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“Gck-! Not there!”
The professor’s whine was too late. Your fingers prodded and poked at the open space of his chest, a pointed star that replaced where his heart should be. It was like an open wound, but instead of bleeding, it seemed as if he had forced the universe into place. And here you were, toying with that empty spot like you had every right.
But, Anaxa was yet to truly push you away, the hands on his office chair only gripping tight enough to make the wood splinter if you pushed any further.
“Aha.. Stop it..”
Everytime he protested though, he never moved to resist truly. If anything, when you wormed your fingers around, he would bite back a shameful sound. Something that was unmistakable:
Pleasure.
You worked another knuckle deeper, both fingers only to the halfway mark and Anaxa bowed his spine, his only good eye squeezed shut. Once again, he muttered for you to quit, even asking politely (which was not his strong suit) for you to touch any other space of his body. Yet, even seeing the aching strain in his slacks, you refused and never moved from your space looming over him like a shadow.
Your digits twisted, almost with cruelty, scissoring open as if to work the space out to have room. This mostly meant to be some sort of touch test, to see if it worked like some sort of weird portal or even if it was touchable at all. You’d assume Anaxagoras would have covered the space up with something protective if it was this sensitive.
However, this man has never known caution anyways. A scoff leaves your lips.
“Please.. Fuck it feels so..”
Good? Bad? Strange? The urge to goad him on rises, but just as that smirk crosses your face and your lips part to ask for an answer, the scholar flinches. A rather drawn out, lewd sound escapes him and Anaxa drapes an arm over his face as if to hide his shame.
Your gaze flicks up to him, before finally you pull your hand back… Oddly, more of that stellar pattern follows, like.. Something fluid on your fingers. It’s runny, but thick and smells.. Not quite like it should.
The hand is lifted and just as you move to taste it off your fingers, Anaxa’s own hand shoots out and grabs you by the wrist. Even with his one good eye, he fixes you with a glare that curses you with a thousand deaths. No, maybe a million.
“Get out of my office. Now.”
…
Your taste test concludes behind his slammed office door, out in the hallway. Hmm..
The flavor is hard to describe. But it isn’t bad. However, the idea of eating the strange goo out of another man’s chest makes you shudder and you soon wash it away. Never again.