this is a side blog for @missygoesmeow to post bg3 content (mostly gifs, screenshots and fics so I’m not overwhelming my main account). I post art on my main account and a bunch of other things I like!
Fics under the cut!
BG3 Fics
Claws & Clauses
Raphael x Haarlep x FemTav/Reader
Rating: E
An Indecent Proposal
Raphael x FemTav/Reader
Rating: M
Artwork
The Devil's Game
Rating: T (for now)
Chapters: 1/?
Ficlets
Your Eyes Can Be So Cruel
Raphael x GN!Reader (not a ship fic really)
Rating: T
Sneaking into House of Hope
Rating: T
(artwork)
main tags:
#my screencaps
#my gifs
#.writing
this is mostly Astarion and Raphael (though more skewed toward Raphael since he kinda just took over heh)
(you will need to click on it to view it properly as tumblr sucks)
his pose is from a leyendecker illustration and I was inspired by art nouveau for this one!
the top scroll has parts of these lyrics from Sympathy for the Devil, I like the version by Ghost
Pleased to meet you, I hope you guess my name
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game
(this is the top horizontal one)
So if you meet me, have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I'll lay your fucking soul to waste
(sides - I can't remember if I used all of this lmao)
Regency AU
tags/warnings: no warnings yet. everyone is human. full of cliches :)
words: 2323
read on ao3 via source
Miss Tav Larian fears she is running out of options. She cannot let her horrible Auntie Ethel force her to marry the Emperor—her distant cousin who has inherited Tav’s father’s title and estate. But there is no escape…her aunt controls all her inheritance until she either marries or turns five-and-twenty. She cannot wait that long… she has no time and nobody else will marry Tav—Auntie has seen to that.
She has no choice. A desperate plan has Tav sneaking into the House of Hope, the most notorious gaming hell in all of Faerûn, to take a chance at playing cards and winning enough money to escape her Aunt’s clutches.
But can she win the Devil’s game?
It’s Mills and Boon time, lads.
This story, while silly, contains spoilers for the game - mostly the Emperor and who he is.
Everyone is human in this story! But if you want to picture the Emperor as a mind flayer amongst a bunch of humans, go for it. Raphael and Haarlep are half brothers in this story so their relationship is much different to in game. It works better for me plot-wise.
This is also vaguely regency as it’s not historically correct by any means! It’s a world of its own, I suppose.
Also I had to give Tav a surname and well…Larian seemed appropriate haha It sounds fancy!
Tav slinked across the wet cobblestones, trying to keep her dress from dragging across the ground—the edges were already wet. A barouche came around the corner at speed and nearly splattered her with mud but she quickly plastered herself against the stone wall of a nearby building. She held herself there a moment, breathing fast as she watched the carriage disappear down the street. Carefully she grabbed the skirts of her dress and continued down the dark street.
The thought of having to explain to Auntie Ethel how she’d ruined her dress was not something she wished to contemplate—she’d probably be locked in her room for a week as punishment if the old hag knew she’d damaged her clothes. Tav didn’t dare entertain the idea of what her aunt would do knowing how Tav had come to get her clothes in such a state. The young woman paused and shuddered at the mere thought. But Auntie Ethel would not discover this insubordination, Tav told herself, as she tried to keep hidden in the darkness of a nearby mass of shrubbery. She glanced down the street and took in the looming building that lay at the end of it.
The monstrous mansion that glittered impressively amidst the lit lanterns of the street was her destination. Even from this distance, Tav could see that the large windows in the building had most of the drapes drawn, but within the ones that were open, they flickered with candlelight and it was possible to catch a moment of movement as silhouettes passed by dreamily. It looked so inviting, so completely enchanting in the moonlight. But while Tav may not have grown up in the city proper, she knew enough that the look of this grand house was entirely deceiving.
Everyone knew about the gambling hell that was the House of Hope, not that anyone would admit to such profane knowledge. And certainly, nobody would let slip they had been there. It was the sort of place people whispered about in dark alcoves or behind their fans if they dared to mention it at all. Usually only the very wealthy or the peerage were allowed in, it was notorious for its selective entry and the things that went on inside...Tav was sure half of the rumours she’d heard about the wretched place had to be false. That had to be one of the only perks to living with Lady Ethel Pearl—that woman seemed to know everything and collected secrets like a squirrel hoarding nuts.
The building itself managed to sit along the bank between the lower and upper city of Baldur’s Gate; easy for those of little standing to be swallowed by and ostentatious enough for the worst kind of the upper class to dare set foot in. Tav knew that If you saw someone you knew in the House of Hope, you did not acknowledge it. You were there to play cards or engage in a game lanceboard, perhaps have a drink. That was all.
Tav watched another carriage trot by, this one at a more measurable pace, the hooves clattering happily against the cobbled street as she steadied her breathing. Her blood thrummed with nervous anticipation at the sight of the gambling hell. You had to be welcomed into the House and her plan to sneak in would surely not be met with any enthusiasm should she be caught. It was no place for a lady—though Tav had heard rumours about Lady Mizora frequenting it. Not that Lady Mizora had a care of being snubbed and was certainly wealthy enough to afford to not give a fig about the opinion of the ton. While Tav may not have been a lady, she had been the daughter of an Earl, before her father had passed. Her family name did mean something and it would damage her to be found in such an establishment. Her ruined reputation would be nothing more than leverage for Auntie Ethel.
Tav sucked in a deep breath through her nose and her eyes glazed over a moment at the thought of her father and the wretched woman he’d entrusted to care for his only child. It felt like she’d been trapped with Auntie Ethel forever. The woman wasn’t even her real aunt, she was her father’s cousin. Tav cursed the day that hag had appeared on their doorstep in the guise of helping her father through his long illness.
Poor Papa.
The street she’d been slinking down turned into a small alley, the end of which her destination glittered. She walked down it carefully, the uneven cobblestones wet beneath her feet. The small amount of gold she had secreted away felt heavy in her reticule as she navigated her way towards the House of Hope. It was not a lot of money, but it would be enough to play a few games of cards inside the house. So many years of playing with Auntie had taught Tav a lot about cards, especially because the old hag had a tendency to cheat. She felt she had a good chance at winning…it was her only chance.
Tav had heard that the Devil enjoyed having many of the high society deep in his pockets and the potential to win enough gold to leave Ethel behind was possible. The proprietor of the hell did not care so much who you were, as long as you had gold…or something of worth to offer if he had already emptied your coffers. He must have a name, Tav supposed as she walked down the alley, but she had only heard him referred to as the Devil.
“Eh, lass, whatcha doing ‘ere all by yourselves?”
The slurred voice startled Tav from her thoughts and she found herself in front of a short, elderly gentleman with a face like a walrus who had appeared out of the darkness. He belched loudly and Tav took a step back as he stumbled, an empty bottle held loosely in his hands before it clattered to the ground and rolled away.
“Young ladies shouldn’t be about all by ‘emselves.”
The man belched again and Tav tried to sidestep him but he grabbed at her cloak, his body swaying with the motion.
“Unhand me,” Tav demanded in the most direct voice she could muster. The man didn’t seem to be much of a threat. He had a melancholic air about him that had her add with a much gentler tone, “Please, sir, I must be going.”
The man peered up at her, his blue eyes bloodshot as if he’d been crying.
“Don’t go there, miss,” he said in a whisper, his eyes darting toward the House of Hope in the distance. “The Devil don’t take nothing.” He tugged on her cloak again and Tav feared the fabric would rip. “He don’t take nothing you ain’t giving. And he’ll make you gives everything you got.”
She managed to pry his grip off of her cloak and quickly hurried away, trying to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of her neck. She made it out of the alley, the cool evening air clinging to her fingers as a low mist settled itself in for the long night. The streets were bustling in this part of the city, though it always felt like Baldur’s Gate was never asleep no matter the time of day. In this busy crossing the streets were full and so she watched as people, some trying to be inconspicuous and some without a care, broke free from the flow of foot traffic to walk through the large open gate of the House of Hope and up to the front door. It was easier to blend in here, with so many people about—nobody was paying her any attention.
Tav knew she wouldn’t be able to get in through the Devil’s front door without an invitation. The large door was flanked by two guards, both looking burly and bored with their trollish appearance. As each new person approached, their name was checked on a ledger before being let in through the large and overly gilded doors. A glimpse of red velvet and glittering candelabras were seen before the doors closed once more. A moment later the doors opened again and Tav watched the guards hurl a man down the marble stairs and into a puddle left from the evening rain. Clearly, his name had not been on the list.
She knew there would be no ‘Miss Tav Larian’ on that list and so she had planned on how to gain entry. For several days she had perused the building on her walks. This wasn’t a bad place for a young lady to walk during the day, and she was never alone—her aunt had her accompanied by her personal maid, Mayrina, at nearly every waking moment.
But luckily for Tav, Mayrina was an utter goosecap. It was easy to persuade the girl to walk around these surrounding streets of the House of Hope on Tav’s daily walk and claim to be enjoying the architecture and surrounding gardens. All the while, Tav was taking note of the servant's entrance at the back of the mansion and how many people in service there appeared to be. She’d seen a few maids and footmen milling about; preparing horses, bringing in fresh food and loads of baskets filled with sheets.
So now it was easy to slip around the side of the building, searching for the servant's entrance she knew was there. When she spotted the open iron gate, she hurried through and was relieved to see nobody else. Quickly, she pulled off her cloak and hid it behind a nearby statue of an ugly-looking imp. She smoothed her dress down—she’d stolen a long apron from Mayrina and had tied it over her day dress—and fixed the pins in her neatly styled hair and put on the cap she’d also stolen from the maid. Her dress certainly was not the right sort of dress for a maid but with the apron and cap, she didn’t think anyone would notice her dress too much. Auntie was always talking about servants and how they were never noticed. Tav could never understand how Mayrina bore working for her.
“You can do this,” she whispered to herself, clutching her reticule tightly.
It was with a sort of disappointed relief that she found the servant entrance door unlocked. If it had been locked, she could have told herself she had tried and then simply go home. But there was nothing stopping her now. She darted in quickly and waited for the inevitable shout from someone demanding who she was, but none came. There was a young man lounging nearby, idly smoking a grimy looking cigarette. He hastily put it out and looked at Tav with a guilty expression.
“Er, please, don’t tell Korrilla,” he said. “I just needed a quick break.”
Tav raised her chin. “I won’t say anything.”
The man smiled with relief at her words and Tav tried not to run through the hallway. She passed a few others maids who nodded at her and she returned the greetings. Nobody had said anything! She could barely believe her luck so far, but she did not dare test it. When she came to a set of stairs she quickly ascended until she came to a door which opened with ease as she turned the handle. Creeping through, she found herself on a lushly carpeted floor that was empty of anyone else. Music and laughter greeted her and as she slinked further she realised she had come upon a mezzanine floor. Slowly, she walked forward and peered over the gold balustrade and down below. It was full of people! There were so many tables set up for all different kinds of card games and waiters were walking around with trays laden with champagne. It was like the most raucous soiree Tav had ever seen. She could even spy some men and women lounging together on a settee, sitting far too close than was proper and laughing as they clinked their drinks. Tav’s heart raced when she saw one man slide a hand so effortlessly under one lady's skirt—the woman didn’t even budge! She just laughed again, the feather in her hair swaying hypnotically before she gracefully stood and gestured for the man to follow. Tav watched them as they both drifted off together, arms intertwined, toward a large staircase.
Tav ducked back as the music from below swelled, and in the distance, a champagne cork popped. She’d spotted the cribbage card table and all she had to do was get down there and act like she belonged.
Easy.
The couple had reached the top of the stairs and Tav watched as they disappeared behind a set of closed doors. She closed her eyes and prayed to any god that may hear her plight and possibly offer guidance. With nothing left to do but either flee or continue with this madness, she steadied her resolve and started to head for the large staircase. Her heart was racing. As soon as she reached the top of the staircase she would remove the apron and cap before stuffing them in a nearby vase. The closer she got the more panicked she became. But she couldn’t leave now. That odious old woman was so desperate to get her to marry the new Earl—her estranged cousin who just happened to be next in line for the title and also just happened to be Ethel’s son. Sometimes Tav wondered if the old woman had poisoned her father and addled his brains to even let him think to give that hag control over Tav and her inheritance.
Too lost in trying not to cast up her supper, Tav failed to hear the door open behind her.
“A lost little mouse is running through the house…”
Regency AU
tags/warnings: no warnings yet. everyone is human. full of cliches :)
words: 2323
read on ao3 via source
Miss Tav Larian fears she is running out of options. She cannot let her horrible Auntie Ethel force her to marry the Emperor—her distant cousin who has inherited Tav’s father’s title and estate. But there is no escape…her aunt controls all her inheritance until she either marries or turns five-and-twenty. She cannot wait that long… she has no time and nobody else will marry Tav—Auntie has seen to that.
She has no choice. A desperate plan has Tav sneaking into the House of Hope, the most notorious gaming hell in all of Faerûn, to take a chance at playing cards and winning enough money to escape her Aunt’s clutches.
But can she win the Devil’s game?
It’s Mills and Boon time, lads.
This story, while silly, contains spoilers for the game - mostly the Emperor and who he is.
Everyone is human in this story! But if you want to picture the Emperor as a mind flayer amongst a bunch of humans, go for it. Raphael and Haarlep are half brothers in this story so their relationship is much different to in game. It works better for me plot-wise.
This is also vaguely regency as it’s not historically correct by any means! It’s a world of its own, I suppose.
Also I had to give Tav a surname and well…Larian seemed appropriate haha It sounds fancy!
Tav slinked across the wet cobblestones, trying to keep her dress from dragging across the ground—the edges were already wet. A barouche came around the corner at speed and nearly splattered her with mud but she quickly plastered herself against the stone wall of a nearby building. She held herself there a moment, breathing fast as she watched the carriage disappear down the street. Carefully she grabbed the skirts of her dress and continued down the dark street.
The thought of having to explain to Auntie Ethel how she’d ruined her dress was not something she wished to contemplate—she’d probably be locked in her room for a week as punishment if the old hag knew she’d damaged her clothes. Tav didn’t dare entertain the idea of what her aunt would do knowing how Tav had come to get her clothes in such a state. The young woman paused and shuddered at the mere thought. But Auntie Ethel would not discover this insubordination, Tav told herself, as she tried to keep hidden in the darkness of a nearby mass of shrubbery. She glanced down the street and took in the looming building that lay at the end of it.
The monstrous mansion that glittered impressively amidst the lit lanterns of the street was her destination. Even from this distance, Tav could see that the large windows in the building had most of the drapes drawn, but within the ones that were open, they flickered with candlelight and it was possible to catch a moment of movement as silhouettes passed by dreamily. It looked so inviting, so completely enchanting in the moonlight. But while Tav may not have grown up in the city proper, she knew enough that the look of this grand house was entirely deceiving.
Everyone knew about the gambling hell that was the House of Hope, not that anyone would admit to such profane knowledge. And certainly, nobody would let slip they had been there. It was the sort of place people whispered about in dark alcoves or behind their fans if they dared to mention it at all. Usually only the very wealthy or the peerage were allowed in, it was notorious for its selective entry and the things that went on inside...Tav was sure half of the rumours she’d heard about the wretched place had to be false. That had to be one of the only perks to living with Lady Ethel Pearl—that woman seemed to know everything and collected secrets like a squirrel hoarding nuts.
The building itself managed to sit along the bank between the lower and upper city of Baldur’s Gate; easy for those of little standing to be swallowed by and ostentatious enough for the worst kind of the upper class to dare set foot in. Tav knew that If you saw someone you knew in the House of Hope, you did not acknowledge it. You were there to play cards or engage in a game lanceboard, perhaps have a drink. That was all.
Tav watched another carriage trot by, this one at a more measurable pace, the hooves clattering happily against the cobbled street as she steadied her breathing. Her blood thrummed with nervous anticipation at the sight of the gambling hell. You had to be welcomed into the House and her plan to sneak in would surely not be met with any enthusiasm should she be caught. It was no place for a lady—though Tav had heard rumours about Lady Mizora frequenting it. Not that Lady Mizora had a care of being snubbed and was certainly wealthy enough to afford to not give a fig about the opinion of the ton. While Tav may not have been a lady, she had been the daughter of an Earl, before her father had passed. Her family name did mean something and it would damage her to be found in such an establishment. Her ruined reputation would be nothing more than leverage for Auntie Ethel.
Tav sucked in a deep breath through her nose and her eyes glazed over a moment at the thought of her father and the wretched woman he’d entrusted to care for his only child. It felt like she’d been trapped with Auntie Ethel forever. The woman wasn’t even her real aunt, she was her father’s cousin. Tav cursed the day that hag had appeared on their doorstep in the guise of helping her father through his long illness.
Poor Papa.
The street she’d been slinking down turned into a small alley, the end of which her destination glittered. She walked down it carefully, the uneven cobblestones wet beneath her feet. The small amount of gold she had secreted away felt heavy in her reticule as she navigated her way towards the House of Hope. It was not a lot of money, but it would be enough to play a few games of cards inside the house. So many years of playing with Auntie had taught Tav a lot about cards, especially because the old hag had a tendency to cheat. She felt she had a good chance at winning…it was her only chance.
Tav had heard that the Devil enjoyed having many of the high society deep in his pockets and the potential to win enough gold to leave Ethel behind was possible. The proprietor of the hell did not care so much who you were, as long as you had gold…or something of worth to offer if he had already emptied your coffers. He must have a name, Tav supposed as she walked down the alley, but she had only heard him referred to as the Devil.
“Eh, lass, whatcha doing ‘ere all by yourselves?”
The slurred voice startled Tav from her thoughts and she found herself in front of a short, elderly gentleman with a face like a walrus who had appeared out of the darkness. He belched loudly and Tav took a step back as he stumbled, an empty bottle held loosely in his hands before it clattered to the ground and rolled away.
“Young ladies shouldn’t be about all by ‘emselves.”
The man belched again and Tav tried to sidestep him but he grabbed at her cloak, his body swaying with the motion.
“Unhand me,” Tav demanded in the most direct voice she could muster. The man didn’t seem to be much of a threat. He had a melancholic air about him that had her add with a much gentler tone, “Please, sir, I must be going.”
The man peered up at her, his blue eyes bloodshot as if he’d been crying.
“Don’t go there, miss,” he said in a whisper, his eyes darting toward the House of Hope in the distance. “The Devil don’t take nothing.” He tugged on her cloak again and Tav feared the fabric would rip. “He don’t take nothing you ain’t giving. And he’ll make you gives everything you got.”
She managed to pry his grip off of her cloak and quickly hurried away, trying to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of her neck. She made it out of the alley, the cool evening air clinging to her fingers as a low mist settled itself in for the long night. The streets were bustling in this part of the city, though it always felt like Baldur’s Gate was never asleep no matter the time of day. In this busy crossing the streets were full and so she watched as people, some trying to be inconspicuous and some without a care, broke free from the flow of foot traffic to walk through the large open gate of the House of Hope and up to the front door. It was easier to blend in here, with so many people about—nobody was paying her any attention.
Tav knew she wouldn’t be able to get in through the Devil’s front door without an invitation. The large door was flanked by two guards, both looking burly and bored with their trollish appearance. As each new person approached, their name was checked on a ledger before being let in through the large and overly gilded doors. A glimpse of red velvet and glittering candelabras were seen before the doors closed once more. A moment later the doors opened again and Tav watched the guards hurl a man down the marble stairs and into a puddle left from the evening rain. Clearly, his name had not been on the list.
She knew there would be no ‘Miss Tav Larian’ on that list and so she had planned on how to gain entry. For several days she had perused the building on her walks. This wasn’t a bad place for a young lady to walk during the day, and she was never alone—her aunt had her accompanied by her personal maid, Mayrina, at nearly every waking moment.
But luckily for Tav, Mayrina was an utter goosecap. It was easy to persuade the girl to walk around these surrounding streets of the House of Hope on Tav’s daily walk and claim to be enjoying the architecture and surrounding gardens. All the while, Tav was taking note of the servant's entrance at the back of the mansion and how many people in service there appeared to be. She’d seen a few maids and footmen milling about; preparing horses, bringing in fresh food and loads of baskets filled with sheets.
So now it was easy to slip around the side of the building, searching for the servant's entrance she knew was there. When she spotted the open iron gate, she hurried through and was relieved to see nobody else. Quickly, she pulled off her cloak and hid it behind a nearby statue of an ugly-looking imp. She smoothed her dress down—she’d stolen a long apron from Mayrina and had tied it over her day dress—and fixed the pins in her neatly styled hair and put on the cap she’d also stolen from the maid. Her dress certainly was not the right sort of dress for a maid but with the apron and cap, she didn’t think anyone would notice her dress too much. Auntie was always talking about servants and how they were never noticed. Tav could never understand how Mayrina bore working for her.
“You can do this,” she whispered to herself, clutching her reticule tightly.
It was with a sort of disappointed relief that she found the servant entrance door unlocked. If it had been locked, she could have told herself she had tried and then simply go home. But there was nothing stopping her now. She darted in quickly and waited for the inevitable shout from someone demanding who she was, but none came. There was a young man lounging nearby, idly smoking a grimy looking cigarette. He hastily put it out and looked at Tav with a guilty expression.
“Er, please, don’t tell Korrilla,” he said. “I just needed a quick break.”
Tav raised her chin. “I won’t say anything.”
The man smiled with relief at her words and Tav tried not to run through the hallway. She passed a few others maids who nodded at her and she returned the greetings. Nobody had said anything! She could barely believe her luck so far, but she did not dare test it. When she came to a set of stairs she quickly ascended until she came to a door which opened with ease as she turned the handle. Creeping through, she found herself on a lushly carpeted floor that was empty of anyone else. Music and laughter greeted her and as she slinked further she realised she had come upon a mezzanine floor. Slowly, she walked forward and peered over the gold balustrade and down below. It was full of people! There were so many tables set up for all different kinds of card games and waiters were walking around with trays laden with champagne. It was like the most raucous soiree Tav had ever seen. She could even spy some men and women lounging together on a settee, sitting far too close than was proper and laughing as they clinked their drinks. Tav’s heart raced when she saw one man slide a hand so effortlessly under one lady's skirt—the woman didn’t even budge! She just laughed again, the feather in her hair swaying hypnotically before she gracefully stood and gestured for the man to follow. Tav watched them as they both drifted off together, arms intertwined, toward a large staircase.
Tav ducked back as the music from below swelled, and in the distance, a champagne cork popped. She’d spotted the cribbage card table and all she had to do was get down there and act like she belonged.
Easy.
The couple had reached the top of the stairs and Tav watched as they disappeared behind a set of closed doors. She closed her eyes and prayed to any god that may hear her plight and possibly offer guidance. With nothing left to do but either flee or continue with this madness, she steadied her resolve and started to head for the large staircase. Her heart was racing. As soon as she reached the top of the staircase she would remove the apron and cap before stuffing them in a nearby vase. The closer she got the more panicked she became. But she couldn’t leave now. That odious old woman was so desperate to get her to marry the new Earl—her estranged cousin who just happened to be next in line for the title and also just happened to be Ethel’s son. Sometimes Tav wondered if the old woman had poisoned her father and addled his brains to even let him think to give that hag control over Tav and her inheritance.
Too lost in trying not to cast up her supper, Tav failed to hear the door open behind her.
“A lost little mouse is running through the house…”
Regency AU
tags/warnings: no warnings yet. everyone is human. full of cliches :)
words: 2323
read on ao3 via source
Miss Tav Larian fears she is running out of options. She cannot let her horrible Auntie Ethel force her to marry the Emperor—her distant cousin who has inherited Tav’s father’s title and estate. But there is no escape…her aunt controls all her inheritance until she either marries or turns five-and-twenty. She cannot wait that long… she has no time and nobody else will marry Tav—Auntie has seen to that.
She has no choice. A desperate plan has Tav sneaking into the House of Hope, the most notorious gaming hell in all of Faerûn, to take a chance at playing cards and winning enough money to escape her Aunt’s clutches.
But can she win the Devil’s game?
It’s Mills and Boon time, lads.
This story, while silly, contains spoilers for the game - mostly the Emperor and who he is.
Everyone is human in this story! But if you want to picture the Emperor as a mind flayer amongst a bunch of humans, go for it. Raphael and Haarlep are half brothers in this story so their relationship is much different to in game. It works better for me plot-wise.
This is also vaguely regency as it’s not historically correct by any means! It’s a world of its own, I suppose.
Also I had to give Tav a surname and well…Larian seemed appropriate haha It sounds fancy!
Tav slinked across the wet cobblestones, trying to keep her dress from dragging across the ground—the edges were already wet. A barouche came around the corner at speed and nearly splattered her with mud but she quickly plastered herself against the stone wall of a nearby building. She held herself there a moment, breathing fast as she watched the carriage disappear down the street. Carefully she grabbed the skirts of her dress and continued down the dark street.
The thought of having to explain to Auntie Ethel how she’d ruined her dress was not something she wished to contemplate—she’d probably be locked in her room for a week as punishment if the old hag knew she’d damaged her clothes. Tav didn’t dare entertain the idea of what her aunt would do knowing how Tav had come to get her clothes in such a state. The young woman paused and shuddered at the mere thought. But Auntie Ethel would not discover this insubordination, Tav told herself, as she tried to keep hidden in the darkness of a nearby mass of shrubbery. She glanced down the street and took in the looming building that lay at the end of it.
The monstrous mansion that glittered impressively amidst the lit lanterns of the street was her destination. Even from this distance, Tav could see that the large windows in the building had most of the drapes drawn, but within the ones that were open, they flickered with candlelight and it was possible to catch a moment of movement as silhouettes passed by dreamily. It looked so inviting, so completely enchanting in the moonlight. But while Tav may not have grown up in the city proper, she knew enough that the look of this grand house was entirely deceiving.
Everyone knew about the gambling hell that was the House of Hope, not that anyone would admit to such profane knowledge. And certainly, nobody would let slip they had been there. It was the sort of place people whispered about in dark alcoves or behind their fans if they dared to mention it at all. Usually only the very wealthy or the peerage were allowed in, it was notorious for its selective entry and the things that went on inside...Tav was sure half of the rumours she’d heard about the wretched place had to be false. That had to be one of the only perks to living with Lady Ethel Pearl—that woman seemed to know everything and collected secrets like a squirrel hoarding nuts.
The building itself managed to sit along the bank between the lower and upper city of Baldur’s Gate; easy for those of little standing to be swallowed by and ostentatious enough for the worst kind of the upper class to dare set foot in. Tav knew that If you saw someone you knew in the House of Hope, you did not acknowledge it. You were there to play cards or engage in a game lanceboard, perhaps have a drink. That was all.
Tav watched another carriage trot by, this one at a more measurable pace, the hooves clattering happily against the cobbled street as she steadied her breathing. Her blood thrummed with nervous anticipation at the sight of the gambling hell. You had to be welcomed into the House and her plan to sneak in would surely not be met with any enthusiasm should she be caught. It was no place for a lady—though Tav had heard rumours about Lady Mizora frequenting it. Not that Lady Mizora had a care of being snubbed and was certainly wealthy enough to afford to not give a fig about the opinion of the ton. While Tav may not have been a lady, she had been the daughter of an Earl, before her father had passed. Her family name did mean something and it would damage her to be found in such an establishment. Her ruined reputation would be nothing more than leverage for Auntie Ethel.
Tav sucked in a deep breath through her nose and her eyes glazed over a moment at the thought of her father and the wretched woman he’d entrusted to care for his only child. It felt like she’d been trapped with Auntie Ethel forever. The woman wasn’t even her real aunt, she was her father’s cousin. Tav cursed the day that hag had appeared on their doorstep in the guise of helping her father through his long illness.
Poor Papa.
The street she’d been slinking down turned into a small alley, the end of which her destination glittered. She walked down it carefully, the uneven cobblestones wet beneath her feet. The small amount of gold she had secreted away felt heavy in her reticule as she navigated her way towards the House of Hope. It was not a lot of money, but it would be enough to play a few games of cards inside the house. So many years of playing with Auntie had taught Tav a lot about cards, especially because the old hag had a tendency to cheat. She felt she had a good chance at winning…it was her only chance.
Tav had heard that the Devil enjoyed having many of the high society deep in his pockets and the potential to win enough gold to leave Ethel behind was possible. The proprietor of the hell did not care so much who you were, as long as you had gold…or something of worth to offer if he had already emptied your coffers. He must have a name, Tav supposed as she walked down the alley, but she had only heard him referred to as the Devil.
“Eh, lass, whatcha doing ‘ere all by yourselves?”
The slurred voice startled Tav from her thoughts and she found herself in front of a short, elderly gentleman with a face like a walrus who had appeared out of the darkness. He belched loudly and Tav took a step back as he stumbled, an empty bottle held loosely in his hands before it clattered to the ground and rolled away.
“Young ladies shouldn’t be about all by ‘emselves.”
The man belched again and Tav tried to sidestep him but he grabbed at her cloak, his body swaying with the motion.
“Unhand me,” Tav demanded in the most direct voice she could muster. The man didn’t seem to be much of a threat. He had a melancholic air about him that had her add with a much gentler tone, “Please, sir, I must be going.”
The man peered up at her, his blue eyes bloodshot as if he’d been crying.
“Don’t go there, miss,” he said in a whisper, his eyes darting toward the House of Hope in the distance. “The Devil don’t take nothing.” He tugged on her cloak again and Tav feared the fabric would rip. “He don’t take nothing you ain’t giving. And he’ll make you gives everything you got.”
She managed to pry his grip off of her cloak and quickly hurried away, trying to ignore the prickling feeling at the back of her neck. She made it out of the alley, the cool evening air clinging to her fingers as a low mist settled itself in for the long night. The streets were bustling in this part of the city, though it always felt like Baldur’s Gate was never asleep no matter the time of day. In this busy crossing the streets were full and so she watched as people, some trying to be inconspicuous and some without a care, broke free from the flow of foot traffic to walk through the large open gate of the House of Hope and up to the front door. It was easier to blend in here, with so many people about—nobody was paying her any attention.
Tav knew she wouldn’t be able to get in through the Devil’s front door without an invitation. The large door was flanked by two guards, both looking burly and bored with their trollish appearance. As each new person approached, their name was checked on a ledger before being let in through the large and overly gilded doors. A glimpse of red velvet and glittering candelabras were seen before the doors closed once more. A moment later the doors opened again and Tav watched the guards hurl a man down the marble stairs and into a puddle left from the evening rain. Clearly, his name had not been on the list.
She knew there would be no ‘Miss Tav Larian’ on that list and so she had planned on how to gain entry. For several days she had perused the building on her walks. This wasn’t a bad place for a young lady to walk during the day, and she was never alone—her aunt had her accompanied by her personal maid, Mayrina, at nearly every waking moment.
But luckily for Tav, Mayrina was an utter goosecap. It was easy to persuade the girl to walk around these surrounding streets of the House of Hope on Tav’s daily walk and claim to be enjoying the architecture and surrounding gardens. All the while, Tav was taking note of the servant's entrance at the back of the mansion and how many people in service there appeared to be. She’d seen a few maids and footmen milling about; preparing horses, bringing in fresh food and loads of baskets filled with sheets.
So now it was easy to slip around the side of the building, searching for the servant's entrance she knew was there. When she spotted the open iron gate, she hurried through and was relieved to see nobody else. Quickly, she pulled off her cloak and hid it behind a nearby statue of an ugly-looking imp. She smoothed her dress down—she’d stolen a long apron from Mayrina and had tied it over her day dress—and fixed the pins in her neatly styled hair and put on the cap she’d also stolen from the maid. Her dress certainly was not the right sort of dress for a maid but with the apron and cap, she didn’t think anyone would notice her dress too much. Auntie was always talking about servants and how they were never noticed. Tav could never understand how Mayrina bore working for her.
“You can do this,” she whispered to herself, clutching her reticule tightly.
It was with a sort of disappointed relief that she found the servant entrance door unlocked. If it had been locked, she could have told herself she had tried and then simply go home. But there was nothing stopping her now. She darted in quickly and waited for the inevitable shout from someone demanding who she was, but none came. There was a young man lounging nearby, idly smoking a grimy looking cigarette. He hastily put it out and looked at Tav with a guilty expression.
“Er, please, don’t tell Korrilla,” he said. “I just needed a quick break.”
Tav raised her chin. “I won’t say anything.”
The man smiled with relief at her words and Tav tried not to run through the hallway. She passed a few others maids who nodded at her and she returned the greetings. Nobody had said anything! She could barely believe her luck so far, but she did not dare test it. When she came to a set of stairs she quickly ascended until she came to a door which opened with ease as she turned the handle. Creeping through, she found herself on a lushly carpeted floor that was empty of anyone else. Music and laughter greeted her and as she slinked further she realised she had come upon a mezzanine floor. Slowly, she walked forward and peered over the gold balustrade and down below. It was full of people! There were so many tables set up for all different kinds of card games and waiters were walking around with trays laden with champagne. It was like the most raucous soiree Tav had ever seen. She could even spy some men and women lounging together on a settee, sitting far too close than was proper and laughing as they clinked their drinks. Tav’s heart raced when she saw one man slide a hand so effortlessly under one lady's skirt—the woman didn’t even budge! She just laughed again, the feather in her hair swaying hypnotically before she gracefully stood and gestured for the man to follow. Tav watched them as they both drifted off together, arms intertwined, toward a large staircase.
Tav ducked back as the music from below swelled, and in the distance, a champagne cork popped. She’d spotted the cribbage card table and all she had to do was get down there and act like she belonged.
Easy.
The couple had reached the top of the stairs and Tav watched as they disappeared behind a set of closed doors. She closed her eyes and prayed to any god that may hear her plight and possibly offer guidance. With nothing left to do but either flee or continue with this madness, she steadied her resolve and started to head for the large staircase. Her heart was racing. As soon as she reached the top of the staircase she would remove the apron and cap before stuffing them in a nearby vase. The closer she got the more panicked she became. But she couldn’t leave now. That odious old woman was so desperate to get her to marry the new Earl—her estranged cousin who just happened to be next in line for the title and also just happened to be Ethel’s son. Sometimes Tav wondered if the old woman had poisoned her father and addled his brains to even let him think to give that hag control over Tav and her inheritance.
Too lost in trying not to cast up her supper, Tav failed to hear the door open behind her.
“A lost little mouse is running through the house…”
Tav is not pleased with the grade that her philosophy professor, the illustrious Dr. Raphael Cania, has given her latest essay. The professor is pleased to see her finally imbue some passion into her words, even if it comes too late to bolster her grade. She’s pleasantly diverting, even if her tongue comes with barbs.
Warnings: Student/Teacher relationship, abuse of authority, unresolved sexual tension
Inspired by these delicious pictures.
Even you, Socrates, could perhaps be initiated in the rites of love I’ve descripted so far. But the purpose of these rites, if they are performed correctly, is to reach the final vision of the mysteries; and I’m not sure you could manage this. But I’ll tell you about them, and make every effort in doing so; try to follow, as far as you can.
The correct way for someone to approach this business is to begin when he’s young by being drawn towards beautiful bodies. At first, if his guide leads him correctly, he should love just one body and in that relationship produce beautiful discourses.
Diotima to Socrates.
(Plato, The Symposium, translated by Christopher Gill. Penguin Classics, 1999. Pages 47-48)
She knew she was in the right. She clutched her paper to her chest, half crumpled from where her fists had tightened while reading his brief, cutting remarks after her conclusion.
A satisfactory essay. Lacks originality. The paragraph on Socrates’ inclusion of the female perspective was most promising, though still rather bloodless.
Lacking in originality? Bloodless? She had spent weeks on that damned essay. Admittedly, she’d been a little distracted in class… and in her research at home. It didn’t help that he had assigned a topic that he had authored the seminal papers on – arrogant, self-aggrandizing ass that he was. Every other paper she read was plastered with his name. Professor Raphael Cania. His Ph.D. had been on the Greek dialectic method. Her essay had been on Socrates. And Love.
Which sounds entirely ludicrous, and it absolutely was entirely ludicrous.
Only it seemed that those damn Greeks had discussed the topic a fair bit. And it seemed to be an area that her cursed, insufferable, charming, nightmare of a professor with the most wolfish smirk and elegant hands… She was getting distracted. It seemed to be an area in which Professor Cania had written extensively in. His articles were come of the most cited articles on the topic.
And it was rather hard not to imagine his voice as she read the
How was she supposed to think clearly when everything she read about love and philosophy, he wrote?
But regardless, he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t her very best work, but she had done better than merely pass. She was damn well sure that he was still punishing her for arguing with him over some detail she felt he had misrepresented in one of her first lectures with him; he was still stewing over that, she was sure. He’d made it his mission to call attention to her in class as often as he could since then, just to torment her – and now he was marking her down because she wasn’t original enough? Enough was enough. Something had to be done.
Someone had to be knocked down a peg or two.
Tav gathered her herself at the door to his office, a looming dark wood door with elegant, floral carvings; almost extravagant, but still tasteful. She felt sure it was only toned down because the university was a highly esteemed and old establishment. He seemed like an extravagant man. But he was all talk, just like his esteemed hero Socrates – who, while of course one had to grudgingly respect him as a philosopher, Tav suspected was an insufferable blowhard as well.
Lacking originality…
Bloodless…
She’d certainly felt her blood pumping now.
She raised her fist, and she knocked.
Maybe a little harder than she needed to.
Raphael leant back in his leather seat, stretching with his arms over his head and his legs extended like a cat in a sunbeam; only the sun was quickly fading, as was his will to stay chained to his desk. He sighed heavily, glaring at the pile of essays he had yet to grade. These were from his first-year students, and their grasp on the ancients left something to be desired – namely any semblance of passion.
How could one write about the Greeks in such a bland manner? How could one not feel the thrumming heart that echoed in these works? The repartee between friends and lovers and rivals, the debates that had birthed new ideas in the rush of wine and sex and pleasure?
His second-years had done marginally better, but he had been sorely disappointed by how dispassionate his favourite student’s work had been. The girl, Tav, had boldly stood up and told him that she thought he was wrong in one of her first classes with him – he had rather thought she at least might have written something provocative. She certainly provoked him in class… though, he had to admit he had made something of a sport out of provoking her in turn. He found her ever-so stimulating, but her essay had been anything but.
Gods, he was bored.
And his glass of whiskey was nearly empty; he rectified that quickly with the private stash of liquid gold he kept in his bottom drawer for these long days at the end of the semester, and he took a deep sip.
Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
He raised an eyebrow at the door. It was past four in the afternoon. His office hours were very much over. Another student come to weep over a failing grade? While sometimes he rather enjoyed the begging – especially from those students whose parents had bought their place here and expected to be given a free pass for mediocrity – he was not in the mood for any more of it today.
He wanted to be done with this last batch of grading, drive home, and sink into a well-deserved bath. Maybe he would call on Haarlep to entertain him for the evening. A mouth around his cock would certainly refresh his tired mind. The Greeks had many things right, and the importance of pleasure in the intellectual pursuits was certainly one of them.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
They’ll leave soon.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!
“Damn it, I’m not here!” he growled at the door.
Said door swung open brazenly and slammed shut behind the intruder of his peace. She was red-faced and furious, her fists clenched at the curve of her hips. Certainly not bloodless now.
Raphael couldn’t help his creeping smile. Well, this certainly wasn’t boring.
“Hello Tav, I see you’ve disregarded my office hours. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” he drawled, swirling his amber drink in the afternoon sun that streamed in through the window behind him. It glinted in the sunlight. She glanced at his hand. Raphael relaxed into his chair, and took a swig, casting his eyes up the length of her. In the golden sunlight, stray hairs seemed to form a halo about her head – and there were many stray hairs. She looked terribly dishevelled, like she’d been pulling at her hair.
He wouldn’t mind pulling her hair.
He also thought perhaps the Greeks were right in that a good mentorship should include a good fucking. Though she looked dishevelled, he was sure she’d not been given her due in quite some time. Maybe that was why she vexed him so.
She stormed over to his desk, pointing at him with a very accusing finger that trembled with unconcealed rage.
“You,” she seethed. She stopped on the other side of his desk. Her chest was heaving. It was a pleasing sight though her pretty white blouse.
“Me,” Raphael agreed, though not entirely sure what he was agreeing with – but he tended to agree with himself. Tav, though, looked about to burst. Would it take much needling to have her pop? “You look incensed, my dear. Won’t you take a seat?” She didn’t. She seemed to be trembling a little, though not with fear – good, he wanted a fight. He smiled at her cloyingly, “I’m sure we can talk this out – debates can be so invigorating, and you look like you are itching to argue with me.”
“Will you shut up?” she shouted, and she actually stamped her food.
Raphael obliged her request, but he did it with the self-satisfied smirk of a cat who was watching his dinner plunge herself into his trap. He crossed one leg over the other, and settled in.
Tav didn’t notice the predatory glint in his smile. She was too distracted by her own white-hot fury.
She slammed her paper down on the table.
“Derivative and bloodless, that’s what you called my essay.”
“I believe I said it lacked originality.” She narrowed her eyes at his. She found them disarmingly golden in the afternoon sun. She flushed with another rush of rage – how dare he try to charm her now? And did he really remember his criticism word-for-word? Ass.
“Shut. Up.”
Raphael raised one hand apologetically, but his smirk didn’t look very apologetic. That only inflamed her temper more.
“You’ve spent all bloody semester trying to humiliate me at every lecture all because I dared suggest that maybe the great Dr. Raphael Cania, Professor of being an insufferable argumentative prick, might not be completely unimpeachable. You’ve made me read whole swathes of borderline degrading dialogues from The Symposium with you in front of the whole damn class –”
“Are you saying that reading Diotima is degrading?” Raphael interrupted, far too blithely, punctuating his sentence with a sip of whiskey. Her eyes were drawn again to his long, elegant fingers. He had very nice hands.
Tav stumbled over the interruption.
“No, not—it’s not— it's just—”
“That would explain why your section on her was so dull. I’m surprised, you seemed to enjoy telling my Socrates what-for.”
She had enjoyed the dialogues, she had to admit. Diotima was wise and even witty in her way, and it was immensely pleasurable to turn the dialectic tables on Socrates – and by association, Professor Cania. But still. Talking about initiating him in the ‘rites of love’ and ‘loving one body’ to ‘produce beautiful discourse’ in front of the class? That had been mortifying.
“Diotima isn’t the point! You made me go up there because you wanted to see me stutter and fail. You just wanted to fluster me, embarrass me in front of everyone! You’ve been punishing me for weeks, making an example of me so that no one else dares question you! And now this!”
She slapped her hand on the essay she had thrust onto the table, hard enough that it made her hand sting, but it got his attention. He peered over his glasses at the paper.
“Lacking originality! Bloodless! That’s just not fair!”
Raphael hummed. He was keeping his smile in check, but he loved seeing her swept up in a rage like this. Most provocative indeed. This almost made up for her lack-lustre paper.
“I worked on that paper for weeks! It’s not my fault that all your garbage dominates the journals!” Well, no wonder her paper was derivative – it was his work she was drawing from, and it was hard to improve upon perfection. She hadn’t plagiarised anything, but she hadn’t really added anything new to the conversation either. She’d played it safe, hedged her arguments to the point of undermining herself, which was so very much not her style.
This right now, worked up as she was, was much more to his taste. She suited this gesticulating wildly and yelling at her professor: a man who was a very highly sought-after guest speaker and dinner guest. And bed mate. And if even a portion of the passion she expressed now translated to her bedroom manner… well, they’d be rather compatible bed mates, he supposed, not for the first time.
She was going hoarse now, yelling about how hard she had worked and how he was being vindictive because his ego was so fragile – he wasn’t really paying very much attention to the words she was saying. She was leaning over the desk, glaring daggers and spitting venom at him.
His eyes drifted to her bosom. Her blouse was done up far too high for his liking, but he could see the way they swayed sumptuously as she panted. She was so delightfully impassioned. He wanted to shut her up. Or make her scream even more. Both. He was sure she shouldn’t be quiet about anything — perhaps his office wouldn't be the right venue for what he considered their inevitable lovemaking.
There was the matter of her being his student… but his career wasn’t without scandal. He could ensure hers wouldn’t be either.
She’d look delicious splayed over his desk.
“… And maybe if you weren’t such a self-aggrandising, self-obsessed, pompous prick, your papers wouldn’t read like masturbatory rubbish! You’re obsessed with your own work, and you can’t take criticism, so what was I supposed to do? You don’t want originality; you want your students to suck your dick and tell you how great you are!”
Raphael nearly choked on his whiskey at that. She wasn’t wrong about at least one of those points.
Masturbatory rubbish? Dick-sucking? She certainly seemed to have something on her mind — the same thing that was on his. He swallowed a snicker.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me!”
“Oh, no, Tav, I wouldn’t dare. I wouldn’t dare.” He schooled his expression into a stoic frown, no small feat of self-control when she was practically throwing herself at him. He swirled his glass, contemplating the liquid there for a moment before he asked, “Was there anything else you’d like to add to that delightful list of reasons I should reconsider your grade?” Raphael slowly drained the glass while she watched.
The sun had dipped so low that his drink no longer caught the light, and so he swallowed not glowing amber, but a dark, molten colour tinged with the warm-orangish hue of his desk lamp. His eyes were the same. They weren’t that sparkling honeyed colour any longer, and the artificial light dancing in his swirling dark brown eyes revealed a predatory glee shimmering there.
Why was she so close to his face that she could see his eyes so clearly through his glasses?
Right, she was leaning over his desk.
She was leaning over his desk. Professor Cania’s desk. This wasn’t how she had planned this going.
“Well, Tav? Did you have anything else to add?” he prompted, slowly lowering his tumbler to the desk. There was a resounding finality to the soft thud as it met the dark wood.
Everything was very dark all of a sudden.
She righted herself suddenly, crumpling her paper even more in her hand that she drew up to her chest protectively.
“No,” she said meekly. She felt all her bravery draining away like the fiery whiskey he’d swallowed up.
He hummed low. A deep sound in the back of his throat. She shivered, and felt that she should leave the room quickly, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his hands as he removed his glasses. He used a cloth from his desk drawer to clean the lenses, letting the silence ring out between them for an excruciatingly long moment.
She was paralysed there, waiting for whatever he would do next. She had felt so righteous when she stormed the room, but now she could barely remember everything she had said. Something about his work being masturbatory and wanting his students to…
Oh, gods. And she had yelled that bit right into his face. Into her professor’s face. Not just any professor, either.
Dr. Raphael Cania. Extremely well celebrated scholar of the classics and Greek philosophy. The sort of scholar that travelled the world discussing his papers at other prestigious universities.
The same papers she had called masturbatory rubbish.
“I – Professor… that was – I was very much out of line. I’m so sorry.” Her voice sounded far away, quiet to her own ears. Her stomach lurched.
Raphael shook his head and slid his glasses back up his aquiline nose. He rose to his feet and adjusted his shirt.
She hadn’t noticed until now that he wasn’t wearing his jacket or tie. His white shirt had the first few buttons undone, and a tuft of dark chest hair peeked out. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong forearms. She’d been so caught up in raging at him, she’d barely noticed how comfortable he had made himself before she had rudely stormed his private office. He had even been drinking. There was a little bit of colour to his cheeks, a glow of whiskey warming him.
She felt frozen, even as a pang of nervous desire fluttered in her chest.
She shouldn't have come here.
He regarded her, his angular features impassive. “That was quite the tirade. Very passionate – nothing like your writing. I had hoped we might have had a debate, settled this on a battleground of reasoned, level-headed argumentation,” he started to move around his desk towards her, “but that was very entertaining. Bravo.”
His voice, smooth and rich as honey, sounded amused, but the look in his eyes was thunderous.
He was furious, she was sure. Was she going to be kicked out? He definitely had every right, and easily had enough sway with the university.
She took a nervous step backwards, towards the door.
“I’m sorry, professor. Truly. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll leave now. That was entirely inappropriate.”
“You will not,” he answered curtly, “You came here to demand why I did not give you the stellar grade you clearly expected. Allow me to expound upon my comments. If that isn’t too self-aggrandizing and masturbatory for you, of course.” He chuckled.
She took another step back. He was around the desk now, closing the distance between them much too quickly. This had completely gotten away from her. He was stalking towards her, and they were alone in his darkened office. Her heart was hammering, but she could barely breathe.
The poor girl looked terrified. It wasn’t quite as good a look on her face as unbridled fury, but it was rather delicious to see how quickly her misplaced courage abandoned her once she had expelled all that hot air in his direction. He could see that she had realised all at once that she was not in charge. Very good. He could not let her think she, an undergraduate student, had gotten away with flagrantly insulting him and his work. Even if she had some rather delectable turns of phrase – he’d have to write them down once he had finished with her so that he didn't forget.
Masturbatory dick-sucking students… or something to that effect.
He smiled down at her, his shrinking mouse now realising that she had wandered straight onto the cat's dinner tray. He flashed his teeth, and flexed his hand. She glanced down. Yes, he had very experienced, nimble fingers. She was right to look.
As he spoke to her, his tone even, he slinked towards her, and she backed away in turn.
“Do you think, my dear, that I would be in this esteemed position at such a prestigious university if I did not have certain expectations of my students?”
She shook her head.
“Speak, girl.”
“No, Professor.” Her eyes were glistening. Bottom lip wobbling. Oh dear, she was about to burst into tears, wasn't she? It was a rather pleasing expression on her. He could make quick work of her if he wanted to. Have her on her knees, crying for mercy. Have her atone for that barbed tongue of hers by putting it to more pleasurable use…
“Good.” Good girl. “Another question, then. Do you think that I have so little to occupy my mind that I would require the diversion of a petty grudge against an undergraduate student?”
Well, he didn't require the diversion.
She shook her head. He gave her a pointed look, and she swallowed hard, but collected herself enough to reply.
“N-No, Professor.”
“Well, then you must agree that I have no motivation to be unfair to you.”
He saw a flash of that earlier self righteousness flare up, her shoulders squaring bravely; she meant to argue that still, despite the evidence, he had been unfair to her. None of that now, little mouse, he chastised internally. Her bull-headed belief in her work would serve her well one day, but it would do her no favours in his darkened office.
He took a long stride towards her, all but pouncing on her, and she stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over her feet, and might have if she were not now backed up against the wall right next to the door. He smiled wolfishly down at her. She stared up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, her chest rising and falling in short staccato breaths.
“Well?” His voice came low and rumbly from his chest. He could close the distance between them with another step. He saw it clearly in his mind: the way he would catch her wrists and trap them over her head, press her hard against the wall with his body and demand her deference… but not yet. He had much to teach her yet.
Tav was terrified. Or was she angry? She felt hot, like she had when she entered this room, only she also felt cold and a little bit faint, and her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. And he was too close – when had he gotten that close? – and her head was full of cherries and pepper and palmarosa and whiskey, heady fragrances that mingled with his manly scent…
“I… what?”
He was leering down at her. That's the only way she could describe the look on his face, though in the dimly lit room he was mostly shadowed.
He was very close to her. Her very skin felt as though it pulsed, like it thrummed with an agitation that demanded pressure. Demanded touch. His large hands against her, cupping her cheeks. Her breasts. Waist. Bottom. Pulling her against him, pelvis first, against his firm body. Her mouth felt like cotton. She was delirious. Though, could she be blamed for her wanton thoughts? Was this entirely appropriate, backed up against a wall by her professor looming over her?
This was probably his sick way of punishing her for saying such inappropriate things about his work.
He cocked his head to the side slightly, and reached out to sweep a lock of hair behind her ear, and then ran his finger down to catch her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Even you, my dear, could perhaps be initiated in the rites of love I've descripted so far,” he said, his voice low and seductive. It rolled from his sensuous lips like a sonnet. Tav was lost in his dark brown eyes, mesmerised by the flecks of gold that caught the warm light and set ablaze his expression; even if she had wanted to shake off his hand, she wouldn't have been able to.
“The purpose of these rites, if they are performed correctly, is to reach the final vision of the mysteries.”
But she didn't want to shake off his hand. She wanted this touch and more, wanted to feel his body flush against her, domineering and powerful. She wanted to wrestle that power from him, use her tongue against him in another way, strip him of his title and have him tear hers away as well — let their bodies engage in this discourse in lieu of their minds.
Gods, she wanted him.
He lowered his face closer to hers. So close she could kiss him. His scent was intoxicating. His lips tempting, breath fluttering over her lips that parted unconsciously. He spoke again, inches from her face.
“Diotima. Page forty-seven. Full of sensuality. Passion. Fire. A collision of sex and philosophy. Plato's realm of forms, where the love, beauty and the good are crystalised in ethereal perfection,” he took a dangerous step closer, and his hand slid lower, down her neck and shoulder leaving a trail of fire over her skin, “meets the sumptuous form of woman, the mind of woman. Not untouchable and ethereal, but achingly alive and real. Philosophy through bodies meeting, entwining…” His hand came to rest on her waist.
He leaned forward further still, but his lips did not reach her aching ones. Instead he dipped close to her ear. His breath was hot, but it sent shivers down her spine and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
“And yet, you made her sound like an old, sexless hag.”
He quickly drew back, and the vacuum between them that had pulled their bodies together suddenly rushed in with cold air that had her drawing in a deep, gasping breath.
Professor Cania planted one hand on his hips, gesturing with the other as he spoke.
“And you hedged all of your claims to the point even I wasn't convinced they were believable, and you had plucked them straight out of my papers,” he said loudly, shattering the spell between them. “Really, Tav. I expect better of you. What ever had you so distracted this semester?”
Tav's mind was utterly reeling. Her body was flush with desire, her knees weak and her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it pulsing between her — never mind where she could feel it pulsing, actually. Somewhere wholly unacceptable. And he was just standing there, unphased, asking her why had been distracted this semester.
“You…”
“Me? Oh dear, now that is rather naughty…” Those gold flecks in his eyes were twinking.
“You ass!”
He smirked. It was a face worth smacking. An exceedingly handsome face, but smackable nevertheless.
“You are of course more than welcome to a second opinion from another professor, if you think so lowly of my academic standing, my dear.”
Swiftly, he stepped aside and swept the door to his office open in a mockery of chivalry. There was nothing decent about him, though.
“Now… if that will be all…” He motioned for her to leave.
Tav narrowed her eyes at him. She thought about hitting him with her scrunched up essay that she gripped in her fist, but he wasn't worth the indignity. She would hold her head high, and take this one on the chin. One mediocre grade wouldn't ruin her academic trajectory.
At least he wasn't having her kicked out.
She huffed.
“Goodnight,” she said primly, and whirled around to storm out the door just as she had entered it.
“I look forward to having you next semester.” Professor Raphael's open hand met her pert bottom with a heavy thwack as she left his office.
“Hey!” But his door was already locked.
Raphael sat back down at his desk with a wide, satisfied smile.
What a delightful diversion that Tav of his was. She’d all but melted under his influence, but still, there was enough fire in her to leave with her dignity somewhat intact – though he had done his best to strip the last of it from her when her lovely round ass had demanded his attention.
She’d be thinking about that spank. He certainly would be.
Among other things. Oh, they would make such beautiful discourses in the coming semester…
And what was that phrase she had used? The wonderfully inappropriate one that had made him nearly spit out his drink. He’d wanted to write it down so he didn’t forget.
Masturbating, dick-sucking student.
Or something like that. He certainly had much to think about after that pleasurable exchange.
Tav is not pleased with the grade that her philosophy professor, the illustrious Dr. Raphael Cania, has given her latest essay. The professor is pleased to see her finally imbue some passion into her words, even if it comes too late to bolster her grade. She’s pleasantly diverting, even if her tongue comes with barbs.
Warnings: Student/Teacher relationship, abuse of authority, unresolved sexual tension
Inspired by these delicious pictures.
Even you, Socrates, could perhaps be initiated in the rites of love I’ve descripted so far. But the purpose of these rites, if they are performed correctly, is to reach the final vision of the mysteries; and I’m not sure you could manage this. But I’ll tell you about them, and make every effort in doing so; try to follow, as far as you can.
The correct way for someone to approach this business is to begin when he’s young by being drawn towards beautiful bodies. At first, if his guide leads him correctly, he should love just one body and in that relationship produce beautiful discourses.
Diotima to Socrates.
(Plato, The Symposium, translated by Christopher Gill. Penguin Classics, 1999. Pages 47-48)
She knew she was in the right. She clutched her paper to her chest, half crumpled from where her fists had tightened while reading his brief, cutting remarks after her conclusion.
A satisfactory essay. Lacks originality. The paragraph on Socrates’ inclusion of the female perspective was most promising, though still rather bloodless.
Lacking in originality? Bloodless? She had spent weeks on that damned essay. Admittedly, she’d been a little distracted in class… and in her research at home. It didn’t help that he had assigned a topic that he had authored the seminal papers on – arrogant, self-aggrandizing ass that he was. Every other paper she read was plastered with his name. Professor Raphael Cania. His Ph.D. had been on the Greek dialectic method. Her essay had been on Socrates. And Love.
Which sounds entirely ludicrous, and it absolutely was entirely ludicrous.
Only it seemed that those damn Greeks had discussed the topic a fair bit. And it seemed to be an area that her cursed, insufferable, charming, nightmare of a professor with the most wolfish smirk and elegant hands… She was getting distracted. It seemed to be an area in which Professor Cania had written extensively in. His articles were come of the most cited articles on the topic.
And it was rather hard not to imagine his voice as she read the
How was she supposed to think clearly when everything she read about love and philosophy, he wrote?
But regardless, he was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t her very best work, but she had done better than merely pass. She was damn well sure that he was still punishing her for arguing with him over some detail she felt he had misrepresented in one of her first lectures with him; he was still stewing over that, she was sure. He’d made it his mission to call attention to her in class as often as he could since then, just to torment her – and now he was marking her down because she wasn’t original enough? Enough was enough. Something had to be done.
Someone had to be knocked down a peg or two.
Tav gathered her herself at the door to his office, a looming dark wood door with elegant, floral carvings; almost extravagant, but still tasteful. She felt sure it was only toned down because the university was a highly esteemed and old establishment. He seemed like an extravagant man. But he was all talk, just like his esteemed hero Socrates – who, while of course one had to grudgingly respect him as a philosopher, Tav suspected was an insufferable blowhard as well.
Lacking originality…
Bloodless…
She’d certainly felt her blood pumping now.
She raised her fist, and she knocked.
Maybe a little harder than she needed to.
Raphael leant back in his leather seat, stretching with his arms over his head and his legs extended like a cat in a sunbeam; only the sun was quickly fading, as was his will to stay chained to his desk. He sighed heavily, glaring at the pile of essays he had yet to grade. These were from his first-year students, and their grasp on the ancients left something to be desired – namely any semblance of passion.
How could one write about the Greeks in such a bland manner? How could one not feel the thrumming heart that echoed in these works? The repartee between friends and lovers and rivals, the debates that had birthed new ideas in the rush of wine and sex and pleasure?
His second-years had done marginally better, but he had been sorely disappointed by how dispassionate his favourite student’s work had been. The girl, Tav, had boldly stood up and told him that she thought he was wrong in one of her first classes with him – he had rather thought she at least might have written something provocative. She certainly provoked him in class… though, he had to admit he had made something of a sport out of provoking her in turn. He found her ever-so stimulating, but her essay had been anything but.
Gods, he was bored.
And his glass of whiskey was nearly empty; he rectified that quickly with the private stash of liquid gold he kept in his bottom drawer for these long days at the end of the semester, and he took a deep sip.
Knock!
Knock!
Knock!
He raised an eyebrow at the door. It was past four in the afternoon. His office hours were very much over. Another student come to weep over a failing grade? While sometimes he rather enjoyed the begging – especially from those students whose parents had bought their place here and expected to be given a free pass for mediocrity – he was not in the mood for any more of it today.
He wanted to be done with this last batch of grading, drive home, and sink into a well-deserved bath. Maybe he would call on Haarlep to entertain him for the evening. A mouth around his cock would certainly refresh his tired mind. The Greeks had many things right, and the importance of pleasure in the intellectual pursuits was certainly one of them.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
They’ll leave soon.
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!
“Damn it, I’m not here!” he growled at the door.
Said door swung open brazenly and slammed shut behind the intruder of his peace. She was red-faced and furious, her fists clenched at the curve of her hips. Certainly not bloodless now.
Raphael couldn’t help his creeping smile. Well, this certainly wasn’t boring.
“Hello Tav, I see you’ve disregarded my office hours. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” he drawled, swirling his amber drink in the afternoon sun that streamed in through the window behind him. It glinted in the sunlight. She glanced at his hand. Raphael relaxed into his chair, and took a swig, casting his eyes up the length of her. In the golden sunlight, stray hairs seemed to form a halo about her head – and there were many stray hairs. She looked terribly dishevelled, like she’d been pulling at her hair.
He wouldn’t mind pulling her hair.
He also thought perhaps the Greeks were right in that a good mentorship should include a good fucking. Though she looked dishevelled, he was sure she’d not been given her due in quite some time. Maybe that was why she vexed him so.
She stormed over to his desk, pointing at him with a very accusing finger that trembled with unconcealed rage.
“You,” she seethed. She stopped on the other side of his desk. Her chest was heaving. It was a pleasing sight though her pretty white blouse.
“Me,” Raphael agreed, though not entirely sure what he was agreeing with – but he tended to agree with himself. Tav, though, looked about to burst. Would it take much needling to have her pop? “You look incensed, my dear. Won’t you take a seat?” She didn’t. She seemed to be trembling a little, though not with fear – good, he wanted a fight. He smiled at her cloyingly, “I’m sure we can talk this out – debates can be so invigorating, and you look like you are itching to argue with me.”
“Will you shut up?” she shouted, and she actually stamped her food.
Raphael obliged her request, but he did it with the self-satisfied smirk of a cat who was watching his dinner plunge herself into his trap. He crossed one leg over the other, and settled in.
Tav didn’t notice the predatory glint in his smile. She was too distracted by her own white-hot fury.
She slammed her paper down on the table.
“Derivative and bloodless, that’s what you called my essay.”
“I believe I said it lacked originality.” She narrowed her eyes at his. She found them disarmingly golden in the afternoon sun. She flushed with another rush of rage – how dare he try to charm her now? And did he really remember his criticism word-for-word? Ass.
“Shut. Up.”
Raphael raised one hand apologetically, but his smirk didn’t look very apologetic. That only inflamed her temper more.
“You’ve spent all bloody semester trying to humiliate me at every lecture all because I dared suggest that maybe the great Dr. Raphael Cania, Professor of being an insufferable argumentative prick, might not be completely unimpeachable. You’ve made me read whole swathes of borderline degrading dialogues from The Symposium with you in front of the whole damn class –”
“Are you saying that reading Diotima is degrading?” Raphael interrupted, far too blithely, punctuating his sentence with a sip of whiskey. Her eyes were drawn again to his long, elegant fingers. He had very nice hands.
Tav stumbled over the interruption.
“No, not—it’s not— it's just—”
“That would explain why your section on her was so dull. I’m surprised, you seemed to enjoy telling my Socrates what-for.”
She had enjoyed the dialogues, she had to admit. Diotima was wise and even witty in her way, and it was immensely pleasurable to turn the dialectic tables on Socrates – and by association, Professor Cania. But still. Talking about initiating him in the ‘rites of love’ and ‘loving one body’ to ‘produce beautiful discourse’ in front of the class? That had been mortifying.
“Diotima isn’t the point! You made me go up there because you wanted to see me stutter and fail. You just wanted to fluster me, embarrass me in front of everyone! You’ve been punishing me for weeks, making an example of me so that no one else dares question you! And now this!”
She slapped her hand on the essay she had thrust onto the table, hard enough that it made her hand sting, but it got his attention. He peered over his glasses at the paper.
“Lacking originality! Bloodless! That’s just not fair!”
Raphael hummed. He was keeping his smile in check, but he loved seeing her swept up in a rage like this. Most provocative indeed. This almost made up for her lack-lustre paper.
“I worked on that paper for weeks! It’s not my fault that all your garbage dominates the journals!” Well, no wonder her paper was derivative – it was his work she was drawing from, and it was hard to improve upon perfection. She hadn’t plagiarised anything, but she hadn’t really added anything new to the conversation either. She’d played it safe, hedged her arguments to the point of undermining herself, which was so very much not her style.
This right now, worked up as she was, was much more to his taste. She suited this gesticulating wildly and yelling at her professor: a man who was a very highly sought-after guest speaker and dinner guest. And bed mate. And if even a portion of the passion she expressed now translated to her bedroom manner… well, they’d be rather compatible bed mates, he supposed, not for the first time.
She was going hoarse now, yelling about how hard she had worked and how he was being vindictive because his ego was so fragile – he wasn’t really paying very much attention to the words she was saying. She was leaning over the desk, glaring daggers and spitting venom at him.
His eyes drifted to her bosom. Her blouse was done up far too high for his liking, but he could see the way they swayed sumptuously as she panted. She was so delightfully impassioned. He wanted to shut her up. Or make her scream even more. Both. He was sure she shouldn’t be quiet about anything — perhaps his office wouldn't be the right venue for what he considered their inevitable lovemaking.
There was the matter of her being his student… but his career wasn’t without scandal. He could ensure hers wouldn’t be either.
She’d look delicious splayed over his desk.
“… And maybe if you weren’t such a self-aggrandising, self-obsessed, pompous prick, your papers wouldn’t read like masturbatory rubbish! You’re obsessed with your own work, and you can’t take criticism, so what was I supposed to do? You don’t want originality; you want your students to suck your dick and tell you how great you are!”
Raphael nearly choked on his whiskey at that. She wasn’t wrong about at least one of those points.
Masturbatory rubbish? Dick-sucking? She certainly seemed to have something on her mind — the same thing that was on his. He swallowed a snicker.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me!”
“Oh, no, Tav, I wouldn’t dare. I wouldn’t dare.” He schooled his expression into a stoic frown, no small feat of self-control when she was practically throwing herself at him. He swirled his glass, contemplating the liquid there for a moment before he asked, “Was there anything else you’d like to add to that delightful list of reasons I should reconsider your grade?” Raphael slowly drained the glass while she watched.
The sun had dipped so low that his drink no longer caught the light, and so he swallowed not glowing amber, but a dark, molten colour tinged with the warm-orangish hue of his desk lamp. His eyes were the same. They weren’t that sparkling honeyed colour any longer, and the artificial light dancing in his swirling dark brown eyes revealed a predatory glee shimmering there.
Why was she so close to his face that she could see his eyes so clearly through his glasses?
Right, she was leaning over his desk.
She was leaning over his desk. Professor Cania’s desk. This wasn’t how she had planned this going.
“Well, Tav? Did you have anything else to add?” he prompted, slowly lowering his tumbler to the desk. There was a resounding finality to the soft thud as it met the dark wood.
Everything was very dark all of a sudden.
She righted herself suddenly, crumpling her paper even more in her hand that she drew up to her chest protectively.
“No,” she said meekly. She felt all her bravery draining away like the fiery whiskey he’d swallowed up.
He hummed low. A deep sound in the back of his throat. She shivered, and felt that she should leave the room quickly, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his hands as he removed his glasses. He used a cloth from his desk drawer to clean the lenses, letting the silence ring out between them for an excruciatingly long moment.
She was paralysed there, waiting for whatever he would do next. She had felt so righteous when she stormed the room, but now she could barely remember everything she had said. Something about his work being masturbatory and wanting his students to…
Oh, gods. And she had yelled that bit right into his face. Into her professor’s face. Not just any professor, either.
Dr. Raphael Cania. Extremely well celebrated scholar of the classics and Greek philosophy. The sort of scholar that travelled the world discussing his papers at other prestigious universities.
The same papers she had called masturbatory rubbish.
“I – Professor… that was – I was very much out of line. I’m so sorry.” Her voice sounded far away, quiet to her own ears. Her stomach lurched.
Raphael shook his head and slid his glasses back up his aquiline nose. He rose to his feet and adjusted his shirt.
She hadn’t noticed until now that he wasn’t wearing his jacket or tie. His white shirt had the first few buttons undone, and a tuft of dark chest hair peeked out. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal strong forearms. She’d been so caught up in raging at him, she’d barely noticed how comfortable he had made himself before she had rudely stormed his private office. He had even been drinking. There was a little bit of colour to his cheeks, a glow of whiskey warming him.
She felt frozen, even as a pang of nervous desire fluttered in her chest.
She shouldn't have come here.
He regarded her, his angular features impassive. “That was quite the tirade. Very passionate – nothing like your writing. I had hoped we might have had a debate, settled this on a battleground of reasoned, level-headed argumentation,” he started to move around his desk towards her, “but that was very entertaining. Bravo.”
His voice, smooth and rich as honey, sounded amused, but the look in his eyes was thunderous.
He was furious, she was sure. Was she going to be kicked out? He definitely had every right, and easily had enough sway with the university.
She took a nervous step backwards, towards the door.
“I’m sorry, professor. Truly. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll leave now. That was entirely inappropriate.”
“You will not,” he answered curtly, “You came here to demand why I did not give you the stellar grade you clearly expected. Allow me to expound upon my comments. If that isn’t too self-aggrandizing and masturbatory for you, of course.” He chuckled.
She took another step back. He was around the desk now, closing the distance between them much too quickly. This had completely gotten away from her. He was stalking towards her, and they were alone in his darkened office. Her heart was hammering, but she could barely breathe.
The poor girl looked terrified. It wasn’t quite as good a look on her face as unbridled fury, but it was rather delicious to see how quickly her misplaced courage abandoned her once she had expelled all that hot air in his direction. He could see that she had realised all at once that she was not in charge. Very good. He could not let her think she, an undergraduate student, had gotten away with flagrantly insulting him and his work. Even if she had some rather delectable turns of phrase – he’d have to write them down once he had finished with her so that he didn't forget.
Masturbatory dick-sucking students… or something to that effect.
He smiled down at her, his shrinking mouse now realising that she had wandered straight onto the cat's dinner tray. He flashed his teeth, and flexed his hand. She glanced down. Yes, he had very experienced, nimble fingers. She was right to look.
As he spoke to her, his tone even, he slinked towards her, and she backed away in turn.
“Do you think, my dear, that I would be in this esteemed position at such a prestigious university if I did not have certain expectations of my students?”
She shook her head.
“Speak, girl.”
“No, Professor.” Her eyes were glistening. Bottom lip wobbling. Oh dear, she was about to burst into tears, wasn't she? It was a rather pleasing expression on her. He could make quick work of her if he wanted to. Have her on her knees, crying for mercy. Have her atone for that barbed tongue of hers by putting it to more pleasurable use…
“Good.” Good girl. “Another question, then. Do you think that I have so little to occupy my mind that I would require the diversion of a petty grudge against an undergraduate student?”
Well, he didn't require the diversion.
She shook her head. He gave her a pointed look, and she swallowed hard, but collected herself enough to reply.
“N-No, Professor.”
“Well, then you must agree that I have no motivation to be unfair to you.”
He saw a flash of that earlier self righteousness flare up, her shoulders squaring bravely; she meant to argue that still, despite the evidence, he had been unfair to her. None of that now, little mouse, he chastised internally. Her bull-headed belief in her work would serve her well one day, but it would do her no favours in his darkened office.
He took a long stride towards her, all but pouncing on her, and she stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over her feet, and might have if she were not now backed up against the wall right next to the door. He smiled wolfishly down at her. She stared up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, her chest rising and falling in short staccato breaths.
“Well?” His voice came low and rumbly from his chest. He could close the distance between them with another step. He saw it clearly in his mind: the way he would catch her wrists and trap them over her head, press her hard against the wall with his body and demand her deference… but not yet. He had much to teach her yet.
Tav was terrified. Or was she angry? She felt hot, like she had when she entered this room, only she also felt cold and a little bit faint, and her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. And he was too close – when had he gotten that close? – and her head was full of cherries and pepper and palmarosa and whiskey, heady fragrances that mingled with his manly scent…
“I… what?”
He was leering down at her. That's the only way she could describe the look on his face, though in the dimly lit room he was mostly shadowed.
He was very close to her. Her very skin felt as though it pulsed, like it thrummed with an agitation that demanded pressure. Demanded touch. His large hands against her, cupping her cheeks. Her breasts. Waist. Bottom. Pulling her against him, pelvis first, against his firm body. Her mouth felt like cotton. She was delirious. Though, could she be blamed for her wanton thoughts? Was this entirely appropriate, backed up against a wall by her professor looming over her?
This was probably his sick way of punishing her for saying such inappropriate things about his work.
He cocked his head to the side slightly, and reached out to sweep a lock of hair behind her ear, and then ran his finger down to catch her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Even you, my dear, could perhaps be initiated in the rites of love I've descripted so far,” he said, his voice low and seductive. It rolled from his sensuous lips like a sonnet. Tav was lost in his dark brown eyes, mesmerised by the flecks of gold that caught the warm light and set ablaze his expression; even if she had wanted to shake off his hand, she wouldn't have been able to.
“The purpose of these rites, if they are performed correctly, is to reach the final vision of the mysteries.”
But she didn't want to shake off his hand. She wanted this touch and more, wanted to feel his body flush against her, domineering and powerful. She wanted to wrestle that power from him, use her tongue against him in another way, strip him of his title and have him tear hers away as well — let their bodies engage in this discourse in lieu of their minds.
Gods, she wanted him.
He lowered his face closer to hers. So close she could kiss him. His scent was intoxicating. His lips tempting, breath fluttering over her lips that parted unconsciously. He spoke again, inches from her face.
“Diotima. Page forty-seven. Full of sensuality. Passion. Fire. A collision of sex and philosophy. Plato's realm of forms, where the love, beauty and the good are crystalised in ethereal perfection,” he took a dangerous step closer, and his hand slid lower, down her neck and shoulder leaving a trail of fire over her skin, “meets the sumptuous form of woman, the mind of woman. Not untouchable and ethereal, but achingly alive and real. Philosophy through bodies meeting, entwining…” His hand came to rest on her waist.
He leaned forward further still, but his lips did not reach her aching ones. Instead he dipped close to her ear. His breath was hot, but it sent shivers down her spine and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
“And yet, you made her sound like an old, sexless hag.”
He quickly drew back, and the vacuum between them that had pulled their bodies together suddenly rushed in with cold air that had her drawing in a deep, gasping breath.
Professor Cania planted one hand on his hips, gesturing with the other as he spoke.
“And you hedged all of your claims to the point even I wasn't convinced they were believable, and you had plucked them straight out of my papers,” he said loudly, shattering the spell between them. “Really, Tav. I expect better of you. What ever had you so distracted this semester?”
Tav's mind was utterly reeling. Her body was flush with desire, her knees weak and her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it pulsing between her — never mind where she could feel it pulsing, actually. Somewhere wholly unacceptable. And he was just standing there, unphased, asking her why had been distracted this semester.
“You…”
“Me? Oh dear, now that is rather naughty…” Those gold flecks in his eyes were twinking.
“You ass!”
He smirked. It was a face worth smacking. An exceedingly handsome face, but smackable nevertheless.
“You are of course more than welcome to a second opinion from another professor, if you think so lowly of my academic standing, my dear.”
Swiftly, he stepped aside and swept the door to his office open in a mockery of chivalry. There was nothing decent about him, though.
“Now… if that will be all…” He motioned for her to leave.
Tav narrowed her eyes at him. She thought about hitting him with her scrunched up essay that she gripped in her fist, but he wasn't worth the indignity. She would hold her head high, and take this one on the chin. One mediocre grade wouldn't ruin her academic trajectory.
At least he wasn't having her kicked out.
She huffed.
“Goodnight,” she said primly, and whirled around to storm out the door just as she had entered it.
“I look forward to having you next semester.” Professor Raphael's open hand met her pert bottom with a heavy thwack as she left his office.
“Hey!” But his door was already locked.
Raphael sat back down at his desk with a wide, satisfied smile.
What a delightful diversion that Tav of his was. She’d all but melted under his influence, but still, there was enough fire in her to leave with her dignity somewhat intact – though he had done his best to strip the last of it from her when her lovely round ass had demanded his attention.
She’d be thinking about that spank. He certainly would be.
Among other things. Oh, they would make such beautiful discourses in the coming semester…
And what was that phrase she had used? The wonderfully inappropriate one that had made him nearly spit out his drink. He’d wanted to write it down so he didn’t forget.
Masturbating, dick-sucking student.
Or something like that. He certainly had much to think about after that pleasurable exchange.
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