burning flames | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc
a gold rush fic
SUMMARY: A heated argument reaches a fever pitch for Bob and his TA.
WARNINGS: academia au, enemies to lovers (if you squint), age gap (mid 20s/late 30s), power imbalance, mutual jealousy, SMUT (fingering), bob being grumpy and rude. strictly 18+/minors dni.
WORD COUNT: 2.3k
GOLD RUSH MASTERLIST
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SPECIAL THANKS to @cherrycola27 for letting me rant about professor bob and for sending thots when i ask for them. you're a real one.
A/N: very loosely inspired by the song style by taylor swift for the wonderful @laracrofted's 1989TGM writing celebration. this was supposed to be a mob boss bob fic, but that made me cry, so i switched gears and now here we are. i'm sorry this is so late, ames. enjoy!
“That’s all we have time for today. You’re dismissed.” He closes his book and listens to the sound of laptop lids being shut, chairs scraping against the old wooden floor, and chatter amongst his students. It’s a sound he’ll never tire of, no matter how long he teaches.
One sound is distinctly different, though. The sound of her voice. Sweet and soft. Lifting his eyes, he sees her talking to one of his students. Mike something. He can’t quite remember, but she laughs and puts her hand on his arm, making Bob clench his jaw.
Another student, Alicia, comes to his desk to talk about the upcoming assignment and what she can do to improve her grade. Normally, he would tell her to make an appointment at his office, but then Imogen laughs again, making heady eyes at that Mike guy, and he decides he has all the time in the world to talk to Alicia.
He tries to pay attention to his student, to answer her questions, and even tries to smile, but he can feel Imogen looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Her dark gaze is intense and sets his skin on fire in a way he’s been trying to ignore for weeks.
“So,” he hears Mike say. “What are your plans this weekend?”
Bob freezes. He lets his eyes wander over to Imogen, who’s still smiling. Next to him, Alicia is still talking, but her voice is far away and barely audible as he focuses on his assistant.
“I’m revising my dissertation proposal,” she tells him. “They rejected the last one for being too broad, so I have to narrow it down.”
Bob’s on that committee and strongly disagreed, but other members outnumbered him and he was forced to dissent. Dr. Kazansky had given her the news, and Bob remembers the heartbroken look in her eyes when she came to his office afterward. He’d wanted to comfort her then.
“Too busy to have dinner with me?”
Bob straightens his back, eyes still trained on Imogen as he dismisses Alicia, telling her to make an appointment if she wishes to discuss things further.
She mutters a thank you and scurries away. Imogen opens her mouth to answer, but Bob interrupts, certain he doesn’t want to hear the answer she’ll likely provide to this Mike character.
“Miss Van Doren,” he says, barely recognizing the hardness in his own voice. “My office. Now.”
He doesn’t wait for her to respond, but gathers his books and leaves the lecture hall without a glance back to see if she’s following. It doesn’t take long for him to hear her marching footsteps behind him, so he leaves the door open for her.
She slams it shut, so it rattles on the hinges.
“What is your problem?”
She’s furious. Nostrils flared, heavy breathing, and a delicious flush paints her cheeks pink.
“My problem?” he asks, placing the books on his desk. “What’s your problem?”
She drops her bag to the floor and crosses her arms in front of her chest. The gold necklace with her initial catches in the light, drawing his eyes down.
“I don’t have a problem,” she insists, taking a step toward him. “But you constantly berating me is getting old.”
He says nothing. He can’t. Not when she’s looking at him like she wants to wring his neck. Not when all the blood in his body is racing south, and he’s trying not to look at her legs, but they are on full display in that tight little skirt she’s wearing. Again.
He swears she’s doing it on purpose to rile him up.
He hates that it’s working.
She takes a deep breath, pushing her shoulders back, and looks up into his eyes. He’s always found hers unsettling, like she sees the parts of him he’s been hiding for decades.
“I know you don’t want me here, Dr. Floyd,” she says, gesturing around his office, making her short skirt even shorter, revealing more of her supple thighs. “You’ve made that abundantly clear, but you could at least show me the courtesy of not undermining me every time I talk to students.”
He frowns. “I don’t undermine you.”
She scoffs, gaze leaving him as her frustration fills the room. “You interrupted my conversation with Michael not five minutes ago,” she argues as her eyes find his again. Dark brown meeting ocean blue.
He steps forward, eyes wandering over every inch of her exposed skin, making his head spin with barely contained desire. “It was an inappropriate conversation.”
“He asked about my dissertation.”
Bob shakes his head. “No, he asked you out.”
“So what?” she throws her hands out to the side, exasperation turning into full-blown anger now. “He’s been trying to ask me out for weeks, but you always manage to interrupt. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you do it on purpose.”
He freezes. His heart’s beating painfully in his chest and his face feels like it’s on fire. There may even be steam coming out of his ears.
He watches Imogen run her hands through her hair, pulling at the roots, and he truly wishes she wouldn’t. It’s conjuring up very vivid images in his head that he shouldn’t have of his teaching assistant.
She looks at him expectantly, thinking an answer is going to come, but it doesn’t. He doesn’t know how to respond to that in a way that’ll make sense to her. It barely even makes sense to himself.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Bob says finally.
She scoffs. “Yeah, well, he treats me better than you do, and I know that’s a really low bar, but it’s better than—”
Bob crashes his lips against hers, swallowing the gasp she emits. For a moment nothing happens, and for a second he thinks he’s made a grave mistake, but then Imogen’s arms circle around his waist and she sighs against his mouth.
He walks her backward until her back hits the wall behind his desk, and he presses her against it, trying to get closer.
He pulls away a few inches to look at her. Cheeks flushed, hair a little out of place, and pupils dilated. She’s never looked more delectable, and he knows she can feel his hard cock against her hip. He doesn’t care.
Taking a deep breath, her eyes search his face for something, but it’s unclear whether she finds it. “Why did you do that?”
Her voice is barely above a whisper. There’s no hint of regret, but the rational part of him knows this is a bad idea. He’s her superior, after all.
“You wouldn’t shut up.”
“So you kissed me?” she asks with an adorable wrinkle between her brows.
He frowns. Now sure he’s misjudged the situation, Bob leans back and squares his shoulders, letting his hands fall away from her neck.
“Oh no,” she tuts and grabs a handful of his sweater, pulling him back in. “Get back here.” She stands on her tiptoes and captures his mouth with her own, tongue dancing at the seam of his lips for entry.
He doesn’t have to be told twice. He leans his weight against her, pushing her against the wall, and groans into her mouth when she tugs on his hair.
His hands travel down her body. Grazing across the swell of her breasts, into the dip of her waist, the hips that have occupied his thoughts for weeks, and finally, her thighs. His lips never leave hers, and his tongue explores her mouth and the taste of mint that lingers from her toothpaste.
Imogen shudders as his fingertips tickle the back of her knees, whimpering at the touch.
His hands slide up the back of her bare thighs, feeling her soft skin under his palms. She moans into his mouth and it’s the most arousing sound he’s ever heard. He can’t help the roll of his hips, desperate for friction, for relief, for something warmer than his own hand.
His hands travel up under her skirt, feeling the plumpness of her ass in his hands make him push against her again and she’s meeting him with her own movement.
“Professor,” she moans, as he trails wet kisses along her throat, running his tongue over the skin afterward.
He hums, kneading her ass-cheeks, growing harder as he rocks against her. Even separated by layers of fabric, the friction is enough to drive him mad.
“Dr. Floyd,” she says, pulling his hair hard enough that his lips detach from her throat. Her pupils are wide and hungry, mirroring his own, and their heavy breaths mix in arousing unison. “I’m still mad at you.”
A smug smirk spreads across his face. “I know,” he says and removes one hand from her ass. He uses it to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t go out with him.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The words hang in the air. Bob keeps one hand on the side of her neck while the other remains under her skirt, playing with the edge of her panties. He holds her gaze, waiting for her to make the next move. To tell him where she stands, what she wants.
He sees the moment she decides, the corner of her mouth turning upward just enough to be a smile.
“Show me.”
Yanking her panties to the side, his fingertips glide along her folds, feeling her already soaking for him. Her mouth forms a perfect o as she gasps, and he wonders what else that pretty and vicious mouth can do.
Her fingers curl into the hair at his nape, gasping when he finds her clit. “So pretty like this,” he whispers, kissing the underside of her jaw.
“Professor,” she whimpers. “Please.”
“Come on,” he says, leaning back to watch her. Her brown doe eyes have gone dark with hunger and desire, arousal clear from the bead of sweat on her temple, and his cock is so hard he’s about to go insane. Yet, he still leans in close, his lips featherlight against her ear and whispers “moan for me.”
He leans back just in time to catch the look in her eyes when he presses his thumb against her clit and she lets herself moan. Louder than he expected, so his hand flies over her mouth, keeping her quiet, but feeling her smile beneath his palm.
His thumb massages her clit while his index finger finds her entrance, warmth begging him to enter. Bob meets Imogen’s eyes, asking without saying the words because he doesn’t trust either of them to keep their voices down.
Her nod sends him to heaven.
She moans into his hand as his finger slides inside her. He’s hot all over, groaning into her neck at the sensation of her. “So fucking tight,” he mumbles against her skin, making her clench around him.
Tightening her arms around his shoulders, she whimpers against his palm, and her hips meet his motions as he pumps his finger inside her. Her juices spread across his hand, and before long, he adds a second finger.
His office fills with the sounds of heavy breathing, muffled moans from Imogen, and barely contained groans from himself. He can feel her getting close, her legs trembling, struggling to stay upright. Leaning his forehead against hers, he removes his hand from her mouth. “Quiet,” he mutters against her lips.
She nods as she kisses him, open-mouthed and desperate, and his thumb draws tight circles on her clit as he angles his fingers against that spot inside her. She’s there. He knows it. “Good girl,” he whispers. “Cum for me.”
She does. Gushes around his fingers, writhing in his arms. He guides her through her high, holding her against the wood-paneled wall behind her. Her head falls against his shoulder as she comes down, and a long whine escapes her throat as he withdraws his fingers.
Leaning back to give her a little space, he takes in her unkempt hair, swollen lips, and the breathtaking pink flush in her cheeks. Her eyes flick down to his hand, then turn to the very obvious bulge in his slacks.
“I–”
She takes his hand, the one with fingers covered in her cum, and brings it to her lips. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she closes her mouth around his digits, swirling her tongue around them, tasting herself. He’s entranced, can’t stop watching her when she hums as if it’s the most delicious meal she’s ever had.
She withdraws his fingers with a pop, letting his hand fall back at his side. They stay there, looking at each other, processing what just happened between them. Not only is she his teaching assistant, but he’s on her dissertation committee. He has power and influence, and while she’s not his student, he is her superior.
“I…” he tries again, but trails off.
She smirks, squaring her shoulders. “Close your mouth, Dr. Floyd,” she says and sidesteps him, adjusting her skirt. “You’re too smart to be a mouth breather.”
She crosses the office, gathering her bag from the floor where she dropped it, and he gets a peek at her panties as she bends over. White lace. His slacks have never felt tighter.
Unsure what to say or do, he stands there watching while Imogen tries to make her hair look presentable. “Alright,” she mumbles after a minute. “See you tomorrow.”
The door closes behind her, leaving Bob in his office, surrounded by books, paper, a chessboard, a laptop he’s forced to own, and the memory of his TA coming undone on his fingers.
There’s only one word to describe the situation he now finds himself in.
“Fuck.”
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