shield | inbox.

if you're trying to make me squirm on the shuttle, it's working.
(i have one, for the record.)

Not just the shuttle, but it'll do for starters.
(Good. I always appreciate when you're prepared for class.)

it's a lot more enjoyable when i'm in your lap.
and i do mean squirming, but i bet being on this shuttle would be more fun in your lap too. especially in a skirt.

I'll pass on the shuttle. I'd rather have you in my lap just after I've spanked you, have you squirming because you can't help it every time your bare skin scrapes against my jeans.

you always say the sweetest things.
i'm starting to regret wearing anything under my skirt.

Leave them on. I want you desperate by the time I bend you over.

i wouldn't want to deprive you of the opportunity to tear them off.
you know that's my favorite part.

You're always so considerate.
I'll make sure you're rewarded for that.

is that before or after you make me sit through an entire lecture?

After. Like I said, I want you desperate by the time I finally touch you.

there's no chance of cancelling class last minute, is there?
it'd be so easy to just send out an email, tell everyone you came down with something...

And rob you of the opportunity to spend the entire class period thinking about what's in store for you later? Now, why would I do that?

[ there's a delay in her reply. the lecture hall opens, people file in; daisy claims her seat in the front left corner of the room, closest to the wall and directly opposite his desk. ]

because the stupid smile you just gave that sophomore with a high ponytail makes me want to get on my knees in front of this class.

[ He doesn't hide his grin as he reads his phone; most people will assume it's a girlfriend, perhaps even a fiance. Certainly not someone in the room. ]

Not that I'm not flattered, but you might want to tame that jealous streak. I'm just being polite.

it's not jealousy. target brand tennis barbie's not competition.
i just like your smile.

[ weird..... that almost sounded like emotions and not pure lust. ]

[ Since he can't smile at Daisy directly, he smiles at his phone again, this time with all the warmth and familiarity that was absent from the smile he gave her classmate. ]

You're right, she's not competition.
I don't see a notebook. Are you choosing not to take notes?

[ she smiles — she can't help but smile in return, even if she has to direct it down at her phone rather than back up at him — but she doesn't bother to hide the huff of annoyance at his message either. she does reach down to pull her notebook out, though, dropping it squarely in the center of her desk. ]

don't worry, you always have my complete and undivided attention.

Good, because I'm planning to quiz you later.

[ He can feel the weight of her gaze already; it's going to be a long class for both of them. ]

looking for an excuse to keep me after class, professor?

[ he doesn't need one, but daisy does shift a little in her seat, not quite outright squirming but an uncomfortable adjustment. ]

It’s a reason, not an excuse. And I already have one - stop texting in class.

in my defense, it does say in the syllabus that exceptions can be made for pressing matters.
and thinking about you pressed against me counts, don't you think?

I’m starting the class now.

[ that’s not an answer but there’s only so much he can take before he’s forced to give his lecture from behind a desk ]

[ well, if he won't play nice, she'll have to play along. she lets her phone rest atop her desk — a model student, screen face-down and everything, diligently copying dates and details into her spiral bound notebook. even still, there's no denying the way her gaze snaps back up at every opportunity, carefully taking in the sight of him, the way his confidence blooms as he talks.

even if her legs weren't pressed snugly together under the desk, she'd appreciate this view. the neatly pressed chinos, the button up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows... it's a good look.

she does, however, pose one impertinent question, the barest hint of a grin at the corners of her mouth: ] If we're discussing the impact of religion on art, you're leaving out the Spanish Inquisition. [ a pause, fingertips flipping through the text ] What about Goya and la maja?

[ He wonders if Daisy knew that at her mention of La Maja he would imagine her posed just like Goya's muse, the suggestion of a familiar smirk teasing her lips, inviting him to take in all there is to see. He has no doubt about which version of the painting she's referring to, but for the sake of the class, he's grateful she happened to pick a nude with a clothed counterpart. ]

I was getting to the Inquisition, actually, [ he says, sounding a little defensive. Evidently he can't resist rising to the bait.

He manages to quickly shift away from La Maja and onto Goya's later works inspired by the Inquisition, but that doesn't erase the image from his head. One of these days he'll ask her to pose for him. Since she's such a fan of nude portraits, she should have one of her own. He takes a brief pause to pretend he's checking a faculty email that requires immediate response, when in reality, he's texting her that last thought. ]

Sorry for the interruption. [ He says, turning back to the class and slipping his phone into his pocket. ] Now, where were we?

[ she knows. she knows because she's spent off hours in the last few weeks trailing through the color reproductions of art in their text, considering which she likes and which she doesn't in the hopes that she might be able to talk about them one day with even a fraction of the passion that lights up his face when he lectures the class — because while he's objectively attractive and functionally capable of making her delirious from pleasure, it hadn't been his looks or his touch that had drawn her back in.

there were a million and one undergraduates with perfectly suitable libidos if all she wanted was a series of one-night stands, after all.

but she doesn't intend to derail the class entirely, and so she lets him redirect the lecture back to the topic at hand, to clothed women and then to tribunals and witches' sabbaths, dark paintings of a man haunted by religious persecution. decidedly unsexy topics. an opportunity for daisy's eyes to drop away from their intentful gaze and to lift the screen of her phone, where his message lays waiting beyond her lockscreen.

though she doesn't know if he's looking at her or not, she flushes at the message all the same, an almost bashful smile breaking the smug grin that had lingered before. ]

i would let you, if you wanted to.

[ and then, as promised, she sets her phone down. she's capable of listening sometimes. ]

(no subject)

rondache - 2019-06-09 06:38 (UTC) - Expand