the hot professor archives

So when he realizes he is falling for you, your gentle smile and sparkling eyes and the tender touches of your fingers grazing his as you hand him his morning tea and paperwork - but he knows you are far too young to want someone as old and decrepit as he has become - eventually, his aching for you builds to a breaking point.

He is a Harbinger, he has all the keys to any room in the building he wants. It’s all too easy to find your quarters, dig into your underwear drawer, and hastily select a pair of pretty lace panties to shove into his trousers pocket. It’s only when he’s alone in his office that he grants himself permission to inspect them properly, like the scholar he is. 

Zandik’s thumb rubs the gusset, where your plush lips would have sat nestled against the fabric. He wonders how you would fill them, how they would fit against your figure. His cock throbs uncomfortably beneath his placket and he sloppily unbuttons his trousers to free his length, palming it with one hand as he brings your underwear to his face with the other. He breathes in your scent, tangy and sweet and mingled with the laundry soap you use, heady and arousing. He swears he can perfectly picture your cunt at his lips instead of the mere fabric, tasting you, bringing you to that edge -

When he finally loses himself and wraps your panties about his worn cock to stroke himself, all inhibition is gone. He’s grunting and gasping your name, thrusting himself into the bunched-up fabric with all the energy he can muster; aching joints be damned, thin lips parted and chapped as he chases his high. He swears he can hear you chanting his name the closer he got, Zandik, Zandik, Zandik - 

“My Lord…?”

Archons. There is no way to salvage the scene before your eyes; who knew how long you’d been standing there, tray of coffee and pastries in hand, agape and flustered as you watched the Second Harbinger masturbating with a pair of your underpants? Zandik isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry; perhaps both, once he finds a way to get you to leave as quickly as possible… 

But when he moves to drop the panties like burning embers and rebutton his trousers, you hastily set the tray down onto his desk and scurry to his side. 

“Um,” you begin, carefully grasping his wrist to stop him, “if I may…perhaps I could invite you to use something more…suitable, for such a task?”

It’s only when you move to straddle his lap that Zandik understands the meaning of your proposition - your eyes glinting with something mischievous and, inexplicably, lascivious.