Ruthless.
My wounds may heal, but not my heart. Drabble. Sycamore/Calem.
Warning: It's not rape, but it certainly isn't a healthy relationship. If things like that make you uncomfortable, please avert your eyes!
The smell of ink and sweat fills the room. It's not uncommon for me to be there, nor is it rare for this to be the arrangement. I'm not unused to having the darling professor shoving a hand down my pants, and bending me lovingly over his desk. In fact, I enjoy every second of it -moaning his name greedily into the empty office 'oh, Sycamore!'
Even as he thrusts into me with no sense of tempo -just a tactless fuck, if you would- he's holding my hips just so, and whispering loving things into my ears. I can't take it for much longer, and I quickly release myself on his desk, possibly on some paperwork, even, and he follows soon after. Though, he doesn't take any form of protection, as he used to, and chooses to spill deep inside of me, and while it felt sickening the first time he did, I don't mind much anymore. If anything, I've come to enjoy it. I feel so very full of him -to the very brim. He stays like that for another minute or so, saying loving things into my hair, and something in this moment makes me think that we really are an actual couple, but that's just the neurosis talking.
After all, I'm his disciple, as well as several years younger, and even further than that - a boy no less. Though, I'm sure people would be considerably disgusted about this arrangement regardless of the parts between my legs.
Pulling out, he gives me a good once-over, taking a moment to wipe the drool and no-doubt ridiculous expression off my face. As I straighten myself up, I can feel myself start to leak with his cum, but I don't make any effort to fix it. Instead, I watch him pull my pants up in a sort of dazed state, and let him kiss me as he does up my zipper.
"I know this may sound terrible, but could you leave? There's much work to be done."
I don't mind much, and make for the door. It's only when I'm in the elevator that I feel like crying, but as soon as I'm in the lobby, I fake a pleasant smile to his secretary, who knows more than she's willing to admit, but would never say a word unless asked to. I thank her, and leave.
The next week, the same thing happens, and it does every week after that.
(x)
a/n: I have no idea why, but for some reason I hella ship these two, and just omfg.
