Chapter Text
The first time Harry felt aroused with one of his best student’s essays was a year ago. It just talked about lips, but the way he described, adored and wanted them made his member start to grow beneath his trousers, while he was correcting the spelling and writing down some comments about the use of the verbal tenses. Harry blamed his nonexisting sexual life and tried to convince himself that it was just one-time thing.
But the next trimester it happened again. On that occasion, Louis wrote about some long, thick and strong legs and how much he desired to caress them, to feel them wrapped around his waist and intertwined between his own. His narrative skills had improved a lot, he had barely a few grammar errors and his vocabulary had been extended.
Harry had always allowed his students to write about whatever they wanted to, but he felt forced to change that when he hardened for the third time by the descripcion of some long and thin fingers, all covered by rings, and how much he wanted to feel them caressing him deep inside. The professor was dismayed when his controless mind pictured that scene, with a naked Louis writhing upon his sheets as his own fingers doing what the minor had written about in his essay.
But it didn’t matter how much the curly one tried to establish a mandatory topic, the blue-eyed was always finding the way to turn it into an erotic narration. Actually, it was his fault. He had tried to think about something banal, innocent, something that Louis couldn’t take advantage of. But nothing came to his mind, so he said the first thing that he saw. His eyes landed on an extinguisher and even before he could think about it, his mouth was uttering “Fire”.
He saw the smirk in Louis’ face and knew he was screwed up. The boy wrote about the burning feeling of wanting someone, the passion he felt every time he met the only person who could make it feel like he was set on flames by just a single look or a polite word. The whole narration was a perfect reflection of his own sensations, of the way his body burnt when his mind pictured an image of the young boy writing those sensual, provocative words, just to drive his teacher crazy.
Harry refused to think the blue-eyed was doing it on purpose. It was easier for his mental health to strongly believe he was just overthinking the whole situation, that there was not a second intention behind the tales. But Louis seemed determined to make him lose his mind.
“Okay, we have another hour of class left” Harry raised his voice to be heard throughout the room. “Anyone who wants to raise a grade can write an essay of at least 200 words. Free topic” the teenagers started to chat between them, his voices echoing around. “If not, please remain quiet”.
Silence followed his command, only a few whispers could be heard from time to time. He saw most of the students focused on their classwork, eliciting a smile from him. The boys adored him just as much as he adored them all. Forty minutes later, a hand that he would recognise anywhere handed him a paper, written for both sides. His green eyes met those deep, intense blue ones and he gasped, speechless.
“Tomlinson, you don’t need to improve your grade, you have already the highest” his voice sounded wrecked and trembling, so he tried to clear his throat and avoided that intense gaze.
“I know, but I wanted to” the aforesaid replied, smirking and biting his lower lip sensually. “This one’s for you, Mr Styles, you can keep it”.
The statement made his head rise quickly, his mouth half opened in surprise as no word came out of it. Louis’ smile widened as he enjoyed the expression on his favorite teacher’s face and, after a suggestive wink, returned to his desk. Harry stayed still a few more seconds, pulling himself together before looking down to the essay on his desk.
His hands were shivering as he caught it and his heart was beating loudly inside his ears. He felt the boy’s gaze on him, not wanting to miss any single expression or movement of his. Trying to stay calm, the oldest read the first couple of sentences. A cold, shivering sensation started to climb through his spine, bristling his fuzz on the back of his neck.
Desire. Passion. Lust. All of these sinful feelings rising in me just by seeing that person. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t control myself. I can’t control the fire burning inside me every time he walks in.
Harry stopped his reading when he realized there was something different from this narrative than from the others. Louis had always used the pronouns “they/them” to talk about that mysterious person that starred in his darkest fantasies, never revealing the gender, but there was a very clear “he” in the tale. And that was new.
I know what you are going to say, that I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. I know it is the biggest cliché to have such a huge crush on my teacher, but I couldn’t help myself.
The man could barely hold back the gasp that was about to come through his lips. That wasn’t happening. That couldn’t be happening. Was he talking about himself? Was Louis describing how he felt about him? He shook his head, refusing to believe it. He had to be talking about another person, another teacher. He must .
But then, he suddenly remembered that he was the only male professor of that class and… Fuck . Louis was actually talking about him. About him . His hands started to shiver as he realized the meaning of those words. The student that had made him feel more aroused than he had been in his entire life had a crush on him. And not apparently some innocent, naive crush, but a lustful, carnal one.
He was fucked up. He knew it from the very beginning, since the first time he read one of Louis’ tales and his cock reacted to that. His gaze raised from the paper he still had in his hands to those hipnotic, blue eyes who were staring at him amused. The boy knew what was happening, he knew exactly what was going through his teacher’s mind. And he couldn’t be more pleased about what he had provoked.
Harry put it away in his briefcase, he couldn’t read those lines here, in front of him and his classmates. He didn’t even know if he would be able to read it at home, where he could not be freaked out if there was a bulge on his trousers, if his cheeks were flushed or if his breath was heavy. Louis smiled wider and had the nerve to wink at him again. He was going to kill him.
It was ten o’clock in the evening and Harry was sitting on his sofa, a glass of red wine on his left hand and Louis’ essay on his right. He had already corrected all the other student’s tales, this one was the only one left. There was some kind of discussion in the back of his head about if it was or wasn't mandatory to read the text. Louis didn’t need to improve his grade, so he really didn’t have to correct it; but on the other hand, the youngest had written it specifically for him, and the curiosity was just driving him crazy.
Taking the last sip of his glass of wine, Harry adjusted his reading glasses and took a deep breath. His eyes traveled quickly through the first lines, those that he had already read earlier, but then slowed down as he saw the new words.
Actually, that is not my fault, but his. How couldn’t I fall for him? With his perfectly long legs, which I have imagined more times that I can count wrapped around my waist as I carry him to the bedroom; or pushing me closer to his body when I devour every inch of him; or straddling me to keep me still as he does to me whatever he wants to. There are plenty more scenarios where I fantasize about his desirable legs.
Was he… Was he talking about the same legs he referenced to the past essay? It couldn’t be, right? He couldn’t have been talking about him this whole time. Harry tried to not think about it, he tried to read those lines with all the professionalism he could reunite, convincing himself it was just another essay from another student. Nothing else. But it wasn’t.
As if that wasn’t enough, he has the most sensual, erotic, sinful hands I’ve ever seen. I like his legs. A lot. But I love his enormous, strong hands. Those hands that could pin me firmly in the wall without effort, manhandle me like a doll. I would gladly become his doll. I would let him manage me as he wished, dominating me in every possible way. I’m sure he would be able to submit me just with the tight grip of his imposin hands.
It gets even worse when I see him typing on his computer. His fingers dance throughout the keyboard with speed and ability, it’s like they were floating over it. I just know that he is really good with his hands and fingers, I know that he can blow my mind just by a quick move against my sensitive spot. I know it as a fact, the same way I know the sky is blue and that he is the most handsome man alive.
A loud gasp escaped from his lips while he was reading those paragraphs. Unable to control himself, he pictured the image described, his own hands caressing the soft skin, contrasting with its tanned tone, eliciting lots of moans as his fingers found his sweet pleasurable spot. Without even realizing it, Harry started to grow fast and hard in his trousers, just as the other times.
My stomach is full of knots just by the thought of his hands giving me pleasure, turning me into a moaning, sweating mess as he traces his fingers nook and cranny all over my body. The sensation increases when I picture him doing it to himself, stroking the exact places that drive him crazy. I hope I get the chance to discover those spots by myself.
The teacher whined just by the thought of the sweet, high-pitched moans leaving Louis’ thin, pink lips, picturing himself how it would feel to be the cause of them. He hadn’t noticed when it happened, but his right hand was palming his crotch, trying to relieve the fire burning inside him. Knowing that his favorite student had imagined him jerking himself drove him crazy.
I would like to think it is happening right now, as he reads these words I have written for him. The vision of his huge hand wrapped around himself, using his firm grip to relieve the burning sensation on his entrails, trying to achieve the most pleasurable feeling is making me go goosebumps. Is he doing it nicely and slowly, letting himself feel every inch of the flesh? Or is his pace rough, frantic, desperate?
“Fuck” Harry uttered, leaning his head backwards and gasping again. His hand removed his now uncomfortable trousers and freed his boner, surrounding it with his fingers just as Louis narrated. “Fuck” he cursed again, his wrist moving up and down his phallus, stroking himself to calm the sensation the student had described so well.
He slowed the pace when he read the next sentence, his body following unconsciously the words of the boy to adjust to his fantasy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a voice saying that this shouldn’t be happening, that masturbating to the thought of a minor was definitely not right; but he was just so into it, so into it from the beginning that he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.
I rather imagine the first option, he is taking his time to enjoy the feeling, gasping and moaning softly, his breath slipping out from his lips. Oh, his lips. Those plump, red, sensual lips are my infatuation, most of my fantasies are starred by his mouth. I dream about how they would look like surrounding my length, licking it like a lollipop, grafting to obtain his reward. That is my most common dream, nearly followed by the sensation of his lips caressing every inch of my skin, getting me wet from him, slowly disarming me with each kiss.
Harry let out another string of curses, his hand moving a bit faster on his wet and hard cock as he tried to imagine how Louis would taste under his tongue, how delicious would be his seed when he came down his throat, how his skin and hole would feel against his mouth. He growled hoarsely, the desire he felt becoming a need. He didn’t want to taste Louis anymore, he needed it.
He needed to feel him under his body, writhing as his hands and lips caress every inch of his tanned, soft and sweet skin, eliciting tones of moans out of his sensual mouth, making him beg for more. Harry had to stop his movements and imagination in order to calm himself down, the thing had escalated too fast.
But what I adore most about his mouth is what comes out from it: his voice. Of course he has gorgeous and dreamy legs, hands and lips, but his voice is something else. That deep, slow tone seems to envelop around me every time he speaks, delighting me with his hoarse murmur. It feels like a caress, like an invisible kiss.
I need all of my strength to not surrender to his angelic voice, to not let it captivate me while he is teaching the class. Because all I can do when I hear him talking is think about how it would sound when he begs me to keep going, to do it faster, harder, deeper… I am starting to grow in my pants due to my thoughts as he is in front of me, right there, biting his lower lip in a concentrated face and looking so desirable that it physically hurts.
“Holy shit” his hand started to work on him again, picturing an aroused Louis in front of him while he was writing those words. Would the boy jerk off when he came home thinking about his teacher? Just like he was doing right now? Would he feel as half as horny as him? Harry felt like a hormonal teenager, wanking desperately while dreaming about his crush.
He was already sweating, every inch of his body was on fire and his breath was quick and heavy. His shirt stuck in his torso, provoking more heat and an uncomfortable sensation. But he didn’t mind, he could only be aware of the desire burning in his crotch and the almost pornographic words his student wrote for him.
He is now chatting with one of my classmates, whispering to not bother any of us, but loud enough for me to hear him. When he mutters, his voice becomes even deeper, the words are slowly tangling up in his tongue in a sensual, hypnotic way. I can’t help myself when my mind imagines him talking to me like that, murmuring to my ear what he wants to do to me.
In a low, raspy and aroused tone he demands me to bend over and take him in my mouth. His long fingers grab my hair and use his firm grip in my head to pull me closer, making me swallow all of his length as he praises how good I am to him. His dominant attitude increases as he thrust roughly in my throat, choking me with the tip of his member. His moans alternate with growls and a very dirty talk.
“Fuck” he panted, closing his eyes for a second and trying to form a mental image of what Louis told. “So good, Tomlinson” he said out loud, focused on his daydream. “You feel so good”.
The boy would smile around his cock and swallow it even deeper, opening his mouth to let his teacher fuck his throat, choking him with his glans. His blue eyes would be teared in pleasure and the sensation of breathless, a perfect, sinful image for Harry, if you asked him.
In my fantasies, he explains to me what is going to happen later. He tells me he is going to claim my body as his own over his desk, lying me on my back and spreading my legs wide opne for him. And when he does it, he keeps talking. Right straight in my ear, assuring his deep, hoarse voice is clearly heard by me. With each ram, he promises he is going to take care of me, that he is going to make me feel good. Like if he wasn’t doing it already. He also makes me realize that nobody will be able to please me like that, that I will not find anybody who could drive me crazy as half as him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he muttered, thrusting up in his fist like he would do to Louis’ arse, his hips bouncing hard against his plump cheeks. The sound of the boy’s moans and their flesh colliding would spread throughout the classroom, driving them even more crazy.
The oldest felt as if he was about to come, he wouldn’t last much longer buried in that warm, wet hole, so he increased the pace of his hand. But then, he read the next paragraph and lost his mind.
I want nobody but him, and when he finally spills inside me all I could think is how much I need to demonstrate it to him. So I push him off of me, trapping him against the blackboard and making him wrap those long legs around my waist. I can’t contain the fire he has lighted, the beast inside me he has woken up. I enter him without hesitation, I want him to feel me even when we are apart; to remember how we fit together so easily, how his body welcomed me with open legs.
His own hole began to tighten against nothing, begging for something to fill it, preferably Louis’ fat cock. His next words didn’t help himself to calm that feeling.
In another situation I would have teased him, I would have made him beg for me. I would have played with his hidden pink treasure with my tongue, licking it and getting wet for me. I only would have added one finger after hearing him cry for more, writhing and moaning from absolute pleasure. My hand would have moved nice and slow, caressing every inch of his warmth, eliciting more sighs and gasps from him. There would not have been any hurry to speed the pace, I know I would have made him see the stars with just one finger. Hitting his sweet spot every time I moved would have driven him crazy and only after he would have reached the climax a couple of times, I would have put in the real thing.
By the time Harry had finished reading that paragraph, he was on all fours on the couch, arse up with one hand jerking his red and hard dick and the other fingering roughly himself, as he managed to keep an eye on the essay. The living room was flooded with his loud, hoarse moans and growls, the sound of his rim being shagged and his cock harshly pounded by his fist.
But in my fantasy I can not play with him like I wish, the need of feeling his gorgeous body around me, his hoarse voice moaning right in my ear, begging me to go faster, harder and deeper is making me nuts. So I thrust him roughly, frantically, passionately, melting us into one. His fingers are buried in my shoulders, pulling me closer to him so our lips can finally meet. His mouth tastes even better than I have ever imagined, his tongue rolls over mine as we claim each other.
“Yeah, fuck me harder, Tomlinson” Harry pleaded to the solitude of his home, wishing fervently the minor would be there, rocking roughly agains his arse, making him lose his mind -even more-, possessing him without hesitation nor remorse. His hands moved faster. “Yeah, like that, just like that”.
“You like that, Mr Styles?” Louis’ voice echoed in his imagination as his small hands wrapped his hips firmly to thrust even better in his abused hole. “Like the way my cock opens you up for me?”
“Yeah, yeah, love it” he said, arching his back as he felt the knowing sensation of tickling in his lower abdomen. “Fuck, Tomlinson”.
How could that be possible? How could he be so horny just by the thought of his student -his minor student- fucking him senseless and mercyless? How could he be on his couch, all on fours, fucking himself with his fingers picturing it was Louis’ dick as he wa reading his essay? Definitely, Harry had lost his mind.
We are on fire, our skins burn when they touch each other, our breaths intermingle, our hearts beat at the same rhythm. There is no place I would rather be than this, our chests pressed together, our bodies pleasuring each other, moving simultaneously, succumbing to our darkest desires. And with a loud, broken cry, we reach the highest, glorious sensation, trembling against each other, barely being able to stand on our feet.
“Come for me, Mr Styles” Louis demanded in his head, hitting his spot with his glans in every deep and harsh thrust.
“Fuuuuuck, shit, fuck” Harry groaned, spilling his seed all over his hand and the couch, making a really sticky mess. His chest went up and down quickly, trying to catch his breath again while he read the last words of that sinful and maddening narrative.
And yes, this might be the biggest cliché in the world, but this is all because those thick, strong legs, those long and skilled fingers, those plump, desirable lips and, of course, that deep, slow, hypnotic, hoarse, arousing voice. You’ve got me, Mr Styles.
“You’ve got me too, Tomlinson”.
THE END