Challenge Accepted
Bridget Corey - Valesport - Evan Timeline, Sex Pollen AU
Bridget Corey - Valesport - Evan Timeline, Sex Pollen AU
“Hey, Evan, I wanted to talk to you about yester–”
Bree stopped abruptly after entering Evan’s office, flinging the door open without knocking as she had since the very first time she showed up. Only this time, she was reminded that the office was, in fact, Evan’s place of residence. And as such, he would sometimes be... occupied, in a manner which required a visitor to knock first. Such as leaning back in his desk chair, feet up on the desk, fly unzipped, cock in hand.
He looked surprised for maybe two seconds, which was significantly shorter than Bree, who was quickly beginning the process of turning red from head to toe. Evan regained himself quickly, pulling his feet back off the desk and sitting down in a more normal behind-the-desk position, scooting forward so his legs would be underneath it. It was solid wood, so she couldn’t see, but the zipping of a fly betrayed that he’d tucked his dick back away. He then leaned his arms onto the desk and looked over at Bree, every inch the professor he pretended to be.
“Yes, what can I help you with, Bree?”
The way he addressed her did nothing for her embarrassment; she’d instructed him to “call her Bree” the day before, because his normal “Miss Bridget” had felt far too stuffy for their activities. She glanced away towards one of his many shelves, bright red, rubbing her nose in an attempt to stall for time and look less completely caught off-guard. She’d walked in on him masturbating. He should be off guard. But that was just how fae worked. Really, you’d think after all they’d been up to the entire day before, she would be less embarrassed by the sight of his dick. A lab accident had left both of them, uh, compromised, in the libido department. What followed had been quite literally inevitable. Despite that, however, she’d never thought about him masturbating, of all things. She was kind of astounded he even had to; she’d been under the impressions that fae only got erections when they wanted to.
...
Wait.
Her mortification faded quickly as her face lit up, a wicked little grin forming on her face. She looked back at Evan quickly. His expression hadn’t changed, but he probably could tell just by looking at her that she’d figured it out.
“You’re still under the effects, aren’t you?” she asked, way too gleefully for someone who was implying their friend was still under the effects of an accidental drugging. “You can’t control it!”
“You said you wanted to talk?” Evan prompted, fingers laced on his desk. Her grin broadened.
“It burned hotter for me,” she practically gloated, despite all the things that hotter burn had made her do the day before. “But it’s burning slower for you. You can’t make it go away!”
“Is this really what you wanted to talk about?”
“It is now!” she exclaimed, walking around his desk. He stayed where he was seated, legs–and crotch–under the desk, so she kicked at his chair a bit. “C’mooon, scoot back.”
“I don’t see why I should,” Evan replied, almost petulantly.
“You don’t want me to help?” Bree teased, bordering on mocking. “I probably ‘owe’ you, right?”
“I’m not interested in that as return payment,” Evan said firmly. Bree rolled her eyes.
“Fine then. I’ll just sit right here, on the floor, and we can have a perfectly normal conversation.” She plopped right down, as if sitting on his floor, hidden from the door by his desk, was something absolutely normal to do. Evan looked down at her, then away.
“What did you actually come to talk about?” he asked.
“So, what was your favorite part of yesterday?” Bree interrupted, kicking her legs out to stretch over the wheels of his desk chair, one on either side.
“Miss Bridget,” he sighed, but she continued as if he’d said nothing at all.
“To an objective eye, I think the obvious guess would be when you had me bent over the desk...” She gave it a fond pat, her own enjoyment of Evan’s barely-visible discomfort overwhelming how humiliated she’d normally be to talk about this sort of thing. “Since you seemed soooo enthusiastic about that. But actually, my money’s on when you had me in the armchair, legs pinned down, begging...” Evan was looking anywhere but her. “Because you like me begging, right, Mr. Jackson? You love it when I say please.” She walked light fingers up his thigh. It was rude, by fae standards–they were both supposed to ask before touching. But unlike him, she didn’t have any real consequences for rules she chose to break. “Can you say please, Mr. Jackson?”
“As you well know, the intricacies of favors and the asking and thanking for thereof is a complex and multifaceted–”
“Don’t try to distract me with lectures,” she said, a lazy grin on her face. It normally worked, but this time she knew what he was doing. He wasn’t on top of his game right now, which pleased her immensely. Fae were almost never off-balance, or at the very least never showed it. “You told me it worked different for sex. Not to worry about all the pleading, that I could say please as much as I wanted to. And you wouldn’t have told me that if you didn’t want me to beg.” Her wandering fingers had turned into a hand on his leg, running along his thigh. He hadn’t told her to stop. “You only tell me the things you need me to know, right? But then you regret it, because I can extrapolate.”
“That’s not true at all,” Evan said, voice tense. He still wasn’t looking at her.
“Which part?” Bree asked, shifting her legs back underneath her, hand still on his thigh. “That you regret it? Maybe you can’t regret it, because you like seeing me extrapolate? Sometimes I wonder,” her voice gained a curious sort of lilt as she paused briefly in her torment to voice something she’d been thinking about a lot lately. “What it is you like about me. Maybe you like seeing me think? You certainly come to the library to watch me work enough.” She put her other hand on his other leg, leaning forward to do it. Evan let out a half-formed noise of protest. “Well, here’s what I’ve extrapolated, Mr. Jackson. If I can beg you to fuck me, and it doesn’t count...” She pushed him back away from the desk, enough that she could spin his chair so that he was facing her. There was a very telling bulge, extremely visible even in his stupid baggy cargo shorts. “That means you can beg me, and it doesn’t count.”
She leaned forward, sliding herself between his legs, running her hands along his hips. “Well?” she asked cheerfully. “Do you want to play a game, Mr. ‘Good Neighbor’?”
“I think you’re overlooking something,” Evan said, his eyes finally dropping to hers. She felt a little flush of heat despite the fact she was ostensibly the one who was seducing HIM this time. He could look attractive when he wanted to; she had yet to figure out how he did it. Fae shenanigans, probably.
“Oh?” she said, keeping her voice cocky despite the flush rising in her cheeks again.
He reached down and ran a finger under her chin, from her throat to the very tip, then tilted her head up a little more before running a thumb over her bottom lip. Her slight flush turned crimson. “You begged because you needed to feel me. Needed release, needed relief. I’m not convinced you have the capability to make me beg for the same.”
Arousal mixed with embarrassment mixed with indignation, all of which made Bree turn ever redder. She pulled his thumb into her mouth, briefly sucking on the tip, running her tongue against it. He tasted of strange herbs, bitter and green. Then she reached up to push his hand away from her face. “Challenge accepted,” she said, a little smirk returning to her lips.
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