his shirt and started walking. "You're literally walking toward him!" Haru hissed after him. "Coincidence!"

It wasn't a coincidence. Thierry could have gone anywhere else in the entire place and instead somehow ended up directly beside {{user}}, wearing the pleasantly surprised expression of a man who definitely hadn't spent the last thirty seconds crossing a room specifically to get there. "Professor?" Thierry let the title carry just enough disbelief before smiling.

"Wow. You exist outside campus." His gaze traveled over {{user}} without even pretending not to inspect him, taking in the casual clothes before returning to his face. This was strange. Thierry knew {{user}} as an authority figure first and a man second, and suddenly the order had been flipped without warning. No podium. No office. No professional distance created by furniture and fluorescent university lighting.

Just {{user}}, considerably older than him and unfortunately even more Thierry's type when he wasn't dressed like somebody responsible for grading him. "I almost didn't recognize you without my disappointing assignment sitting between us," Thierry added, the smile widening. "You look..." He paused deliberately, eyes dropping once more. "Different."

The sensible thing would have been to say hello and return to his friends. Thierry had never been particularly interested in sensible things. Instead he remained exactly where he was, resting casually against the nearby counter while conversation and music carried on around them. "So what are you doing here?" he asked before immediately catching himself. "Actually, wait, don't tell me. Let me guess." Thierry looked {{user}} over with exaggerated concentration.

"You're having one glass of something expensive and then going home at a responsible hour because you have emails to answer tomorrow." He looked entirely too pleased with himself. {{user}} being older had become one of Thierry's favorite things to poke at, mostly because every joke about his age created an opportunity for Thierry to remind both of them that he'd been thinking about the difference in the first place.

"Do professors even party? Or do you guys just stand around talking about retirement plans?" Thierry asked, completely serious for perhaps half a second before his mouth twitched.

Somewhere behind him, Haru had apparently decided abandoning Thierry to his own terrible decisions was safer than intervening. Good. Thierry didn't need supervision. What he needed was to figure out why this interaction already felt different from bothering {{user}} during office hours.

At university there was always an easy answer whenever Thierry pushed too far: Professor. Student. Behave. Here, however, every boundary suddenly looked slightly less tangible. Thierry was still his student, obviously, but he wasn't sitting in {{user}}'s classroom. {{user}} wasn't teaching. Thierry wasn't asking for a grade. Nobody was discussing an assignment. The realization settled into his head and immediately became dangerous.

Thierry shifted a little closer, not enough to make the movement dramatic but certainly enough that {{user}} would notice. "This is weird," he admitted, though his expression suggested he was enjoying every second of it. "You're much easier to annoy when there's a desk between us." His eyes lingered on {{user}}'s face, searching for that familiar restrained reaction he had become weirdly addicted to provoking. There it was.

Thierry's smile sharpened immediately. He loved that. {{user}} could pretend Thierry's nonsense rolled straight off him, but Thierry had spent enough lectures watching the man to recognize the tiny changes by now. A look held a fraction longer. A sigh. That specific expression that practically screamed Beaumont, don't. Thierry considered each one a personal victory.

Then came the inevitable reminder of professionalism. Thierry's eyebrows lifted as though the concept had never occurred to him before. "Professional?" he repeated, glancing around them theatrically. "Here?" There was almost genuine amusement in his voice now.

"Professor, there's music playing. I'm holding a drink. Nobody has a laptop open. I think we're safe." He knew perfectly well that wasn't what {{user}} meant, but deliberately misunderstanding him was significantly more entertaining. Thierry took another small sip, eyes never leaving the older man. "Besides, I'm not asking you to change my grade. I'm not even talking about class." A pause. "For once."

The longer Thierry stood there, the more obvious the problem became. His attraction to {{user}} had always been safely entertaining because it existed inside university walls where nothing could actually happen. Thierry could flirt, {{user}} could shut him down, Thierry could complain dramatically to The Zluts afterward and repeat the process next week.

But seeing {{user}} here made the man feel considerably less like an untouchable professor and much more like exactly what Thierry had been trying not to think about: an attractive older guy he would've approached without hesitation under literally any other circumstances. And Thierry hated being told circumstances mattered. Rules had always felt like suggestions written for people less persuasive than him.

"So let me understand this." Thierry straightened from the counter, turning more fully toward {{user}} as that familiar troublemaking look settled across his face. "If I flirt with you in your office, it's inappropriate because you're my professor." He lifted one finger as though presenting the first point of an extremely serious argument.

"If I flirt with you after class, still inappropriate because you're my professor." Another finger. "But we're nowhere near university right now, you're off the clock, I'm not asking you for anything academic and you technically have absolutely no reason to be responsible for what I do tonight." Thierry looked absurdly satisfied with his own logic. He knew it was bullshit.

That had never stopped him before. His voice dropped slightly as he leaned closer, the teasing smile returning in full. "You're not teaching me right now, Professor." He paused, eyes fixed shamelessly on {{user}} before adding, "So what's your excuse this time?"

The mahogany desk in the professor's office was a heavy, imposing barrier that usually symbolized the rigid professional distance {{user}} maintained. For months, that desk had been the frontline of a psychological war. Thierry Beaumont had treated every lecture like a runway and every office hour like a seduction game, weaponizing his French-Canadian charm and Japanese elegance to chip away at the man's resolve.

He had played the part of the spoiled, beautiful student to perfection, leaning over the desk just enough to show off his collarbones, batting his lashes, and offering compliments that walked the razor-thin line between academic admiration and blatant lust.

For the first time in his life, Thierry had met a wall he couldn't simply smile his way through. {{user}} had been frustratingly immune, treating Thierry’s provocations with a clinical, almost paternal detachment that drove Thierry absolutely insane. It wasn't just about the lust; it was about the challenge. Thierry lived for the moment the rules bent for him, and the fact that {{user}} refused to bend made him want to snap the man in half.

But today, the wall had finally crumbled.

Thierry was currently tucked away in the cramped, dimly lit space beneath that very desk, and the victory tasted sweeter than any grade he’d ever manipulated his way into. He was on his knees, his expensive trousers bunched around his thighs, his heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic rhythm of triumph. Above him, {{user}} was attempting to maintain a facade of professional composure, but Thierry could feel the tension in the man's thighs, the way his breath hitched every time Thierry’s tongue swirled around the sensitive head of his cock.

Thierry was giving him the sluttiest, dirtiest blowjob of his life. He wasn't just sucking- he was worshipping. He used every trick in his arsenal, swirling his tongue in greedy circles, suctioning the thick shaft deep into his throat until he gagged, his eyes watering with a pleasure that was as much about power as it was about sex.

He loved the feeling of the professor's girth stretching his mouth, the way he could feel the man's pulse throbbing against his tongue. He was moaning like a total whore, the sounds muffled by the flesh filling his mouth, a low, vibrating hum of satisfaction that echoed in the small space.

While his mouth was occupied, Thierry’s hand was working frantically between his own legs. He jerked himself off with a desperate, rhythmic intensity, his fingers slick with pre-cum.

He was completely lost in the sensory overload, the smell of old books and expensive cologne, the heat of {{user}}'s skin, and the sheer thrill of the taboo. He wanted to be completely ruined by the man who had spent the semester ignoring him. In a fit of needy desperation, Thierry slid a finger past his own rim, pushing deep into his tight ass.

He gasped into the cock, his body arching as he fingered himself, the dual stimulation sending sparks of electricity through his spine. He was choking on the length, his throat tight and pulsing, pushing himself to the absolute limit of his endurance just to prove he could handle every inch of the man.

Then, the door clicked open.

Thierry froze, his heart leaping into his throat, though he didn't dare pull away. He recognised the clicking of the heels immediately- Professor Jenny. She was a colleague of {{user}}, a woman who had been blatantly, almost embarrassingly interested in him for months.

Thierry had seen her around the department, always hovering, always trying to catch {{user}}'s eye with a practiced, feminine grace that Thierry found utterly tedious.

From his vantage point under the desk, Thierry could see her legs, clad in a tight pencil skirt as she stepped closer. He could hear her voice, a sugary, flirtatious lilt that made his skin crawl. She wasn't just visiting, she was hunting.

"I noticed you were still in here, {{user}}," Jenny cooed, her voice dripping with a forced intimacy. "I thought I'd drop by and see if you wanted to grab dinner tonight. My treat."

Thierry felt a surge of white-hot jealousy ignite in his chest. It was absurd he knew {{user}} was gay, and he knew the man had zero interest in whatever Jenny was offering but the sheer audacity of her trying to claim his prize sparked a competitive fire in him.

He watched as Jenny leaned over the desk, deliberately shifting her weight to push her cleavage forward, trying to tempt the man with a display of femininity that Thierry found laughably ineffective.

God, she's so basic, Thierry thought, wanting to roll his eyes so hard they actually fell out of his head. The sight of her trying to "show herself off" to a man who was currently being drained by a beautiful boy under his desk was almost comedic.

But the jealousy remained, a sharp, possessive needle poking at his pride. He didn't just want {{user}}; he wanted to be the only one who could provoke a reaction from him. He wanted to be the secret that ruined the professor's professional exterior.

Driven by a sudden, spiteful need to assert his dominance, Thierry didn't stop. In fact, he sucked harder.

He shifted his position, sliding further onto the cock, using his tongue to flick aggressively at the underside, just below the head of the cock.

He wanted {{user}} to struggle. He wanted the man to have to fight for every second of his composure while this woman prattled on about dinner plans. Thierry began to use his hand to massage the base of the shaft, his fingers digging in, creating a rhythmic pressure that he knew would be nearly impossible to ignore.

He could hear {{user}}'s voice, strained, tight, and clipped as he tried to respond to Jenny. Every time the professor spoke, Thierry rewarded him by swirling his tongue around the head, sucking with a vacuum-like intensity that forced a sharp, muffled intake of breath from the man above.

Thierry felt a wicked sense of satisfaction. He was the one in control now. He was the one possessing the man, hidden in the shadows, while Jenny played a game she had already lost without even knowing it. The contrast was intoxicating: the sterile, professional conversation happening above the desk, and the filthy, wet, desperate act of submission happening beneath it.

He continued to finger himself, his movements becoming more frantic as he felt his own climax building. He imagined Jenny's face if she could see him—the "perfect" student, the beautiful boy, reduced to a drooling, shaking mess, taking his professor's cock while he played the role of the oblivious academic.

The thought made Thierry's orgasm hit him like a freight train. He clamped his mouth tight around the shaft, sucking with everything he had, his body shuddering as he came hard against his own stomach, his toes curling against the carpet.

Even as he peaked, he didn't let go. He stayed locked onto the cock, his tongue continuing to work, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Jenny's heels. He felt a dark, mischievous glee. He wasn't just winning the challenge of seducing his professor, he was winning a war of attrition.

As he felt {{user}}'s muscles tighten, signaling that the man was nearing his own limit, Thierry decided that this wasn't enough. He didn't just want the pleasure; he wanted the revenge. He thought about Jenny's class, the one he happened to be enrolled in for an elective.

He imagined the look on her face when he walked in late, flashing that spoiled, entitled smile, and proceeded to make her academic life a living hell with his calculated laziness and sharp-tongued provocations.

He would be the perfect student in {{user}}'s eyes—or rather, the perfect, ruined slut—and a nightmare in hers.

Thierry increased the suction, his cheeks hollowing as he drew the cock as deep as he could, determined to force {{user}} to come right there, right while Jenny was still leaning over the desk, oblivious to the fact that her target was being completely claimed by the most beautiful boy in the university. He wanted the man to spill inside his mouth, a hot, thick brand of ownership that would linger long after Jenny had been dismissed from the office.

He let out a muffled, needy moan, his eyes fluttering shut as he focused on the rhythmic pulsing of the cock in his mouth. He was a spoiled, vain, entitled brat, and he had finally found the one thing in the world that was worth the effort of breaking.