I hooked up with a student.
Well, of course it was a student; he came through an anomaly in the library. Who else would it have been? Maybe a particularly sexy librarian?
Shit.
He sits on the chair assigned to visitors in front of my desk and looks at me nervously, a flush reddening his face. His scent, candy and roses marred by lust, assaults my senses, his little crush clearly still a problem for him. Before, I would have gotten annoyed at his lack of control, but now, I find myself wanting to push its boundaries and see what mess I can make of him.
“Professor Brax?” he asks, confusion lacing his tone. “I have the make-up essay.” He hands me a stapled few sheets of paper with shaking fingers.
“Ah, yes.” I clear my throat. “Thank you.” This was it. My chance to ask him for a round two, but by the lack of recognition on his face, he doesn’t know who I am. It’s not surprising. I look different with horns and dark-red skin and nearly human eyes. “This essay was not supposed to be challenging, just an encouragement to read further than my lecture material.”
“Yes, I did my best to utilize library resources.”
Was he working on his essay when he fell through the anomaly? I don’t know whether to be furious at his lack of concentration or delighted I was a worthy distraction. “That’s good. Our library is stocked full of old texts, and if you find anything online you want, you can request they stock it.”
“Y-yes, professor.”
Whenever I meet his gaze, his lust smells stronger. He really is distracted by me. It happens sometimes with the occasional human, but it’s been a while since I indulged one of them.
Silence fills the room as I read his essay, a marked improvement from the last barely coherent mumble of words. There’s still room for improvement in his knowledge and how he presents his thoughts, but I’m happy. I grade it 61%, a B-, and hand it back.
A small smile forms at the corner of his lips painted rose red, and I find myself wanting to kiss them. To smudge that color right off.
He raises his head and looks at me, swallows, and opens his mouth. “Do you have any feedback for me?”
The question surprises me. This matters to him. This module, this degree. He’s not here simply as a tick-box exercise in the midst of a life ladder having already been built before him. How refreshing.
I clear my throat and begin engaging his brain instead of his cock. Though I’d have both if possible. “Well, Mr. Retter, it seems you have a good ability to construct a thorough essay, knowledge of the basics, and know how to use the library. If I were to give you any advice, I would tell you to pay more attention in lectures. Engage with the material when you have the opportunity to do so.” Here I go. “If you’d like further tutoring, I can offer weekly sessions until you feel up to speed.”
He blinks, surprised. “I-I-I . . . thank you, professor.” A grin spreads across my face, and he does a double-take, looking at me with his head lopped to one side, like a confused dog. It’s cute. “Are you . . . ?” He shakes his head and doesn’t finish the question.
“Am I what, Mr, Retter?”
“Uh. Never mind. I’d like to take you up on the offer of weekly tutoring sessions, if you wouldn’t mind. In truth, this subject ismy favourite. I want to get into mythology research one day, so improving my grade for your module is kind of . . . important.”
“Ah, yes. That would be important.” I hold out my hand as I rise out of my seat. “Well then, I’ll see you the same time next week and we can start going over?—”
He grabs my hand and screeches, jumping backward out of his seat. “Itisyou!”
How does he . . . ?
He points just above my head, and I realise his touch must have ruined the glamor. Shit. “Uh, wait. Hold on.” He turns to run out of the door, but I speed in front of him, grab his wrist, and lock the door. I methodically close each blind, careful to breathe out through my mouth and in through my nostrils. No need to turn this into an incident. “Please, wait.”
“Fr-from the daemon realm place?”
He asks it as a question, but I get the feeling he doesn’t really want the answer. “Yes.”
“You’re the daemon who fisted me on his couch the other day.”
“Yes.” I haven’t let go of his hand. I haven’t moved.
He hasn’t tried to escape or let go. His breathing is shallow, strands of his hair have come undone from their high pony tail, and his knees look like they might be legitimately knocking.
“Here,” I say, gesturing to the seat he once occupied. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Yeah.” He plonks unceremoniously onto the wooden seat in a huff. “Yeah, that might be a good idea.” He doesn’t meet my eyes for a minute, and I give him whatever time he needs to adjust. “I didn’t recognise you the other night.”
“Nor I you.”