Stancest Blog

"I did. Sit down."

He sits.

"Pines," Professor Forrester leans forward, clasping his hands together, and Ford is drawn to the stretch of fabric across his chest and upper arms as he moves. "What's goin' on with you?"

"Nothing, sir." He lowers his eyes, attempting not to fidget under that slightly amused, slightly concerned stare.

"This is the fifth time you've fallen asleep in my class. I'm afraid I'm gonna have to start counting 'em as an absence."

Ford's head snaps up, "No! Sir, you can't."

This is the wrong thing to say. Professor Forrester's eyes - those deep, brown eyes that Ford sometimes catches himself thinking about - turn flinty, and he says, his tone cool, disapproving, "I can't? Last time I checked, I was the one who taught Introduction to American Lit, not you."

"I," his mouth opens and closes, "I apologize, Professor. It's just -"

"Just?"

"Things have become difficult," Ford mutters. "I'm spending so much time on my other classes, that even though I enjoy yours, it's hard for me to focus."

"Hard to focus? Pines, welcome to college. I expect you to put in effort," he enunciates the word, and Ford wills back any pink from blossoming in his cheeks, "in my class. Did you think I was gonna go easy on you since you're takin' other classes?"

"No, sir. But, please, I need to do well in this class," Ford pleads, "I'm a scholarship student. Professor, I can't have my GPA slip."

"You done?"

"Done?"

Professor Forrester shrugs, "You explained yourself, and now I know why you're actin' the way you are. You think you're the only student to come in here wanting a better grade? Your grades are fine."

"I have an A minus."

"Like I said," Professor Forrester is suddenly closer, "Your grades are fine."

Ford looks at him, at how his lips twitch upwards slightly, and he says, voice hoarse, "I can show you that I've been putting in effort, my recent lack of attention aside. If you would like that. Sir."

"Oh yeah?" He's caught his attention, and perhaps Ford should be concerned about how dark Professor Forrester's eyes are, how they wander over his body and linger on his neck, and more alarmingly, his lips, but it only proves that every advantage will be beneficial.

"Yes. May I?" He gestures to the broad desk in the center of Professor Forrester's office.

"Go ahead, Pines."

Ford grabs his battered, secondhand copy of A Farewell to Arms (he had figured that being a scholarship student, it would be more convincing to have used books), and strides over to the desk. He perches on the edge of it, opening up to the last section they discussed in class, and begins to read.

"But we were never lonely and never afraid when we were together." He looks at Professor Forrester directly then, and before Ford can back out now, he wets his lips, and slowly peels down his pants. His other hand slides between his legs, teasing his entrance with the lightest of touches, and he's glad he prepared himself earlier, since otherwise, this would sting.

Ford inserts a slim finger inside, twisting it ever so slightly, and continues to read, "I know that the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day."

"Faster," Professor Forrester says, his voice raspy. He shivers, and Ford, ever the dutiful student, obeys.

He doesn't want this to be over yet, but Ford lets out a gasp when he surges inside and out, curling it inside and hitting his prostate. "B- because they do not then exist, oh, and the night -

"Add another one."

It's a bit of a tight fit, but he manages, inhaling deeply, "The night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started." Ford tries not to let out any more gasps and whimpers, but they creep up on him while he continues, "But with C-Catherine there was almost no, oh god, difference in the night except that it was an even-"

A groan.

"Professor?"

Professor Forrester's hands are big and wonderfully warm, slightly callused, "You do this often, Pines?"

It takes a minute for Ford's fogged brain to comprehend what he's asking, and he nods.

"Use your words."

"Yes, sir."

A hand runs along his inner thigh, so close to where he needs it, and Professor Forrester then asks, "Think about anyone when you do it?"

"You, sir," Ford breathes. "I always think about you. Your hands touching me, and how it would feel to have you -"

Lips slam over his own, and Ford lets out a sound that is barely human as Professor Forrester licks into his mouth, his tongue tangling with Ford's, his hands cradling his head, and the adage about men who wear big shoes seems to be correct in this case, since he can feel how aroused the other man is.

"You're such a tease, Pines," he pants, nipping at Ford's right earlobe and drawing it into his mouth. "Always wearin' those tight pants, batting your eyes, saying please Professor." His hand rests over Ford's, and Ford withdraws his fingers, only to feel a thicker one begin to go inside him.

"Professor!"

Professor Forrester's other hand gropes his ass, touching and squeezing, and his finger hits that one spot, pressing so insistently that Ford muffles a moan into his shoulder.

"You like that? 'Course you do," he says sinuously, "But, it's a real shame that even with all that studying you do, your grades are still slippin'. Maybe you need a more," his finger retreats, and then two come back slick with lubricant, "hands-on approach."

"Fuck," Ford moans, "Sir, I need -"

"Language," Professor Forrester tuts, swatting at one buttock, and Ford doesn't understand how he's so composed. His fingers curl in and out, making little circular motions that are driving him insane. "Y'know, a little one-on-one tutoring wouldn't be too bad, not if you're gonna act like this."

"Please." Ford intends to say Professor, or sir.

What he does not intend to say is: "Daddy."

He freezes. Professor Forrester - Stan - freezes.

Stan looks at him, all traces of Professor Forrester gone, and he says, "Poindexter. You -"

"Please," Ford says again, and he leans forward, nipping at his neck, "Daddy."

His nostrils flare and he inhales harshly, before continuing to make Ford an absolute wreck. "Pines, you need someone to keep you in line. Fuckin' needy brat."

Ford whines and Professor Forrester swears. A muttered fuck it reaches his ears, and he looks into hungry, lust-blackened eyes, and then, Professor Forrester undoes his pants, nearly ripping off his boxers, "Hold onto the desk."

"Oh god." He cants his hips, trying to get some more friction, and Ford says it again, "Daddy. Fuck me, c'mon."

"You want it?"

Hands settle on his hips as Professor Forrester slides inside, bottoming out with a sweet stretch that sends sparks flying all over his body, and he says, "That's it. Atta boy, Pines. You needed Daddy, huh?"

Ford moans, incapable of saying words. "Now, you decide to be quiet. C'mon Pines," a tongue swirls along his neck, sucking hot, hungry kisses, "Be a good boy for Daddy. Lemme hear you."

And he moves out, slamming back in, and Ford clenches around him, trying to get him to go harder, faster, and they're both lost. "God. You're a good student, and an even better fuck," he groans, fucking Ford with such skill that Ford can only hold on for dear life. "I'm gonna have to teach you some patience though, but not now."

Ford dimly registers the strung out cries of pleasure as his own, and he chants, "Daddy, I need it," and Professor Forrester - Stan - snarls, driving into him deeper, without restraint, his hand wrapping around Ford's aching, untouched cock, stroking up and down his length.

"I'm - fuck, Daddy," Ford chokes out, "I'm going to -"

Stan fucks him harder, a feat Ford didn't think was possible, and his hands leave the desk to dig into his back, sliding under his sweater, and he's muttering "good fuckin' boy," and Ford keens, one last cry of Daddy leaving his lips, as he comes.

Stan stills above him with a strangled moan, face slack, and Ford feels his arms tremble as he slumps forward. He rasps, "So, that happened."

"It did," Ford responds. "Are you alright?"

"I'm more than fine. Gotta admit though, there's no way I'd be able to actually teach if you were in my class."

"Did I get my A?"

"Oh believe me," Stan huffs out a laugh, "You get a A plus."