Work Text:
“A-and um, the data collected clearly shows that—”
Satoru’s voice trembles as he stumbles through his presentation, breath uneven, fingers digging into his thighs beneath the desk. The webcam light glows blue above his screen, recording every nervous twitch of his expression, every shallow inhale. From the shoulders up, he looks almost composed—white shirt slightly wrinkled, glasses sitting low on his nose, a faint flush across his cheekbones that could easily be mistaken for nerves.
But under the desk, where the camera can’t see, you’ve got him in your mouth—kneeling between his spread legs, lips wrapped snug around his cock, tongue lapping at the vein along its underside. Because you’ve decided the best time to give him a blowjob is in the middle of his Intro to Stellar Physics presentation.
He’s trying to sound normal, trying to remember his slides, his data, his goddamn name. But every time your tongue flicks over the sensitive ridge at his tip, his brain blanks out, his words stutter, and his stomach twists.
“—th-that potential host planets could—” Satoru’s voice cracks embarrassingly high, and he has to swallow down a sound that’s far too close to a moan. He clears his throat, trying to cover it up, eyes wide and panicked behind his glasses. His classmates must think he’s just nervous.
If only they knew.
You hum softly around him, pleased, and the vibration makes his thighs tremble and press together. He feels the heat of your mouth, the wet drag of your tongue, the obscene slick noise each time you slide him deeper into your mouth. His fingers curl tight in his jeans, nails biting crescents into his skin as he fights not to thrust and cum.
He can practically feel you grinning against him.
“R-right,” he stammers, his voice barely holding together as his hips twitch. “As you can see in figure t-three, the analysis um, reveals that—u-uh—”
His voice cracks as you swirl your tongue around his tip, sucking hard. He squeezes his eyes shut, praying no one caught that. When he opens them again, he’s staring at his own face on-screen, cheeks pink, pupils blown wide. He’s sweating. Fuck, he’s sweating.
You pull back slightly, just enough to breathe against him, hot and teasing, your thumb circling the wet head of his cock. His whole body jerks.
“You doing okay, Satoru?” his professor’s voice asks from the speakers, calm and oblivious.
“Y-yeah! Yes!” he blurts out, voice high and strangled. “Just—just a little warm in here, s-sir.”
He shoots you a desperate look under the desk—wide, pleading blue eyes, lips parted like he’s silently begging for mercy. But you just smile, eyes glinting wickedly, and take him back into your mouth with a slow, deliberate suck that makes his vision blur.
Satoru grips the edge of his chair so hard it creaks.
“B-but, um, yeah,” he stammers, blinking rapidly, trying to remember the words on his slides. “As you can see, the distribution of, uh, heavy elements in… i-interstellar gas, uh—” His breath catches on a whimper when you press your tongue flat against the base of his cock. “—c-could indicate… possible planetary formations—“
His pulse is pounding in his ears, heartbeat loud enough to drown everything else out. He just needs to finish before he—
“B-but essentially, this summarises how—ah—how uh, the development of elements…” His fingers fist in his thigh as you hollow your cheeks around him, the wet sound muffled and quiet in his tiny dorm room. “...uh, supports t-the theory of potential habitability. T-thank you for listening." Satoru chokes the words out in a rush, voice breathless, trembling.
The moment his professor says, “Great work, Satoru, I'll send your final grade soon,” he fumbles to end the call, slamming his laptop with a loud click.
And then he breaks.
Satoru's head tips back, glasses slipping down his nose, a long, shaky moan spilling from his lips as you suck him harder, your hand curling around the base of his cock, pumping in slow, slick motions, desperate noises freely spilling past his lips now.
“O-oh my—oh my god—” Satoru gasps, his voice cracking helplessly. One hand dives into your hair, fingers tangling as his hips jerk up uncontrollably. You hum, the sound buzzing around him, and that’s it—his breath stutters, his back arches, and he’s coming hard.
He chokes on a broken, relieved cry, head rolling back, throat working as he swallows a broken sound that might be your name. Hot, thick spurts of cum spill down your throat, his whole body trembling as he rides out the orgasm. His fingers clutch your hair like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, breath coming in desperate little gasps.
When it’s finally over, Satoru slumps back into his chair, completely spent, chest heaving. Sweat beads along his temples, his cheeks are pink to the roots of his hair, and his glasses are fogged to uselessness.
You pull back slowly, licking the last of his cum from your lips, eyes bright with mischief.
Satoru looks down at you, dazed and wrecked. “I fucking hate you,” he croaks, voice still shaking.
You just giggle softly, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee. “Oops.”