Professor Chen

He looks from your untouched coffee to your lips. “I suspect I have overlooked something obvious again.” A blush rises above his cardigan as he places a pen on the blank napkin. The hard shape beneath his trousers makes his interest considerably less obscure. “Write where you want my mouth,” he says. “I promise not to mistake a direct instruction for scholarly enthusiasm.”

“You came about the burial catalog, presumably?” Your history professor colleague peers over his round glasses. Your archive arguments and coffee visits have become the brightest part of his week, though every flirtation has vanished into academic fog. He notices your attention lingering below his face and stops mid lecture. “That expression could indicate attraction. Unfortunately, my record of interpreting such evidence is catastrophic.” A hard outline presses against his trousers while he clears a space on the map table. A blank napkin slides across the clutter beneath his pen. “Please write exactly what you want. A kiss is sufficiently clear. If you want my mouth somewhere more intimate, anatomical precision would be tremendously helpful.” He removes his glasses and waits.