𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟮
_______
Professor Min Yoongi—the reason Jung Hoseok's panties existed in a perpetually wet state of existence. How could they not? The man was sex on legs, a Greek god of a person posing as a university professor.
His university professor. Advanced Communication Theory—every Monday and Thursday. Hoseok sat through those classes every week, third row from the front with a glint in his eye. It wasn't one feature alone that made Mr. Min so handsome, so hard to look away from—he was sexy in an all around sort of way. Tall, wolfish smile, muscles thick under all those dark suits he always wore. He was so attractive—so fucking prepossessing, that it wasn't even just the women in his classes that seemed to fawn over the man.
Mr. Min also had an affinity for calling him a "good boy." Just him. Just Jung Hoseok. It was so casual the first time, a throwaway commendation after Hoseok had raised his hand real polite, answered the prompt about social change observation, that despite the way he had to cross his legs at the thighs, he hadn't thought much of it afterwards.
But it kept happening.
Everyone else simply received a correct, good job or a yes, that's it for participating, but Hoseok? Every single time Yoongi picked his raised hand out of the bunch, it was always followed by a "good boy."
And it might be the reason he's sitting in his office right now, eyes wide and knees tucked together. "I need some tutoring." Hoseok says, straight to the point.
Yoongi grins softly from where he's perched on the lip of his desk, arms crossed almost incredulously and spread legs nearly brushing up against his own. "No you don't. You're my best student."
Best student. Hoseok imagines what it would feel like if the professor had said favorite student instead and his head goes a little fuzzy.
"You say it yourself all the time, Sir—always room for improvement."
Mr. Min licks his lips then, tongue darting out almost absentmindedly as he shifts a little, tucking one ankle up over the other leg's knee. Hoseok tries not to stare. "Sweetheart, you most definitely don't need any help in my class. But if it's something you want .. I can set you up with one of my other communications majors."
Hoseok stares up through dark lashes, batting his eyes a little as he tries not to squirm under the man's intense stare. "I don't want another student."
Mr. Min studies the sight of him down through eyes rimmed a calm dark, before tilting his head back for the ceiling and drawing in a sharp sigh.
"Baby boy, why did you come in here with all your buttons half-undone."
Baby boy. Hoseok clenches his jaw hard, unable to look away from the sight of the man's adam's apple bobbing. His professor looks back down at him, unruffled as his gaze rakes over his sunkissed skin. He pushes off the desk then, leaning over where Hoseok's sat with each hand resting heavy on either side of the chair's armrests.
His voice is low, nearly amused. "Do you need some help with that?" He's close—really close, their noses nearly brush. Hoseok meets his stare for a few heartbeats, before glancing down at his lips with a swallow.
Wordlessly, Mr. Min grabs at either side of the front of his shirt, hauling it tight against his chest. His bare knuckles graze against the peeking skin, and even just the sensation of the small skin-on-skin contact as he does each button, one by one, is enough to make his nipples pop.
He's finished then, but he doesn't pull away. Dark eyes meet Hoseok's own, and he stares back, breathing hard. The clock on the wall just keeps ticking past, a steady—quite deafening repeated rhythm.
