Title: Hotter than July
Pairing: Serena/Professor Sycamore, mentions/heavy hints of Serena/Shauna
Rating: R
Warnings: Masturbation, lesbians, and hot for teacher.
Wordcount: 616
Summary: It's a hot summer's day, and eyes are opened after a rest. Lacewoodshipping, boutiqueshipping. Serena POV
First in a series of loosely connected Lacewoodshipping drabbles, rated from G to R and mentioning many pairings but being ultimately Professor Sycamore/Serena. Will change through various POVs over the series.
You still remember the first moment you really saw the Professor as more than just a mentor.
It was summer, you were back at home helping him with a research project involving the prevalence of fairy-type Snubbull in Kanto, and it was so, so hot. That was a ridiculously warm summer, even for Kalos. You kept catching yourself nodding off in the middle of research, and waking up from dreams of the cool sea and playing with your Sylveon on the beach to see a bemused Professor Sycamore.
He never would accept your copious apologies, waving them off with "Sometimes, in Lumiose, we take naps when it's so hot.", but still you felt guilty.
It was after one of those such naps that you woke up, far hotter than you'd ever been before. Gathering your bearings, you look up and blink away drowsiness before your eyes fall on your research partner.
Professor Sycamore is asleep, too. Lying on a couch, he looks rather like he's posing to be painted. Long legs sprawled out, red socks unashamedly poking out from between the hems of his trousers and his shoes and his shirt... Doesn't quite touch the top of his trousers, exposing a surprisingly toned waist and the tiniest hint of a snail trail.
You realize to yourself with a small giggle that this is something almost from an anime you watched once as you look at his face. Dark eyelashes and a slightly squint nose that suits him perfectly. You swallow heavily with a mouth that's almost too dry all of a sudden.
When you look at the hand resting in his hair, without any test tubes or Pokeballs obscuring it, there's a jolt of arousal in your stomach. You don't know what it is about the fact that your mentor had rolled his sleeves up to rest in the crook of his elbows that's hotter than July, but something is.
The air is stifling around you, the heat from your own body not helping. You need a shower. A cold one.
Quickly, you spin around and head for the door, glad that you were just rewriting your notes. When you get home, you'll call the Professor to apologize for leaving, but you have to leave now. The room suddenly feels too hot and too small, the air too thick to be sharing with the Professor.
"Ma mignonne?" The professor's voice is thick with sleep, and makes your cheeks flush.
"Y-yes, professor?" Your own voice shakes a little.
"Are you leaving?"
"Sorry!" You blurt in a rush as you leave, letting the door fall shut behind you.
The walk home from the lab that usually takes a short ten minutes at the maximum feels like it takes much longer today and as you fall through your front door, kick off your shoes and head to the kitchen to get some water, you find yourself thankful that your Mum is busy training Rhyhorn.
The shower you take does little to cool you down, however washing the sweat off yourself is a small but welcome relief. As you fall onto your bed in little more than underwear, you feel your mind wander.
Your hand slips past your waistband to do something Shauna showed you one night under the stars just outside of Camphrier town. Maybe, just a little, you're biting your lip to avoid the guilt gnawing away inside you somewhere as a professor with a slight accent, dark hair, and authority sneaks into your fantasies.
You reassure yourself that, despite the fact that you've just had the best orgasm of your life, you'll never think of him again as you drift off to sleep.
He invades your dreams.
