Professor D. Markov

30. Psychology professor. Brighton Beach native.

[svlcm]

Salem had no idea who this man is, or if he should be trusting him. But right now, in his current state of being, it didn’t matter to him. He just needed some support on his way home. He pushed to his feet, using the other’s arm for support. “Just off campus. Not far,” he said, shaking his head.

[professormarkov-blog]

“Okay,” Drake said, as he started walking. “What’s your name?” He asked, keeping a close eye on the younger man. He’d once gotten blackout drunk and woke up with a chipped tooth. It’d been annoying to get fixed.

[ninaxpetrov-deactivated20161116]

Nina reached a hand over, fingertips running over his neck and through his hair. “Only a maybe? Mmm, you’re just trying to make this difficult, aren’t you?” She glanced over at him, eyes looking over his features. He was so ruggedly handsome. Not usually Nina’s ‘type’ but she couldn’t help but be turned on by him. “I guess I’ll have to try harder,” She waited patiently for them to arrive at his house, but once he put the car into park, she grabbed his hair, pulling him towards her and pressing her lips to his.

Nina let her lips work against his for a moment, having to force herself off of him, but when she leaned back she gave him a smirk. “Come on then,” she slipped out of the car and headed towards his door.

[professormarkov-blog]

A shiver ran down Drake’s spine at Nina’s fingers. He chuckled at the ‘difficult’ comment. “Maybe,” he said, smirking slightly. Another shiver ran down his spine when she said she’d “try harder”. ‘Fuck,’ he thought. They couldn’t get to his house fast enough.

Drake locked his car, then followed Nina to his door. As soon as the key was in the lock, Piper start barking. “Hey, girl,” he said, when the door swung open and his Yorkie launched towards him. He caught her, letting her lick his face. “Daddy’s kinda busy right now,” he said, pressing a kiss to her head and putting her down.

[milliganmemories]

“Sorry, you think I’m a psychopath because I want to leave and go home? What kind of vanilla fucking operation are you running here? Psychopath,” she repeated, a laugh drifting out to accompany the tar black taste of the word. “You know, my dad would have fun with you.” A bloodied hand drifted up to cup Travis’ cheek tenderly enough that it was almost convincing that she didn’t want to smack it. “He’d get a pair of tweezers and yank your pretty gums back from your teeth inch by inch. Scrapes the metal as deep as he can in all of that rosy pink. He loves that. Says it really brightens peoples smiles when they’re all wide and crimson. His favourite part, though, is making them chew a fist of salt afterwards. Rubs all over every exposed nerve ending. Stings as much as a kiss from hydrochloric acid.” Dropping her hand and wiping it down on her t-shirt like she’d had it dipped in a vat of filth and grime, Bradley reluctantly perched on the desk and blew a kiss Travis’ way. “Can’t wait to hear about you dropping dead next week. Maybe when you’re a corpse you’ll finally have an excuse for having the same sexual appeal as one. Come on then, Drake,” she urged, eyes still stuck on the man by the door as she propped up an unnervingly stiff smile. “Patch me up so you can bust a load all over the carpet about what a compassionate role model you are to me.”

[professormarkov-blog]

Well, there was a concession. Finally. Though, honestly, Drake wasn’t sure if it was even a good idea. Quietly, he wondered if Bradley was literally doing this just to make his life hell. Complete and utter hell. He’s run an underground fighting ring, he used to participate in underground fighting ring, he is a professor who willingly has sex with students and yet his only regret right now was bringing Bradley to the fighting ring. ‘Huh,’ he thought.

Travis chuckled. “Aren’t you cute, sugar. You think I’m afraid of a little torture?” He snorted. “Wouldn’t be in this business if I couldn’t deal with pain - or if I was afraid of death.” There was a pause. “And your continued harpin’ on my ‘sex appeal’ is hilarious. Do I look like I care, sugar? Feels like you’re the only one here who does.”

Drake dropped the first aid kit on the desk, looking Bradley over slowly. “Never should’ve brought you here,” he said, as he wiped antiseptic over her cuts. He patched her up as best he could, then stepped back. He felt exhausted. All he wanted to do was sit down.

So he did. Dropping to the ground, he curled into a ball. He buried his head in his arms. He could feel Travis move, heading over towards him. “Go get yourself killed on your own time, sugar,” the older man said, kneeling next to Drake.

[milliganmemories]

“Should have let me get killed? Wow. Sorry but, who the fuck are you? All I’m seeing is a walking advertisement for why you should use fucking night cream. Heard of Clinique? Saggy fucking ballsack looking loser.” An anxious jolt in her chest saw her pacing back while she eyed the room, intent on finding some form of an escape route that didn’t involve the rambling stranger by the doorway. “This is a fucking joke.” Catching a runaway lock of hair back from her bruised cheek, she tucked it behind her ear as she attempted to assess the brevity of the situation that was quickly bubbling up towards boiling point. Twisting, her saucer sized pupils swayed between Drake and Travis as she attempted to organise the thoughts in her head that were all chiming in and overlapping each other. “I’m going now, so.” Approaching the door again, she put all of her weight behind the next sideways shove against Travis. “Fucking move, you ugly old asshole. I’m–,” she cut herself short as she latched a hand around the door knob, rattling it mid struggle, “–leaving, so fucking move.”

[professormarkov-blog]

DId she really just - fuck. Fuuuuuck. “Bradley,” Drake said, slowly. “I am going to ask this of you just this once: for the love of fucking god, shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down and get the fuck out of the fucking way.” She was about to become a very, very bloody corpse if she kept riling up Travis. Who was now cracking his knuckles. And looking for all the world like he was going to punch something into oblivion.

‘Less you got a death wish, sugar,” Travis said, low and angry. “Then keep on actin’ like the ungrateful lil’ brat you are. You’re gonna get your wish soon enough.” He paused, considering her for a second, then snorted. “You’re fucking Tony Milligan’s brat, aren’t you? Explains so fucking much.”

Drake hobbled forward. “Travis,” he said, glaring at the other man. “Leave her the fuck alone.”

“If she stops being a fucking ungrateful, stupid lil’ bitch, I’ll consider it,” Travis said, glaring at Bradley. “He nearly gets his own dumb ass killed keeping you from getting your dumb ass killed and all you can do is bitch about his attempts to fucking help you? The fuck are you, a goddamn psychopath?”

[ninaxpetrov-deactivated20161116]

The switch had been pressed. Those words gave him the freedom to do what he had been wanting to do for the last few minutes. She knew how risky this was. Kissing her professor in a bar that could very easily have other students in there. None of that seemed to matter to either of them though.

Nina followed him out to his car, slipping into the passengers seat. Her hand automatically moved to his thigh, fingertips digging into the material of his jeans. “I’m not.” She answered with a raise of her brow, “Does mister tough guy have a dog? Let me guess, a pitbull or a great dane?” She teased, giving him a small smirk. Nina waited for him to get back on the road before taking his hand in her own and placed his hand on her thigh, slowly sliding his hand up. “Worth losing your job yet?” She asked, as she would do throughout the night until he admitted it would be.

[professormarkov-blog]

Nina’s hand was on his thigh. That was going to be...Distracting. “Pitbull? Great Dane?” Drake snorted. Piper was tiny. His head and her entire body could share a pillow. Some of the guys had joked about how Piper damaged Drake’s tough guy cred. That hadn’t lasted long.

Drake bit his tongue. Now that they had some disconnect (though Nina’s rubbing his hand up and down her thigh was removing that disconnect), he could get some thoughts together. Keep playing the game? Or be honest? Fuck. He wasn’t sure. So, instead, he smirked. “Maybe.”

[milliganmemories]

Bradley attempted to shove Travis out of the way, the effort proving fruitless. “Is this a fucking joke? Move.” The domestic abuse comment only nettled her further, temper bubbling up like white hot, corrosive matter in her pale blue eyes as she twisted to glare at Drake. “Fuck you. You can’t keep me here like some kind of hostage. Do you even hear yourself?” Arms firmly folded, she took a step away from the stocky figure by the door. “You’re both fucking assholes. I can sort myself out. Not the first time I’ve been in a fight. What, am I supposed to be grateful?” Disbelief patterned her voice in the form of a restrained scoff. “Grateful that you dragged me around like a fucking rag doll and shoved me into that piece of shit, moth bitten chair while you threw a tantrum like a four year old? Give me a break. Feel free to lock the door and circle jerk over whatever the fuck that was down there but I’m done here.” Turning her attention onto Travis, she started towards him again with her voice held steady in determination. “Move.”

[professormarkov-blog]

Drake really just needed a nap at this point. “Fucking shit,” he muttered, massaging his temples. He’d really appreciate the ability to take the entire goddamn night back. Fuck, that’d make everything better.

“Shoulda let her get killed, boss,” Travis said, leaning against the door. “Woulda been easier.” He seemed to be both slightly amused by Bradley’s antics and incredibly fucking pissed about them. Drake quirked an eyebrow - it was rare for Travis to get riled up like that. He was typically the better man of the two. “Wonder how good she is at taking a fall...” Travis muttered and something in Drake froze. A new threat had just appeared.

“Are you advocating to murder my student?” Drake asked, his voice cold. Travis shrugged in response and Drake glared at him. Even with a bad leg, an aching hand and most likely a fucking concussion, Drake was willing to try taking on Travis. He had a feeling it’d end badly for him (fighting Travis was like fighting Isaiah. Resulted in a lot of blood and injuries. Though fighting Isaiah normally came with sex, which made it better), but if it was potential death by enraged ex-Navy SEAL or letting said ex-Navy SEAL toss Bradley down the stairs, Drake only had one choice.

[professormarkov-blog]

“C’mon, Piper,” Drake said, getting out his dog’s leash and harness. “Let’s go for a walk.” Piper bounced off the couch, speeding over to the door. “Hey, girl,” he said, gently scritching her ears, with a small smile on his face. He loved Piper, she was such a good dog. And she never judged him for his shitty life choices - unlike his godfather, grandmother and so many other people. He’d had Travis on silent for the past half hour, some long lecture about getting emotionally involved with the fighters and how it was a bad idea.

He helped Piper into the harness, then attached her leash. It was a nice day, so Drake decided to forego wearing his shirt - it was still tucked into his waistband, so he’d have something if someone pitched a fit, but he didn’t think it’d be too much of a problem.

Soon, he hit a steady rhythm. It was hard for him to find a good rhythm for him and Piper - she was so small and he wasn’t, so a fast jog would put her at a disadvantage and if they went too slow, he was basically walking.

@alyssaromana

[ninaxpetrov-deactivated20161116]

Nina placed her hand over his clenched fist before running her fingertips up his arm. “What’s wrong, Drake?” She was loving this a little too much. The way that he had given her all of the power over him. Her eyes focused on his as her eyebrow twitched up. “Why won’t you touch me?” She asked, although she already knew.

The girl ran her hand over his neck and to his cheek, “I want you to touch me. I want you to taste me.” She whispered, eyes full of lust and nothing more. He was hers for the night and she was going to make this a night to remember. She promised illegal, and this definitely was illegal. “I want all of you,” she practically moaned before standing up. She knew what they would be doing, but it wasn’t going to be done in a bar. “And you can have all of me if you take me back to your place.” She smirked.

[professormarkov-blog]

Fuck! Now that Drake had permission, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop touching her long enough to drive. He ran his hands up her sides, feeling every curve as he kissed her. He nipped her bottom lip gently, then broke off with a moan. “Fuck,” he said, running a hand through her hair. “You taste so fucking good.” 

Right. His place. That was...He knew where that was. Which brought a new thought to the forefront of his mind (impressive, considering how intoxicated he was by her). “You allergic to dogs?” Piper was his little Yorkie. She was the queen of his house, so her fur was literally everywhere.

[milliganmemories]

“God, fucking calm down,” Bradley started with a spout of uneasy laughter, hand dropping from the messy curls at the top of her head to clamp around the edge of the desk. The abrupt crash of fist against wood saw her flinching in knee jerk reaction, straightening again once her heart had finished rocketing in response. “I never asked you to do anything,” she replied with a limp shrug once he’d finished rambling under his breath like a mad man, about to press on further when Travis burst in and interrupted her. “Right.” Etching a finger over the throbbing swell of her lower lip, she narrowed her eyes to a squint at the stark smudge of blood patterning her once she pulled away again. “Nice. Anyway.” Clearing her throat, she forced her lips up into a cheap prop smile and ignored the throb in her face as her mouth disturbed the blooming bruises there. “I should probably get going. Thanks for… the show? Loved it. Nothing like seeing your professor rip all of his clothes off and whip a man to fucking death or anything. Live, laugh, love!” Completely consumed by the surrealism of it all, she offered a wordless shrug and started towards the door. 

[professormarkov-blog]

Oh, for the love of fuck - “Travis.” Travis was a large man - 6′5, built like a tank - but he moved shockingly fast. He was out of the chair and standing in front of the door before Bradley could make it there.

“Sorry, sugar,” he said, his Southern roots coming through. “You look like the advertisement for a domestic abuse hotline - can’t let you leave ‘til you’ve been attended to.” Technically that wasn’t an official rule of the ring - they normally didn’t given a shit - but Travis knew what Drake wanted.

“Thank you,” Drake said, nodding to Travis, who nodded back. “Bradley, sit down.” He grabbed onto the counter, trying to pull himself up without putting too much weight on his ankle. It was a balancing act, but eventually Drake did it. He took the first aid kit over to the desk, hobbling as he went. “You’re not leaving until you’ve been looked at.”

[milliganmemories]

Bradley could barely believe her eyes once they found their way back to the fight after lingering with the strangers besides her – Drake was now slashing his belt against his fellow fighter like a villainous take on Indiana Jones with his rope whip. “He’s a fucking animal!” Someone from the crowd screamed with all of their might, a sound somewhere between a bewildered scoff and an anxious exhale tangling her tongue into an incoherent mess. She hadn’t seen that much blood in weeks, maybe months – it had only been a little earlier on in the year that her father had sawed through their dinner guests hand with a bread knife to joke about playing his tendons like a violin. Still, this paled in comparison to that memory, although she couldn’t help but cringe and avert her eyes to the popped capillaries quickly prompting a splash of swollen pink along her knuckles. Torn out of her dizzied daydream about the horrors of home, Bradley barely even registered that he’d left the ring until his bloodied hand made a fist around her slim arm and yanked her so hard she almost fell over. “What–, get the fuck off, Drake. Let go.” 

Focusing so she wouldn’t stumble over the stairs as he dragged her, Bradley caught her elbow, hard, against the doorway as he pulled her through it. “What’s your problem?” Bradley shouted with enough venom to shut down a healthy immune system, the answer he provided being a wordlessly sharp shove down into a randomly designated chair. “Fuck you,” she spat up at him, pushing herself upright and trying her best to ignore the screaming protest from all the injuries she’d acquired that night. “What was I thinking? What are you thinking? Don’t ever fucking touch me. Don’t.” Tearing herself out of the chair in an effort to throw off the imbalance of power she assumed he was trying to create with her docked height, Bradley lingered hesitantly by the desk instead as she glanced at the door that he’d slammed behind them. Corrosive blue finding him briefly, she pressed her eyes shut for a moment against the dizzy static taking claim of her ears. “You might want to put some clothes on,” she forced out, a palm pressed to her forehead as a feeble bid to ease the throbbing there. 

[professormarkov-blog]

“What’s my problem?” Drake hissed back, turning too hard and too fast. His ankle just say ‘Nope’ and he dropped to one knee. Which he apparently hurt somewhere during the brawl, from the sudden surge of added pain. “Motherfucker!” His fist snapped out, slamming into the cabinet.

“Fuck,” he hissed, shaking his hand out. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Drake took a few deep, haggard breaths, glaring at her. “You nearly got yourself fucking killed and then I nearly fucking murdered a man to keep that from fucking happening, alright? Fucking shit, fuck.”

The door swung open, Travis stepping in casually. “Never in the world did I think I’d wish for your ex-boyfriend,” he said, dropping into the chair Bradley had just vacated. “He was batshit, but at least he could keep you from being batshit."

“Fuck you, Travis,” Drake whispered, covering his face with his hands. “Where’s my fucking shirt?” He asked, remembering what Bradley had said.

[milliganmemories]

Bradley propped herself up by the elbow once free from the weight pressing havoc against her chest, a sharp breath drawing a flaming pain from her ribs where his legs had trapped them. The events that lined up next felt entirely surreal – if she didn’t know better, she’d say she was actually sat back in her living room with Pearl, three tabs deep hallucinating up an unimaginably and absurdly half nude storm. Unfortunately, the screams ringing in her ears and rooting her back in the situation reminded her that that wasn’t, in fact, the case. Forcing herself onto her feet, she ignored the swaying protest of her balance as she leaned, for a moment, to gather her breath against the mesh fencing. Focusing her sights on the brawling pair of them, her eyes grew significantly wider once she saw Drake undoing his belt buckle, pants slipping down his hips slightly in response. “What the fuck are you doing…?” A bewildered laugh snagged in her mouth as she straightened properly, the sound dying down somewhat once she noticed the fighter raining hits down. Swiping at her throbbing lip once more, she glanced awkwardly around at the cackling crowd before she latched onto a scarcely suitable response. “Leave it, I don’t need a babysitter.” Still riled up from the lines she’d had before she slipped through the front door, Bradley had been about to start forwards to tear the violent focus back her way before a figure from the sidelines tugged her out of the ring. “What the fuck?” Disbelief stamped her expression as stark as a red splash of paint as she twisted back around to watch the ring from the outside, swatting away an ice pack as it got thrusted towards her bruising features. “This is a joke.” Even the punch that ‘Rampage’ threw down next didn’t set her mood back on track. “I’m bored.”

[professormarkov-blog]

It was a brawl. Drake’s face was bloody and numb, one of his fingers had gotten jammed and wouldn’t stop aching, and he’d rolled his ankle in there somewhere. But - eventually - he managed to get the upper hand and his belt off. He was torn between wrapping it around Rampage’s throat and pulling or just whipping him repeatedly. In the end, Drake chose the whipping. It was far more painful.

He had hit Rampage god knows how many times by the time Travis’ shouting got through to him. Travis was standing by the entrance, pointing at something and yelling something about an “ungrateful brat”. Presumably, he was talking about Bradley.

Only then did Drake stop whipping Rampage with his belt. Grabbing Rampage by the back of the neck and pulling him up slightly, Drake was quietly surprised to see the man was still conscious. Drake wasn’t sure how many times he had hit the other man, but he knew it was a very high number. “You ever come here again,” he said, perfectly calm, “you’ll never walk out.” He dropped Rampage back down, then headed over to the entrance. Drake exited the ring, then dropped his belt on the ground. He couldn’t use it anymore, since it was completely soaked in blood.

He didn’t even speak to Bradley as he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up the stairs, towards the office. Travis could handle the crowd. Could dump Rampage somewhere and call 911, if he felt like it. Sadistically, Drake almost wished he wouldn’t. But Travis was - somehow - a good man. He wouldn’t let Rampage bleed out or get an infection.

Drake shoved Bradley into a chair and limped towards the first aid kit. “The fuck were you thinking?” He asked, wincing as he put too much weight on his bad ankle.

[milliganmemories]

Wracked with a wayward desire to feel a throb on her cheek again, Bradley wiped the blood from her lip on the groove of her knuckle before she threw her hands up. “Is that it? My ex boyfriend hit me harder and he was fucking pathetic.” A giddy little laugh sprung out when he grabbed her by the jaw, the panic that would usually bubble up in her chest smothered by the adrenaline making her head dizzy. It was only once he’d hurled her against the outer perimeter of the ring, a sore sting blossoming against her forth rib, that some distant, gagged and chained part of her subconscious attempted to inform her brain that this was, in fact, a terrible idea. Propping herself up again, she managed to dip in time to avoid another crunching blow to her cheek, eyes latching onto Drake by the side of the ring once she’d straightened – Drake who, bizarrely, was now half dressed and watching her with all the focus of a hawk. “What the fu–,” she started with a laugh, cut short when a fist full of her hair got tugged in the fighter’s direction for him to pave the way to lay a punch. Hurling her knee up to interrupt him, she served a cry invoking blow to his groin. “Hello, infertility!” 

A quick sidestep saw her narrowing her eyes in question at Drake’s concerned state, although the other male swiftly caught up to her before she could say anything, a firm fist roping around her throat as he smacked the foundations for an outrageously purple bruise along her cheekbone. Spitting the crimson remains of his first hit in his face and returning the punch, Bradley’s attempt at a childish laugh was interrupted by a wince as he threw her down to the floor. The crowd roared in ecstatic agreement with the sordid show, some even hopping up to flap dollars around like the whole rabid encounter was proving they were really getting their money’s worth. “Dumb little,” he paused to pin her properly after she tried to push herself up, “bitch.” A few glances were exchanged outside of the ring as he hurled a fist down on her again, whispers starting to crop up over whether he should be torn back. “Go on,” she got out between a staggered breath, his clenched hand pausing once he heard her speak up, “being beaten up by Chicken Little is such a turn on.” Her tar black humour really would be the death of her one day – no sooner had she uttered it was he laying another harsh thump down in protest, one that, this time, nearly knocked the air straight out of her.

[professormarkov-blog]

Bradley was on the ground when Drake finally shoved his way through the side of the cage. The cage was basically a chain link fence that had been curled around the ring - the space between the two poles was barely big enough for him to fit, but a second pair of hands had appeared, holding it opened. Drake didn’t even have to look to know that Travis had caught up to him. “Don’t get your dumb ass killed, boss,” Travis whispered, before letting go of the pole and closing the gap again.

“Hey,” Drake said, his voice blank. “They call you Rampage, right?” Rampage looked away from Bradley and Drake cracked his knuckles. “Ever considered taking on someone your own size?”

Rampage let go of Bradley then - one part of Drake’s mind recognized it as a ‘success’ - and walked over to Drake. He sized Drake up and snorted. “You’re even dumber than that little bitch over there.” Drake charged forward, kneeing him in the crouch. His momentum carried him forward, as he turned slightly to shove his elbow into Rampage’s solar plexus.

As Rampage doubled over, Drake grabbed him by the neck, digging his fingers in. “She’s not dumb. She’s not a bitch. And this is your last fight,” Drake said, his voice just as blank and disengaged as earlier, before he snapped out his leg to kick Rampage in the crotch again. He let go of Rampage’s neck so he could ram his elbow into Rampage’s back. The crowd was silent - or perhaps he couldn’t hear them anymore - as Rampage tried to recover his breathe and Drake stepped around behind him.

Once behind the other man, Drake wrapped his arm around Rampage’s neck in a choke hold. Was strangling the man a bad idea? Probably. Did Drake care? Not in the least.

[ninaxpetrov-deactivated20161116]

“You like it though, don’t you?” she asked with a smirk.

Nina was intrigued by his answer, causing her to be drawn to him even more. Her fingertips slid up his torso and up to his chest. “Mm, what I taste like?” She grinned, lips inching closer to his, “How naughty, professor.” She whispered, eyes flickering from his to his lips. “Why don’t you find out?” Nina leaned forward, almost letting their lips touch before moving past his lips and to his ear, “Nobody will find out,” she assured him, her teeth grazing his earlobe before she pressed a small kiss to his neck.

[professormarkov-blog]

Their lips were so fucking close together and then she - “Fuck,” Drake said, dropping his head back and letting his eyes close. His left hand was clenching at the seat, his other hand was a tight fist. “Fuck,” he muttered, opening his eyes and looking at her. 

She was so fucking hot and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. All he wanted to do was touch her and kiss her and fuck her, but fuck. Fuck. She was in control and she hadn’t given him permission to touch yet. Fuck.

[milliganmemories]

Bradley’s dwindling cigarette found its grave in a petrol spill of a puddle outside before Drake steered her into the building. Eyelids glittering as dark as her intentions, her Saturn sized pupils found their orbit drifting along the seething crowds as his hand ushered her in the right direction. “What, are you like some kind of God here or something?” Bradley asked with a thrift shop attempt at genuine intrigue, lips curling subtly as she studied strangers fluttering around Drake like moths to what she felt was a dim, matchstick flame. “I always preferred Judas. Love a bit of backstabbing.” Her heart rocketed to the rhythmic beat of her Dr Martens against the grimy steps, the oversized band t-shirt she was donning as a dress hitching to flash a notice doodled by a fellow daughter of anarchy in baby blue ink: “if lost return to Alyssa Romana”. “Best seats in the house?” Bradley echoed, tips of her fingers ghosting over the railing as her attention followed his abrupt departure. “Wild. I’ll write you a thesis on it.”

Stranded out at sea – that’s how some people might have felt, left to their own devices in a foreign club with equally foreign faces, yet to Bradley it was a blessing in disguise. A crunch of knuckle on bone piqued her interest as her fingers rooted around the barrier for her to lean closer, a splutter of blood spraying out and patterning the ring like an original Pollock piece. Pushing herself upright again, she ignored a stranger’s hand snatching at her waist like a magpie clenching his beak around something shiny, making her way back down the stairs to wind up closer to the fight. “I want a go.” A roaring scream from the crowd as another punch saw one of the men falling almost masked the scoff from the stranger besides her. “You’d be eaten alive, baby.” Masking her lips with a cold smile, she set a hand on his shoulder. “If it didn’t mean I’d get your blood on my chin, I’d bite your flaccid tongue out and stomp on it.” One of the fighters threw up his hands in staggering surrender, wriggling out of the ring and prompting her to pull herself up into it as the stranger hacked up a laugh of approval. “How about it? You look like Chicken Little. You’re not that scary.” Boots finding home on the sweat stained floor, Bradley ignored her pulses soaring protest and looked around expectantly. “Aren’t you going to hit me?” His hesitant delay in answering served as her cue, hand boxed up into a tight fist that she promptly swung up in a defiant smack against his jaw. “Boop.” Wild laughter from her end swiftly got cut short when he hurled a hit straight back in retaliation, fingers drifting up to smear the blood from her lip just so she could suck it clean again. “Wow. Tastes like daddy issues!”

[professormarkov-blog]

Business took longer than Drake expected it to. Travis was outlining a number of problems that had apparently cropped up over night. Drake needed coffee, now. Or alcohol. Perhaps both. “Fuck,” Drake said, as Travis launched into the next problem. “I need a fucking drink.”

Travis just laughed, shaking his head. He kept going and Drake’s eyes slid sideways, glancing towards the ring. Then something went ice cold and flaming hot at all once - “Fuck!” he snarled, launching towards the door. Bradley was in the ring.

Bradley was in the fucking ring. With the guy Travis had literally just told Drake needed his ass handed to him. Fuck. Drake’s leather jacket flew behind him, with a shout of “Let anything happen to it and I’ll break your jaw” as his only direction to Travis. Drake reached one hand up, pulling his hair back into his ponytail. Fucking shit. Fucking shit. Fucking shit. Why the fuck had he brought Bradley here? Fuck. She was going to get her fucking idiotic ass beaten.

His shirt came off somewhere down the stairs. Elijah merely raised an eyebrow as he caught it. Drake ignored him. That conversation - which would probably involve a lot of mocking and drinking, because Elijah and Travis were dicks - would come later.

When he finally shoved himself through the crowd - some parting out of recognition, some squeezing in tighter for the same reason - the main entrance had already been closed. Drake growled and pushed around the side of the ring, keeping an eye on Bradley. There was a second entrance, but it was a pain in the ass to get to.

[ninaxpetrov-deactivated20161116]

Nina laughed softly, “You shouldn’t trust me with that kind of power,” she spoke truthfully, although she wasn’t sure that he would listen. Her eyes rolled, shaking her head, “Keep lying to yourself. We both know I am your favorite. Even if you won’t admit it.” She smirked, letting her eyes meet his once again.

“I think this is a recipe for disaster then. I don’t know what good is.” His reaction to her slight hair pull caused her grin to widen. Perfect. She loved it. The fact that he was so much taller than her, and so masculine, yet he was so willing to submit. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Nina let out another short laugh, “We both know this is already enough to make losing your job seem worth it. Can’t tell me that you aren’t enjoying yourself.” She finished off her drink before ordering another one. “Tell me something.” she started, alcohol clouding her thoughts now. “What are you thinking about right now?” She asked, leaning in so that her lips lingered inches from his, fingernails digging into his thigh slightly, dragging down before back up towards his belt loops.

[professormarkov-blog]

Drake smirked. “Aren’t you confident in yourself?” He knew their height difference meant he was looking down at her, but it truly felt like she was towering over him. He fucking loved it. He really wanted to spend the night with her.

“To be entirely honest?” Drake paused, rolling that thought around. There were several things he was thinking about - sex, mainly - but he wasn’t sure which one was the correct option. “I’m thinking about what you taste like.” Ahh, honesty. He doesn’t do that much.

[jonmoxlcy]

day; 8 of too many of seth’s recovery

[ninaxpetrov-deactivated20161116]

“Does someone enjoy hair pulling?” She quirked an eyebrow at him, the smirk growing on her face. “Kinky,” she let out a small laugh as her hand rested against his chest. “Just ten minutes ago you were acting like I wasn’t your favorite student, and now you want me to cross whatever lines I want? Sounds like I have you right where I want you.” Her tone was so arrogant that it was even annoying herself. She knew that she could have fun with him, but not just yet. This was only the beginning on their night.

“A question mark?” She smirked, “I texted you because why not? Texting a professor to go get drinks? It’s all so risky and it screamed ‘bad idea’. So I did it. That’s how I usually do things.” She sucked her lip between her teeth, biting down. “And maybe I didn’t want a student.” Nina brushed her fingers through his hair, giving it a slight pull before dropping her hand back down to his thigh. “You were the perfect person for tonight, and I don’t regret my decision on who I texted. Do you regret coming out with me tonight? Is this worth risking your job, Drake?”

[professormarkov-blog]

Drake chuckled. “Tell me where you want me and I’ll go there,” he said. “But you’re still not my favorite student.” Some part of him was tempted to start naming of every other one of her classmates as students she liked more than him, but he also felt that might ruin the mood somehow.

Drake smirked. “Lucky for you, bad ideas are my specialty.” When she pulled on his hair slightly, Drake bit down on his tongue to keep from whimpering. Shit, he loved being bossed around, being controlled. 

“Do I regret it?” Drake shook his head, “Hell no.” He paused. “Is it worth risking my job? We’ll see.” It was looking like the answer was ‘yes’, but he wanted to see her response.