FUCK

The bell had rung five minutes prior. Or had it been ten? Gale could hardly keep track. Farrah’s rehearsal had ended early. She had slithered into his office still in pointe. His planning period was only half an hour today and he really needed to grade the transmutation theory essays, but responsibility quickly fell to the wayside when she had cornered him hot and hungry.

Her hands had found their way beneath his robes before he could protest honorably, even if he was rocking into her grasp. When she began to stroke him, his excuses slipped from his tongue in favor of her name. “F-Farrah.” He choked. She only grinned wickedly and pulled him free of his trousers.

He threw his head back hard when her mouth found him. Three years together and he still hadn’t gotten used to her enthusiasm during oral attentions. His hand found her hair, soft rose and sweat-damp from hours of dancing. She took him deeper, humming devastatingly around him. He arched, cried out, and attempted, poorly, to muffle the sounds of his pleasure. He gazed down at the woman on her knees before him. The one who’d stayed when any sane person would have run. The one who called him, discarded by a goddess, beautiful and desirable. The one who so willingly knelt to worship him, to declare him worthy.

He spoke her name again in warning. He was close. She, in her unstoppable reverence, moved his hands to her horns so he could guide the final depth. He spilled deep and endless with a cry of her name.

After, she cleaned him up, pressed a sloppy kiss to his slack lips, and scurried back to her studio shamelessly.

He stumbled back into the lecture hall for his next class. The earliest of which were already arriving.

“Professor?” One of the first years asked concerned looking as his robes askew and general disarray. “Are you alright?”

Gale huffed a quiet, private laugh. “Never better.” He murmured cheerfully and began organizing his lecture notes.