Jamie was being incredibly distracting.

Bennett knew Jamie wasn't doing it on purpose—in fact, Jamie would probably turn bright red, in that endearing way he had, if he even realized what he was doing.

But the fact remained that for the past few minutes, as Jamie was frowning intently down at the paper he was grading, he had also been fellating the pen in his hand, working it in and out of his mouth in a steady rhythm. Every now and then the tip of Jamie's tongue, bubblegum pink in the dim light of Bennett's office, would dart out and swirl around the cap of the pen, sending a sharp shock of desire zinging down Bennett's spine.

They'd been grading in his office for hours now, and daylight had long since faded over Bellamy University, leaving only the glow of the lamp on Bennett's desk. Rice Hall was deserted, the last classes and lectures over for the night. Now and then, Bennett heard the rumble of the janitor's cart echoing through the deserted halls.

Bennett was exhausted—he hadn't been sleeping well, but when did he ever sleep well? He was supposed to be reviewing something—he couldn't even remember what anymore—but instead, he was getting hard as he watched his twenty-year-old teaching assistant suck on the end of a pen.

It had been weeks since the kiss—three weeks to the day, actually, not that Bennett was counting—and Bennett could taste Jamie's tear-salted lips against his, sweet and urgent.

Bennett had made a mistake, kissing Jamie. It had been totally inappropriate, and even more inappropriate to keep Jamie on as his TA after the incident. But he knew Jamie needed the money—it wouldn't have been fair for Jamie to lose his income because Bennett couldn't rein himself in.

And Bennett couldn't bear the thought of losing these late nights quietly grading, losing Jamie's eager grin each morning as they walked to the lecture hall, of losing Jamie himself.

In that moment, all those weeks ago, Bennett had just wanted to take Jamie's pain away, to bring back that smile—and kissing him had worked. The look on Jamie's face when Bennett pulled back had been more satisfying than any mouth on Bennett's cock. Jamie had looked hopeful and amazed and gorgeous, had looked up at him like Bennett was the most perfect person in the world and Jamie couldn't believe his luck.

That day, Bennett had broken away, shocked and horrified at his own behavior, but every day since then, he'd thought about what would have happened if he hadn't. The first few times he'd come thinking about Jamie's body pressed against him, or Jamie's cock in his mouth, Bennett had flushed with shame, had barely been able to look at himself in the mirror later.

Now, though, the scenario was familiar, the edges as worn in his mind as an old photograph, softened by time.

He remembered Jamie's eyes—hazel, the color of a forest in the first days of fall, different every time Bennett saw them—flicking up to meet his, remembered Jamie giving him that fiery look, full of want and longing, the look Jamie had given him before that Bennett had always pretended not to notice.

In his mind, instead of pulling way, stepping back, Bennett held Jamie's gaze, letting it burrow down into his core, as Jamie tipped his face towards Bennett, offering himself up. Bennett kissed him again, deeper this time, and Jamie's lips parted, his tongue darting out to meet Bennett's as a small, desperate whimper escaped his throat.

In someone else's fantasy, perhaps, his teaching assistant would kneel before Bennett, would suck his cock while looking up at him with grateful, adoring eyes—but this was Bennett's fantasy, playing out unbidden in his mind as real-life Jamie scribbled corrections on some poor freshman's attempt at journalism.

This time, instead of stammering and putting as much space between them as he could in the tiny office, Bennett sank to his knees in front of Jamie, bringing his face to Jamie's groin, nuzzling along Jamie's hard length, as Jamie brought a hand to Bennett's closely-cropped hair and hummed with approval. Bennett pictured glancing up, seeing Jamie's expression—that beautiful mix of disbelief and wonder and hot lust, as Bennett brought his hands to Jamie's hips—

Good god, Bennett, what is wrong with you—

Bennett shook himself. He was painfully hard, and a cold sheen of sweat slicked his brow. He glanced up at Jamie, who was still immersed in grading, blissfully unaware of the what had been going through Bennett's mind.

Bennett turned to his computer and immediately started in on the most unappealing tasks he'd been avoiding in an attempt to kill his insistent erection. Most of these included responding to emails to the head of the department, and they certainly did the trick. By the time Bennett had finished wading through the passive-aggressive correspondence he'd been avoiding all week, he was thoroughly turned off and in a rather bad mood.

Bennett had been purposefully avoiding looking at Jamie, but now Bennett was about to fall asleep at his computer. He glanced over—

Jamie's head was cradled on his arm, and he was fast asleep on the spread of half-graded papers, the trouble-making pen limp in his hand.

Bennett couldn't help smiling, and he felt a warm wash of affection for his TA. Jamie was a bundle of energy, always moving, talking, going—and it was strange and sweet to see this side of him. Jamie's mouth was slack, his brow still slightly furrowed, like even in sleep he was thinking about what was coming next. His eyes flickered behind their lids, and Bennett wondered if he was dreaming.

Bennett leaned back in his chair. Every time he thought he had Jamie figured out, Jamie showed another side, another facet of himself, that made Bennett rethink the picture he'd constructed. Jamie Larsson: doggedly determined teaching assistant, bright-eyed and eager poli sci junior, overly-enthusiastic Georgia boy.

Jamie Larsson: charming and lovely and completely off limits.