houseofsushi | lan sizhui ♪ the untamed (open post)

It's been a long goddamn day full of grading and if he hears one more smartass quote another wikipedia article, Jiang Cheng swears he's going to just fail the entire class on purpose.

He'd already gotten rid of the maroon waistcoat and pulled his violet tie loose. Hell, he'd even unbuttoned the top few buttons of his lavender button down. Doesn't matter. Wei Wuxian's already left for the day and his is the only light on in the entire department. It's late. The last classes of the day had already been dismissed and fuck if Jiang Cheng has forty papers to still get through in the next few days.

He could also be frustrated because of Wei Wuxian's jailbait like student who keeps showing up like he walked out of a goddamn Lolita novel. Cherry lollipops, innocent bends here and there, asking him questions even when he's not in his class.

He curses and gets up, pacing his office like a caged tiger.

Even after his last class, Lan Sizhui had stayed behind in the lab, waving all his friends on while he continued with dissecting plants and dyeing cells, examining things underneath microscopes, writing down each and every note necessary to the project due the next morning. Chamomile flowers with their anxiolytic and sedative properties for anxiety and relaxation; Echinacea for treating or preventing colds, flu, and infections, and for wound healing. Milk thistle, Saint John's wort, and a whole other handful of flora they've been studying for weeks on end in preparation for this upcoming quiz. (Ginseng, he's learned, is not only another cure-all, but an aphrodisiac as well? Fascinating—)

He's tired though, bleary-eyed from squinting into eyepieces, twisting lens and switching out multitudes of slides, he finally figures it's time to call it a night.

As Sizhui's wandering down the hall, however, he notices one lone light still on; Jiang Cheng's, of course, and in spite of his earlier decision to head back to his dorm, who is he to pass up such a golden opportunity? They – he, mostly, let's be real – have been doing this tentative dance for a few weeks now, a slow baiting with Sizhui waiting for the perfect moment, which has presented itself tonight of all evenings.

Unfortunately, he hasn't got any lollipops, but he does have a watermelon hard-candy he pops into his mouth after slipping out of his oversized hoodie and deftly twisting his hair back in a messy half bun, leaving him looking comfortably mussed in white skinny-style jeans and an azure, buttery-soft long-sleeved knit tunic.

He approaches the door, tucks the sweatshirt into his arms, squares his shoulders then gently raps on the door, doing everything within his power to fight back the smirk attempting to creep across his features. Not yet, he thinks, not until you get inside.

There’s a rap on his door and Jiang Cheng makes his way over, pulling the door open with a snarl on his face and a growl ready in his throat at who would dare to interrupt him.

“...Professor Wei has already gone home for the night, young master Lan,” he grunts, waving the kid off.

The door opens and Sizhui smiles politely up at the man, doe-eyed and looking almost too innocent for this to be merely a coincidence (Almost.) He lifts his free arm, rests his hand against the doorframe, just in case Jiang Cheng gets the idea of closing him out.

“That's alright,” he reassures. “Perhaps you can help me instead? See, I had a few questions about school events that may need to be chaperoned...” Rubbish, but if it gets him inside, that's what matters.

“Then consult your student manual, I’m busy,” he snaps. “Or wait until tomorrow when Professor Wei is here to bother him about it.”

He moves away from the door and scrubs a hand over his face. Christ, not now. He’s too pent up, too tired.

“Busy?” he echoes questioningly, lips pursed tight afterward. Sizhui rolls the candy in his mouth while waiting for him to move then he slips inside, nudging the door shut behind him, softly remarking, “Didn't really sound that way.”

Because he could hear him pacing. Faintly, of course, but nevertheless. “It sounded more like you were walking around.”

“I forget that pacing is a leisurely activity for you kids,” he snorts, sarcasm dripping from his every word.

He frowns when the kid kicks his door closed. Sizhui , right? He crosses his arms and leans against his desk. He’s too old and too tired for this.

“What do you want, young master Lan?”

He rolls his eyes before he's able to stop himself, but is thankfully tactful enough to incline his head when he does so. “I've noticed that when people are pacing, it's because they're stressed.”

After he's sure his expression has relaxed again, Sizhui glances up, bites down on his cheek as he gives Jiang Cheng a brief once-over, considers his loosened tie, the open buttons on his shirt. Wasn't he wearing something else, too? Yes, in maroon; a waistcoat he's obviously lost somewhere in his high-strung state.

You, is what he considers saying aloud. Instead, Sizhui's shuffling toward the desk, reaching to slide a few papers aside. “I already told you what I want,” he remarks, casting the professor a sideways glance before turning back. “But perhaps I can help you instead... Who wrote this? It's like it was copied straight from a Wikipedia page.” A beat while his eyes momentarily narrow then he chuckles, “Actually, that's exactly what this is, almost word for word.”

“Those papers are not for your review, young master Lan,” he snaps. “So you don’t need to tell me if an article has been wikipediad or not.”

What is this kid playing at? Jiang Cheng scrubs a hand over his face. He needs sleep. He needs. Well he needs an outlet. With young master Lan rolling some kind of candy alohn the inside of his cheek, his brain supplemented images happily do what else could distend those smooth, pale, cheeks.

“Perhaps not, but they were written by my peers, so I am certain I've already read at least half of these.” Keeping in mind how many people constantly come to him for help with their work, after all.

The longer he looks, the more he realizes, “To be honest, I have a pretty good idea who wrote this nonsense.” Not that he's really concerned, Sizhui's simply providing a diversion, biding his time, shifting ever-so-slightly closer to Jiang Cheng's side and tipping his head with consideration. “This isn't what you need though, is it?”

“You’re not buttering me up to improve your friend’s grade,” he says tiredly. “Everyone is graded the same.”

Why is he sidling up next to him? Doesn’t he have to go back to his dorm? Go pull an all nighter? Jiang Cheng moves away and plops himself into his chair with a groan. Maybe he would end up sleeping in his office again. The chair isn’t too unfortunate: leather and large behind his desk, high backed and wide.

Following a soft, exasperated sigh, “I don't care about my friend's grade.” If Jingyi wants to fail his class, that's his own damn fault.

Sizhui will very likely do both of those things but right now, standing here in Jiang Cheng's classroom, watching him drop into his chair, listening to him groan like he does, there's only one thing on his mind and it certainly isn't anything appropriate. He swallows, careful to not choke on his candy by accident, splays both hands as he leans on the desk. “Have you eaten at all today, professor Jiang?” That isn't quite his concern either, but better to not sound too desperate yet.

The office is small, barely enough for a few bookshelves and his desk and his chair. Let alone big enough for him to properly pace in. At least his chair and desk are steady. He could ask for more but that would mean he’d actually need to share an office with Wei Wuxian.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your concern but I managed to have instant noodles in between lectures today.”

Jiang Cheng deserves something bigger, something better. Something that's proper where he could pace if he really wanted to, although Sizhui's certain there are far better ways to release all that built-up frustration rather than walking back and forth until there's a hole in the floor.

“That's why I'm concerned. What kind of food is that?” Like he hasn't eaten plenty of it himself. He shakes his head, leans the entirety of his upper-half over the desk then props his elbows up, cheeks resting in his hands. “Come to dinner with me.”

“No,” he says firmly. “And get yourself off my desk, young master Lan.”

Though the title is said quite sarcastically. Why is he being shameless and acting as if he were straight out of a lesser professor (sometimes him. Once him.)’s fantasy?

He opens his mouth to reply, hesitates, rethinks what he's going to say and smirks. “Why don't you make me?” There's more than one way to crack an egg, obviously, and one can't make an omelet without breaking a few of those.

Because he's well-aware of what he wants and (usually) he gets exactly that. Sizhui sits up, lifts himself onto the edge of the desk, careful to not displace any papers while leaning to place both hands on the chair's arms, mirth clear in his expression when he lessens the distance between them and asks in a sugar-sweet whisper, “Then what about dessert?”

Did he just? He's asleep at his desk. This has got to be the only reason why Wei Wuxian's student, his star student, is splaying himself over his desk and why said student is leaning over him, speaking things like that. He narrows his eyes as he looks at him. Is this a weird game of chicken? Some kind of hazing that Sizhui needs to do? Seduce a professor? Fine, he won't make it easy for him.

"Is that why you've been prancing around in the tightest pants possible, bending over every surface you could find, and sucking down on those cherry lollipops?" he growls quietly. "You understand every fucking perv on campus has been ogling you? Oh...I get it; it's some kind of hazing you're doing. Late in the year to do that." One hand lifts up from the arm of the chair and into the length of his dark hair, twisting his fingers in it before yanking his head back sharply. "Or are you trying to act out so that I'd snap and take you over my knee and teach you a lesson?"

Yeah, he did, and it is most certainly not a dream. Sizhui's been waiting for a moment like this, pleading with whatever higher powers to give him one chance and here they are. Everybody knows he's been desperately trying to get Jiang Cheng's attention, in all the ways he mentions and then some, but as the situation starts unfolding before him, it feels like he's the one dreaming.

“I've been hoping you'd finally notice,” he admits then he continues in a lower murmur, “It's not hazing and I don't care who else is looking, so long as you are. Everyone else only gets to look, whereas you, on the other hand, I would—” but he cuts off abruptly, a surprised gasp passing his lips whenever Jiang Cheng reaches for his hair, gets a good handful and none too gently tugs his head back. Sizhui inhales, slow and steady, eyelashes fluttering as he tightens his hands, fingernails scraping over leather, the heat blatant in his cheeks. “Please. I'm hoping you'll put your hands all over me, to be honest.”

He brings Sizhui close enough so that their faces are a hair's breadth away from each other. It's a dangerous game. Sizhui played at the very edges of Jiang Cheng's restraint and now, offering himself up like this, practically splayed all over his desk and turned on just from grabbing his hair, it barely holds Jiang Cheng responsible for his actions. He takes a few deep breaths.

"There are rules at this institution, young master Lan, against students and teachers engaging in any kind of activities that are not academic," he says lowly, not keeping the snarl out of his voice. "So I'm not going to put my hands all over you like you want so badly. But you're going to listen and do exactly what I say, do you understand me?"

And Sizhui lets himself be drawn closer, half-lidded gaze unwavering, the softest, watermelon-tainted breath puffing across Jiang Cheng's face. He'd known there would be some reaction, but he hadn't expected something so ferociously straightforward. Honestly, what he'd anticipated, was the professor tumbling him off the desk flat onto his ass, and yet—

His lips press tight, teeth clamping down on the ever-shrinking hard-candy, though it somehow does not break. He also knew the rules and of all the ones to break? This was the one he's oh-so-willing to stick his neck out for because something drew him to Jiang Cheng; something he still can't put his finger, but it seems like he's understanding a little more now. First, the response is a faint nod, then he swallows hard a second time before acknowledging, “Yes, professor, I understand.”

“You should be answering that as yes Sir but I’ll let it slide for now.”

He tugs Sizhui, moving him so that the youth could kneel near the edge of his desk. He moves papers out of the way, stacking them up on the far side so that they would gremlin safe.

“Go ahead. Show me that pretty little cock of yours. Is it hard already? I bet it is. I bet you’re just dying for me to touch it.”

He nods with understanding at the correction, noting it for later use, which won't be too long from now. His cock sure isn't getting any softer because of it, though.

Being tugged coaxes Sizhui into moving to the desk's edge, his hands instinctively reaching to grip it because while he doesn't think Jiang Cheng will let him fall, it's one of those ‘just in case’ sort of things. At least until the older man tells him to undress.

Oh, this is really happening... but what's the catch? “Yes, sir.” He shifts, reaches for the button on his jeans, exhaling a sigh of relief once it pops open, slender fingers dipping into the sides to start working them off his hips, over the curve of his ass, down pale, creamy thighs, revealing the pretty white panties underneath. Jiang Cheng was right, his dick is already hard, straining against the lace, leaking precum from a little manhandling. “I am... mmn.” So much so, it's quite tempting to touch himself, but he resists (for now) and begins removing the undergarments, too. Slower, even, in case Jiang Cheng wants him to wait for whatever godforsaken reason.

White. Lace. Panties. His grip tightens as his breath quickens. His own slacks feel tight but he remains control of the situation. No, he’s not going to touch him.

“This a little gift for me? Let’s make them not so pristine. Stroke yourself slowly through it. Don’t touch the head. I want to see if you can soak your panties. Does that lace feel good against your cock, little one?”

Sizhui bites his lower lip to keep from outright grinning, but the left side of his face quirks faintly anyway with the knowledge that he's just laid out a huge trump card. He darts his attention toward Jiang Cheng's hands, watches them grip tighter then tilts his gaze back up, heartbeat skipping at the sound of his breath catching like that.

“Do you like them?” he asks breathily, resettling the waistband low on his hips. “I thought you might, that's part of why I bought them.” Holding steady with one hand, the other dips between his thighs, palming his cock through the lacework, deliberate in avoiding the head like he'd been told. “Mmhmm,” comes the slow drawl, the hand stabilizing him on the desk reaching to lift his shirt and tuck it underneath his chin so Jiang Cheng can get a better view. “You make me so wet, professor Jiang... it's a wonder I get anything done after I see you on campus.”

He stands to give Sizhui a better balance on his desk.

"Aren't I the lucky one, then?" he asks lowly by his ear. "That you got yourself all dressed up for me. You got yourself leaking for me and you're giving me such a nice little show, sweetheart. How long have you been wanting this, huh?" he asks.

Jiang Cheng keeps his grip in Sizhui's long locks, careful to watch as he seems to sink so easily into this role. Too far and he'll be ready to bring the young man out of a sub drop. He keeps his voice low and growling near Sizhui's ear.

"Did you practice this for me, baby? All alone, frigging your cock until you ruin your panties? How many of them have you ruined so far?"

got it bad got it bad got it bad

h-h-h-hot for teacher

Re: h-h-h-hot for teacher

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject