FIC: LIWFY 11/25: The Truth About Blackboard Chalk (RPF, Kris/Megan, NC-17)
The Truth About Blackboard Chalk
Kink bingo square: in public
KAB RPF. 3100 words. NC-17. Kris/Megan. Also contains: writing on the body
Lessons in architectural history, modern poetry and human sexuality, in that order. [Story 11/25 of Life Is Waiting For You.]
"You," says Megan, dumping a heavy textbook with the shrink-wrap still on it into Kris's arms, "have been watching me."
"What?" says Kris. "No, I haven't!"
The moment she says "watching" he's worried she's going to bust him about watching other people, but when she follows it up with her he doesn't have any idea what she's talking about.
"Damn," she says. "I was really hoping it was you. Well, I guess I have to try this whole intimidation thing on Matt next. Have you seen him?"
"Not lately," says Kris. "I heard his piano last night, though." And by last night he means two in the morning, but it's kind of a comforting sound so he doesn't complain about it. It's nice, sharing a place with other musically-inclined people. It certainly beats the kind of noise he dealt with in the dorms.
"Or maybe Cale," says Megan. "If you're not the one who's been keeping an eye on me, it could be Cale."
"It could be Cale," agrees Kris, and grins at her as she steers him down the hall. "Cale might be a little pervy."
"Ooh, and what would you know about that?" says Megan. Their course abruptly veers into an empty lecture hall, the door sticking and not quite closing behind them. "Tell me everything."
"I did room with him for a year," says Kris with a little one-shouldered shrug. "I know everything. Mostly everything. No, maybe everything."
"You guys hooked up though, right?" says Megan. "I mean, you've never said so, but...."
"Yeah," says Kris, because it's not really a secret, not anymore. Not now that he's out to everyone who matters, and most people know about them anyway. Or like Megan, they're pretty sure but they've never asked. "We're just friends, though. It was just, you know."
"Horny college boys," says Megan sagely, like she knows all about that. "Any port in a storm?"
"Maybe a little more than that," Kris gives her, because he might not be innocent but he's still pretty selective. He's not going out and hooking up with strangers every weekend. "But still just friends."
"Except when you're not."
"Except when we're not," says Kris. "I don't know. He's fun. It's easy."
"I understand completely," says Megan. "And he likes to watch. Good to know."
"That's not quite what I said," says Kris, but he lets it go anyway, before it comes back around on him.
Flirting with Megan is easy and fun too. She's pretty and funny and interesting, and maybe Cale was onto something when he said that Kris was into bossy blondes.
When it seems like they're sticking around a little while, Kris puts Megan's books down on top of a desk along with his own bag, and follows her when she wanders down to the front of the room.
"Want to know something weird?" she says. "When they refitted this building with whiteboards, they installed them over the old blackboards because they didn't want to bother ripping those out and repairing the walls. In some of the rooms, you can still see them.
"And smell them," says Kris, because even years removed from the blackboard era the whole place still smells a little like chalk.
He thinks that's it, but then she's on her knees in front of the whiteboard with a plastic cafeteria knife in her hand trying to remove a loose screw.
"Oh, hey, you don't have to prove anything to me," he says, but she waves him onto his knees next to her.
"No, this is really cool," she says, grabbing hold of the screw with her fingers when she can, then when it falls to the floor prying the corner of the whiteboard away from the wall. "See? They're embedded."
Kris has to admit that it is kind of cool, discovering a little recess behind the whiteboards he looks at every class, like a secret chamber or something. If they removed the rest of the screws, the classroom would look just like it did twenty or thirty years ago. Well, maybe not just like it. They'd have to remove the sound system and the power strips and the electronics docks.
"I think there's something back here."
"Does it bite?" says Kris, looking back at what she's doing. "Oh, hey, don't stick your hand in there."
"Why not?" she says. "There's nothing living back here. Probably."
"Except spiders," says Kris. "And possibly rodents."
"How would they even get in?" says Megan. "The rodents, not the spiders. I've long since learned that spiders can get anywhere. Anywhere."
"Your hand is still in there," says Kris, but it's not just her hand now, she's in there up to the elbow and obviously grasping for something. Kris can't imagine anything that could be hidden behind a whiteboard that he'd want to see after all these years. This isn't a treasure hunt, and nobody stashed a bag of diamonds back there. Probably.
A moment later she pulls her arm back out, triumphant.
"Chalk!" she says. "They actually left chalk back there when they covered it up. Now there's some shoddy workmanship. I bet there's still something written on the board, too."
Kris is relieved it's neither an old sandwich nor a mouse carcass, which were the two options that leapt most readily to mind. He's also relieved it's not anything else.
"Let's leave that for another generation to discover," he says, lest she decide to try to take the whole board off the wall. "What are you going to do with it?"
"I don't know," she says, then wraps her fingers around Kris's wrist and turns his arm over and starts drawing a flower on his inner arm, just above his elbow. Kris is too surprised at first to protest, then once he gets over the surprise he's too intrigued. She draws a sun shining above the flower, pushing his shirtsleeve out of the way to make room, then smudges it a little when she lets the sleeve down again.
Kris hasn't said anything the whole time, and feels like he probably should when she's done. "It's not quite a tattoo," he says, "but it's probably as close as you're going to get to one on me."
"That's a shame," she says, "but if this is as close as we're going to get, then we should probably make it a little bit more interesting."
"It's not interesting already?" says Kris, chewing on his lip for a moment as she draws another flower, then wraps her hand around his upper arm and admires her masterpiece. "This whole thing has been kind of interesting."
"It has, hasn't it?" she says, blowing on his arm so that a little cloud of loose chalk flies up. "You're a great canvas."
Or blackboard, as the case seems to be. "You probably would be too," he says. It won't be anything like the vibrant tattoo that winds all the way up her arm, and Kris isn't much for drawing flowers, but fair's fair.
"Are you sure you aren't the one who's been watching me?" she says, smearing the chalk further up under his sleeve.
"Pretty sure," he says, "but I could be, just for today."
It all could've been taken pretty innocently up until then, the kind of flirting they always just naturally do with one another, but now it's a little more. "Good," she says, unbuttoning her sweater and stripping it off without batting an eye, and taking her earrings off when they catch in her unbound hair. It happens so fast Kris's brain takes a moment to catch up.
She doesn't ask the same of him, but she does nudge him to take a seat up on the desk and pushes his t-shirt up over his abdomen. Kris leans back on his arms just to give her a better canvas, and soon he feels her drawing letters on his stomach and over his ribs.
"What does it say?" he says, speaking up to the ceiling.
"I sing the body electric," she says as she continues to write over his navel, and then beneath it. "The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them."
"You're not going to be able to fit the whole thing," he says, his breath catching on the last word as her wrist brushes against the waist of his pants as she writes.
"I don't need it all," she says, letters curving over his hip. "Just the suggestions of it."
When she's done she traces her finger over some of the letters again, smearing the old chalk against his skin. Then she pulls Kris's t-shirt up, forcing him to lift his arms, and leaves it partway, covering his face and binding his arms. He doesn't struggle, he just breathes, and he waits it out while she writes a few more words over his collarbones, sealing them with a kiss.
And then another. And then a few more before she finally pulls his shirt the rest of the way off. When she looks him in the eye she giggles, and Kris can't help but grin back.
"Okay, your turn," he says, hooking his leg around her to keep her where she is and plucking the chalk right out of her hand. "I'm not much for poetry, though."
"Just promise not to draw dirty pictures all over me," she says, pushing her long, blonde hair behind her shoulders.
"You'd rather I just did dirty things to you instead of drawing them?" he says cheekily.
"I know you have it in you," she says as Kris puts chalk to canvas, hesitating and making a few false starts, squiggles on her skin, before he decides what he wants to write.
"You are beautiful," he says as he writes, just short of singing the words, "in every single way."
As he writes, as he caresses her shoulders and stops just short of cupping her breasts, she undoes his pants and he doesn't do a thing to stop her, not even when she boosts his hips up, not even when they pool at his ankles. He kicks off his shoes and the jeans fall to the floor behind them, and all the while he never stops writing, drawing little spirals in the spaces between the lines, over the rounded parts of her.
There's a sound at the door at the back of the lecture hall and Kris suddenly remembers that not only isn't it locked, it's not even entirely closed. He slips off the desk, looks around desperately, then grabs their things-the ones that are in reach, not the stuff they left at the back-and ducks into the mercifully-open supply room. It's dusty and cramped and there's a window in the door, but they drop to the floor beneath it and Megan giggles.
The sound of voices from the lecture hall filters through to them, and Kris breathes a sigh of relief at their narrow escape. Of course, now they're trapped half-naked at the front of the room and no way out other than where they came in.
"Now where were we?" says Megan, glancing at her watch. "We've got at least fifteen minutes before the next lecture starts."
"Seriously?" says Kris, brushing his fingers over the words on his abdomen. They smear a little, and there's chalk on his fingertips which he wipes off on the strap of Megan's bra.
"Why not?" she says, and smiles and palms him through his underwear. "I mean, unless you're not into it, of course."
"I'm..." Kris has to laugh at that. "Yeah, I'm definitely into it. Obviously."
"I thought you might be," she says, then sneezes. "Oops?"
It certainly doesn't help the laughing, which Kris tries to stifle before someone hears them and comes to check on what's going on. "Come here," he murmurs, and finally kisses her the way he's been thinking about since she first drew a flower on his arm. Or maybe a lot longer than that, in an idle, curious way.
"Yeah, just like that," she says. "Oh crap, I don't have a condom or anything."
"That's okay," says Kris, "we don't have to...I mean. There are other options."
"Naughty boy," she teases him. Kris is mostly just glad she's wearing a skirt because that makes this a whole lot less complicated.
"Come here," says Kris, tugging her closer, halfway on top of him now with one of her legs between his. He grabs a handful of her skirt and starts tugging it upwards until one side is up over her hip, the thin band of her panties under his fingertips. He follows it around, wriggling his hand between them and then between her legs, rubbing her through her panties.
She playfully nips at his eyebrow and rocks back against his hand until Kris pushes her panties aside and slips his fingers inside of her. He doesn't know her body so he has to rely on how she responds to figure out where to touch her and how hard and how much. But Megan isn't the least bit shy about her responses, and when she wants something she goes for it.
"Here, like this," she says, and Kris has two fingers curled and buried inside her as she rocks up against the heel of his hand and positions him just exactly how she wants him. "I'll just be...oh yeah...just hang on..."
Kris's other hand is free, the chalk long since abandoned, and he sneaks his hand up inside her bra without taking it off.
"Just a little...yeah...oh," she says, and she doesn't stop moving but she's definitely riding it out now, moving more slowly, just rocking with the momentum of her body. Kris's cock has been rubbing against her hip as she moved, satisfying his urges to thrust, but now that she's slowing down he's much more acutely aware of how hard he is, and how much he wants this.
The words on their bodies are unrecognizable messes as Megan peels herself away from him, sits back on her heels and lets Kris pull his hand away, wiping it on his shorts. Her skirt is a wrinkled mess but she just lets it fall again and doesn't even try to smooth it out.
"You look worried," she says. "Are you worried?"
"Only that someone's going to open that door any second," says Kris, his heart pounding a little harder as Megan scoots down and leans over to kiss his stomach. A faint trace of chalk remains on her upper lip when she lifts her head again, but then she kisses down Kris's cock and he can't see anymore.
At least partly because he's closed his eyes.
After all, he doesn't need to watch to know that her hair is falling over his thighs, to know when she takes the head into her mouth, swirls her tongue around it and lets it go again. To know when she's blowing softly on it, the sudden chill and heightened sensitivity making him shiver all over.
"I'm going to swallow," she says, "because of the mess."
Kris tries not to laugh but he does a little anyway, because it's Megan and everything about her makes him laugh when they're together. In the good way. Even when he's also nearly naked and sweaty and a bit dizzy with it all.
It doesn't take him long once she swallows him down, gripping at the air and tightening his muscles and coming about ten seconds before he expects to, unprepared and shocked breathless. He can feel her swallow, and only remembers to breathe when he slips out of her mouth again and she blows gently on his spent cock.
"Get dressed," she says, and for the first time there's a definite urgency in her voice. They're not out of time, but they've got to be getting close and they're in the middle of a lecture hall, separated from the audible students only by a flimsy and partially transparent door.
He gets dressed on his knees, struggling into his pants and t-shirt and smudging away most of the chalk in the process. But not all of it. Then he helps Megan back into her sweater, even though she's had plenty of time to do it herself. She just smiles at him as he does up her buttons, one by one.
Only then does Kris realize he's left his shoes behind.
It's a whole new kind of walk of shame when they slip out of the little room together. Sure, they might've been doing something important in there, but it's not very likely and the scattering of students who are already in the lecture hall all know it.
"So, see you at home, then?" says Megan, grabbing her earrings from the professor's desk and putting them back on casually, like she does this every day. And Megan is a wonderful dork, but in some ways she's just smooth like that.
"Right," says Kris. He's way, way less smooth about his shoes. "See you later."
She makes her way up one side of the lecture hall and Kris chooses the other, returning to where he's left their things. It looks like he's going to be lugging Megan's new text around with him for the rest of the afternoon. It's just his luck that Jim's in this class, and walks in the door just as Kris is swinging his bag over his body again.
"Kris," he says. "What are you doing here?"
"Just leaving," he says. Any other day he would've hung around to chat, but mostly he just wants to get out of here as quickly as he can right now. "I've got class in a whole other building."
"You've got some," says Jim, gesturing at the chalk on Kris's sleeve. He blushes and tries to brush it away and doesn't meet Jim's eyes even though Jim looks completely perplexed why Kris is embarrassed by a smudge.
"Right, thanks. So I'll call you later," he says, and tries to get away while he still has some dignity left.
When he thinks about it, it was worth it, though. Definitely worth every sidelong look he gets on his way out of the room. One more college experience he's never going to forget.
Next story: Tactical Advantage
Kink bingo square: in public
KAB RPF. 3100 words. NC-17. Kris/Megan. Also contains: writing on the body
Lessons in architectural history, modern poetry and human sexuality, in that order. [Story 11/25 of Life Is Waiting For You.]
"You," says Megan, dumping a heavy textbook with the shrink-wrap still on it into Kris's arms, "have been watching me."
"What?" says Kris. "No, I haven't!"
The moment she says "watching" he's worried she's going to bust him about watching other people, but when she follows it up with her he doesn't have any idea what she's talking about.
"Damn," she says. "I was really hoping it was you. Well, I guess I have to try this whole intimidation thing on Matt next. Have you seen him?"
"Not lately," says Kris. "I heard his piano last night, though." And by last night he means two in the morning, but it's kind of a comforting sound so he doesn't complain about it. It's nice, sharing a place with other musically-inclined people. It certainly beats the kind of noise he dealt with in the dorms.
"Or maybe Cale," says Megan. "If you're not the one who's been keeping an eye on me, it could be Cale."
"It could be Cale," agrees Kris, and grins at her as she steers him down the hall. "Cale might be a little pervy."
"Ooh, and what would you know about that?" says Megan. Their course abruptly veers into an empty lecture hall, the door sticking and not quite closing behind them. "Tell me everything."
"I did room with him for a year," says Kris with a little one-shouldered shrug. "I know everything. Mostly everything. No, maybe everything."
"You guys hooked up though, right?" says Megan. "I mean, you've never said so, but...."
"Yeah," says Kris, because it's not really a secret, not anymore. Not now that he's out to everyone who matters, and most people know about them anyway. Or like Megan, they're pretty sure but they've never asked. "We're just friends, though. It was just, you know."
"Horny college boys," says Megan sagely, like she knows all about that. "Any port in a storm?"
"Maybe a little more than that," Kris gives her, because he might not be innocent but he's still pretty selective. He's not going out and hooking up with strangers every weekend. "But still just friends."
"Except when you're not."
"Except when we're not," says Kris. "I don't know. He's fun. It's easy."
"I understand completely," says Megan. "And he likes to watch. Good to know."
"That's not quite what I said," says Kris, but he lets it go anyway, before it comes back around on him.
Flirting with Megan is easy and fun too. She's pretty and funny and interesting, and maybe Cale was onto something when he said that Kris was into bossy blondes.
When it seems like they're sticking around a little while, Kris puts Megan's books down on top of a desk along with his own bag, and follows her when she wanders down to the front of the room.
"Want to know something weird?" she says. "When they refitted this building with whiteboards, they installed them over the old blackboards because they didn't want to bother ripping those out and repairing the walls. In some of the rooms, you can still see them.
"And smell them," says Kris, because even years removed from the blackboard era the whole place still smells a little like chalk.
He thinks that's it, but then she's on her knees in front of the whiteboard with a plastic cafeteria knife in her hand trying to remove a loose screw.
"Oh, hey, you don't have to prove anything to me," he says, but she waves him onto his knees next to her.
"No, this is really cool," she says, grabbing hold of the screw with her fingers when she can, then when it falls to the floor prying the corner of the whiteboard away from the wall. "See? They're embedded."
Kris has to admit that it is kind of cool, discovering a little recess behind the whiteboards he looks at every class, like a secret chamber or something. If they removed the rest of the screws, the classroom would look just like it did twenty or thirty years ago. Well, maybe not just like it. They'd have to remove the sound system and the power strips and the electronics docks.
"I think there's something back here."
"Does it bite?" says Kris, looking back at what she's doing. "Oh, hey, don't stick your hand in there."
"Why not?" she says. "There's nothing living back here. Probably."
"Except spiders," says Kris. "And possibly rodents."
"How would they even get in?" says Megan. "The rodents, not the spiders. I've long since learned that spiders can get anywhere. Anywhere."
"Your hand is still in there," says Kris, but it's not just her hand now, she's in there up to the elbow and obviously grasping for something. Kris can't imagine anything that could be hidden behind a whiteboard that he'd want to see after all these years. This isn't a treasure hunt, and nobody stashed a bag of diamonds back there. Probably.
A moment later she pulls her arm back out, triumphant.
"Chalk!" she says. "They actually left chalk back there when they covered it up. Now there's some shoddy workmanship. I bet there's still something written on the board, too."
Kris is relieved it's neither an old sandwich nor a mouse carcass, which were the two options that leapt most readily to mind. He's also relieved it's not anything else.
"Let's leave that for another generation to discover," he says, lest she decide to try to take the whole board off the wall. "What are you going to do with it?"
"I don't know," she says, then wraps her fingers around Kris's wrist and turns his arm over and starts drawing a flower on his inner arm, just above his elbow. Kris is too surprised at first to protest, then once he gets over the surprise he's too intrigued. She draws a sun shining above the flower, pushing his shirtsleeve out of the way to make room, then smudges it a little when she lets the sleeve down again.
Kris hasn't said anything the whole time, and feels like he probably should when she's done. "It's not quite a tattoo," he says, "but it's probably as close as you're going to get to one on me."
"That's a shame," she says, "but if this is as close as we're going to get, then we should probably make it a little bit more interesting."
"It's not interesting already?" says Kris, chewing on his lip for a moment as she draws another flower, then wraps her hand around his upper arm and admires her masterpiece. "This whole thing has been kind of interesting."
"It has, hasn't it?" she says, blowing on his arm so that a little cloud of loose chalk flies up. "You're a great canvas."
Or blackboard, as the case seems to be. "You probably would be too," he says. It won't be anything like the vibrant tattoo that winds all the way up her arm, and Kris isn't much for drawing flowers, but fair's fair.
"Are you sure you aren't the one who's been watching me?" she says, smearing the chalk further up under his sleeve.
"Pretty sure," he says, "but I could be, just for today."
It all could've been taken pretty innocently up until then, the kind of flirting they always just naturally do with one another, but now it's a little more. "Good," she says, unbuttoning her sweater and stripping it off without batting an eye, and taking her earrings off when they catch in her unbound hair. It happens so fast Kris's brain takes a moment to catch up.
She doesn't ask the same of him, but she does nudge him to take a seat up on the desk and pushes his t-shirt up over his abdomen. Kris leans back on his arms just to give her a better canvas, and soon he feels her drawing letters on his stomach and over his ribs.
"What does it say?" he says, speaking up to the ceiling.
"I sing the body electric," she says as she continues to write over his navel, and then beneath it. "The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them."
"You're not going to be able to fit the whole thing," he says, his breath catching on the last word as her wrist brushes against the waist of his pants as she writes.
"I don't need it all," she says, letters curving over his hip. "Just the suggestions of it."
When she's done she traces her finger over some of the letters again, smearing the old chalk against his skin. Then she pulls Kris's t-shirt up, forcing him to lift his arms, and leaves it partway, covering his face and binding his arms. He doesn't struggle, he just breathes, and he waits it out while she writes a few more words over his collarbones, sealing them with a kiss.
And then another. And then a few more before she finally pulls his shirt the rest of the way off. When she looks him in the eye she giggles, and Kris can't help but grin back.
"Okay, your turn," he says, hooking his leg around her to keep her where she is and plucking the chalk right out of her hand. "I'm not much for poetry, though."
"Just promise not to draw dirty pictures all over me," she says, pushing her long, blonde hair behind her shoulders.
"You'd rather I just did dirty things to you instead of drawing them?" he says cheekily.
"I know you have it in you," she says as Kris puts chalk to canvas, hesitating and making a few false starts, squiggles on her skin, before he decides what he wants to write.
"You are beautiful," he says as he writes, just short of singing the words, "in every single way."
As he writes, as he caresses her shoulders and stops just short of cupping her breasts, she undoes his pants and he doesn't do a thing to stop her, not even when she boosts his hips up, not even when they pool at his ankles. He kicks off his shoes and the jeans fall to the floor behind them, and all the while he never stops writing, drawing little spirals in the spaces between the lines, over the rounded parts of her.
There's a sound at the door at the back of the lecture hall and Kris suddenly remembers that not only isn't it locked, it's not even entirely closed. He slips off the desk, looks around desperately, then grabs their things-the ones that are in reach, not the stuff they left at the back-and ducks into the mercifully-open supply room. It's dusty and cramped and there's a window in the door, but they drop to the floor beneath it and Megan giggles.
The sound of voices from the lecture hall filters through to them, and Kris breathes a sigh of relief at their narrow escape. Of course, now they're trapped half-naked at the front of the room and no way out other than where they came in.
"Now where were we?" says Megan, glancing at her watch. "We've got at least fifteen minutes before the next lecture starts."
"Seriously?" says Kris, brushing his fingers over the words on his abdomen. They smear a little, and there's chalk on his fingertips which he wipes off on the strap of Megan's bra.
"Why not?" she says, and smiles and palms him through his underwear. "I mean, unless you're not into it, of course."
"I'm..." Kris has to laugh at that. "Yeah, I'm definitely into it. Obviously."
"I thought you might be," she says, then sneezes. "Oops?"
It certainly doesn't help the laughing, which Kris tries to stifle before someone hears them and comes to check on what's going on. "Come here," he murmurs, and finally kisses her the way he's been thinking about since she first drew a flower on his arm. Or maybe a lot longer than that, in an idle, curious way.
"Yeah, just like that," she says. "Oh crap, I don't have a condom or anything."
"That's okay," says Kris, "we don't have to...I mean. There are other options."
"Naughty boy," she teases him. Kris is mostly just glad she's wearing a skirt because that makes this a whole lot less complicated.
"Come here," says Kris, tugging her closer, halfway on top of him now with one of her legs between his. He grabs a handful of her skirt and starts tugging it upwards until one side is up over her hip, the thin band of her panties under his fingertips. He follows it around, wriggling his hand between them and then between her legs, rubbing her through her panties.
She playfully nips at his eyebrow and rocks back against his hand until Kris pushes her panties aside and slips his fingers inside of her. He doesn't know her body so he has to rely on how she responds to figure out where to touch her and how hard and how much. But Megan isn't the least bit shy about her responses, and when she wants something she goes for it.
"Here, like this," she says, and Kris has two fingers curled and buried inside her as she rocks up against the heel of his hand and positions him just exactly how she wants him. "I'll just be...oh yeah...just hang on..."
Kris's other hand is free, the chalk long since abandoned, and he sneaks his hand up inside her bra without taking it off.
"Just a little...yeah...oh," she says, and she doesn't stop moving but she's definitely riding it out now, moving more slowly, just rocking with the momentum of her body. Kris's cock has been rubbing against her hip as she moved, satisfying his urges to thrust, but now that she's slowing down he's much more acutely aware of how hard he is, and how much he wants this.
The words on their bodies are unrecognizable messes as Megan peels herself away from him, sits back on her heels and lets Kris pull his hand away, wiping it on his shorts. Her skirt is a wrinkled mess but she just lets it fall again and doesn't even try to smooth it out.
"You look worried," she says. "Are you worried?"
"Only that someone's going to open that door any second," says Kris, his heart pounding a little harder as Megan scoots down and leans over to kiss his stomach. A faint trace of chalk remains on her upper lip when she lifts her head again, but then she kisses down Kris's cock and he can't see anymore.
At least partly because he's closed his eyes.
After all, he doesn't need to watch to know that her hair is falling over his thighs, to know when she takes the head into her mouth, swirls her tongue around it and lets it go again. To know when she's blowing softly on it, the sudden chill and heightened sensitivity making him shiver all over.
"I'm going to swallow," she says, "because of the mess."
Kris tries not to laugh but he does a little anyway, because it's Megan and everything about her makes him laugh when they're together. In the good way. Even when he's also nearly naked and sweaty and a bit dizzy with it all.
It doesn't take him long once she swallows him down, gripping at the air and tightening his muscles and coming about ten seconds before he expects to, unprepared and shocked breathless. He can feel her swallow, and only remembers to breathe when he slips out of her mouth again and she blows gently on his spent cock.
"Get dressed," she says, and for the first time there's a definite urgency in her voice. They're not out of time, but they've got to be getting close and they're in the middle of a lecture hall, separated from the audible students only by a flimsy and partially transparent door.
He gets dressed on his knees, struggling into his pants and t-shirt and smudging away most of the chalk in the process. But not all of it. Then he helps Megan back into her sweater, even though she's had plenty of time to do it herself. She just smiles at him as he does up her buttons, one by one.
Only then does Kris realize he's left his shoes behind.
It's a whole new kind of walk of shame when they slip out of the little room together. Sure, they might've been doing something important in there, but it's not very likely and the scattering of students who are already in the lecture hall all know it.
"So, see you at home, then?" says Megan, grabbing her earrings from the professor's desk and putting them back on casually, like she does this every day. And Megan is a wonderful dork, but in some ways she's just smooth like that.
"Right," says Kris. He's way, way less smooth about his shoes. "See you later."
She makes her way up one side of the lecture hall and Kris chooses the other, returning to where he's left their things. It looks like he's going to be lugging Megan's new text around with him for the rest of the afternoon. It's just his luck that Jim's in this class, and walks in the door just as Kris is swinging his bag over his body again.
"Kris," he says. "What are you doing here?"
"Just leaving," he says. Any other day he would've hung around to chat, but mostly he just wants to get out of here as quickly as he can right now. "I've got class in a whole other building."
"You've got some," says Jim, gesturing at the chalk on Kris's sleeve. He blushes and tries to brush it away and doesn't meet Jim's eyes even though Jim looks completely perplexed why Kris is embarrassed by a smudge.
"Right, thanks. So I'll call you later," he says, and tries to get away while he still has some dignity left.
When he thinks about it, it was worth it, though. Definitely worth every sidelong look he gets on his way out of the room. One more college experience he's never going to forget.
Next story: Tactical Advantage