Chapter Text
One more semester.
One more before he can finally vanish into the sweet anonymity of summer.
One more before he finishes repaying the Dean’s favor, standing in front of lecture halls so large he might as well be talking to the walls than students glued to their phones.
Though it is a little flattering that all his classes are booked solid. He assumes it is partly because they cover requirements for so many degree tracks. Mostly Philosophy and Physics, though a handful or more wander in from Literature or Art, likely looking to understand the foundations of their craft. But even that doesn’t quite explain just how full the hall has been these last two semesters.
Yes, he is the leading figure in astronomy. A former child prodigy, and a bit of a celebrity. That could be it.
Alright, so suppose he does know the real reason? He isn’t oblivious, and he isn’t modest enough to play dumb about it either. Compared to the rest of the faculty, he stands out — he's handsome, younger by at least a generation, sharper in both dress and presence. And despite every effort to remain discreet, his biology’s more dominant nature is apparent to anyone occupying more than a few minutes of his time. That kind of thing doesn’t go unnoticed for long, especially among all those inexperienced students.
It’s predictable, really. The age-old dynamic playing out again. The student teacher fantasy.
Oh, he knows the appeal all too well. Fell for it himself once, too, and that mistake followed him through his twenties. Other than that blip, his life has been a carefully manicured portrait of perfection.
But beneath that veneer of perfection is something darker that he only allows himself to explore behind closed doors. Because that fantasy never truly left the deep recesses of his mind. It just… evolved a bit. It's one he indulges in playfully behind bright screens and sordid one night stands.
And tonight, he resolves, is one of those nights.
He’s spent the past hour scrolling through the endless lineup of profiles on this so-called “dating” app — though it is hardly about dating in a traditional sense. This is about quick satisfaction; about appetites not meant for polite company.
Gale idly sips a glass of red wine as he swipes past headless torsos, flexed arms, captions that leave nothing to the imagination. It has become his routine, a way for him to keep the hunger at bay without crossing a line he knows he could never return from.
Until he sees that wicked smile.
The professor’s fingers pause on the screen. The photo is tasteful, just a peek of an ivory collarbone and a sharp jawline partially shadowed. The corner of soft pink lips curves upward, like hiding a secret. What kind, he wonders.
Somehow, it is more tempting because he doesn’t know. Or what else the rest of the picture looks like.
The profile reads: Astarion. 20. Evereskan-grown, Baldur’s Gate resident.
The caption is even more tempting: Seeking older men or women, 30+. Let's have a fun time. Maybe a lesson or two.
How could he say no?
There is nothing more tempting than a young, fresh face offering to play at his favorite, forbidden fantasies. One that often keeps him up at night with equal measures of disgust and delight: Fucking a student.
Gale scrolls down, half-praying to every god he knows that Astarion won’t list himself as a student at Baldur’s Gate University — where he currently teaches.
But under Education, Astarion has simply written, “Future Lawyer in the Making"
The sigh of relief Gale lets out should make him feel more ashamed. Baldur's Gate University doesn't have a law school. He scans the profile further but no other mention of schooling is listed.
Good. Perhaps he’s a fresh graduate or taking a flex year.
Oh… Who cares? He's sure that he would remember such a student.
The odds of Astarion being a student of his are so slim!
…But not zero.
And recklessly, it only makes him want the man more. He shifts in his seat, giving more space to the growing tent between his legs. Against his better judgment, he swipes, hoping for a match.
And what do you know?
It's an instant match. Only a few minutes of waiting and then…
Astarion: my my my… i really lucked out tonight
Gale: Hoping we both did… What exactly do you mean by 'looking for a lesson'?
Astarion: mmm well older men can teach me a thing or two, im sure. What do you think… Interested in being my teacher for tonight?
Gale nearly chokes on his wine.
Gale: Well… I AM pretty good at that.
Astarion: I promise I can be a very eager student
Gale hesitates, glancing at the late hour on the corner of his phone.
He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.
Gale: Eager students are so hard to come by these days. Perhaps I could be persuaded...
Astarion: hmmmm i’d be happy to convince you… maybeeeee even beg for extra credit. 😏
A hitch in breath.
This is a dangerous game. He should ask more questions. What this boy does for a living. If he lives nearby. If they share any mutual connections. Anything to make sure there are no real-world consequences.
But the words on the screen feel too tempting. Forbidden fruit always tastes sweeter with a little risk, he thinks.
Astarion: do you want me to call you Professor tonight? oooorrrrrr would you prefer I just moan your name, mr. Gale, sir?
Gale closes his eyes, his thumb hovering above the screen.
Gale: Professor will do just fine.
Astarion: 🙂 where can we meet for office hours at this late hour?
A few more details are exchanged. Gale tosses aside every precaution and sends the address. It thrills him more than he cares to admit.
If he bothered to think twice, he might recognize the name, even among the sea of assignments and papers he grades. He might piece together the eager eyes that sometimes watch him from the back of the lecture hall, the little smirk hidden behind textbooks and laptop.
But Gale has never had much luck with risks. He hopes this time will be different. That those pretty lips and platinum white-blonde hair might offer an escape from the monotony of his life.
A half hour later, he stands at his apartment door, heart pounding in a way it hasn’t since his first conference talk. A slight tremor runs through his fingers as he adjusts his sleeves, breathing deeply to steady himself.
On the other side of that door is a fantasy waiting to unfold and, unbeknownst to him, a boundary he once swore he would never cross.
He hears the doorbell ring.
Astarion Ancunín loves games. Board games. Video games. Mind games…
The subtle power plays. Studying the masks people wear and the delicious thrill of pulling them away.
While others like him sit doe-eyed, waiting to be noticed, Astarion has already perfected the art of using all his assets to his advantage. He weaponizes his beauty and small stature against anyone hoping to claim him as their own. He leaves a trail of heartbroken men and women in his wake — all victims in his search for the perfect one. The person he can drain dry for his own gain. Love never factors into the equation. He knows money is power, and the more he has, the better off he'll be. But it doesn't hurt if that perfect somebody is beautiful, too.
From the first moment he steps into Professor Dekarios’s lecture hall, he knows he wants him. The rumors are true. All of them. That dark brown hair laced with silver streaks on the side, tastefully coiffed back is almost too perfect. Astarion can imagine running his fingers through it. The neatly trimmed beard. His rolled-up sleeves reveal strong forearms, looking perfect for pinning someone down. The glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, oh, and the way those stern brown eyes peer over the rims when a student dares ask a question!
A dream come to life!
There is a magnetism about the professor’s elegance: the understated regal look, the careful diction, the easy authority that commands the entire room’s respect without so much as a raised voice. And an alpha to boot!
Luck certainly has favored this little elf!
Astarion chooses the back row early on, knowing he doesn’t really need this class. He’s already finished all his required courses and secured early acceptance into a prestigious law school. Now he is free to pick whatever subject interests him without consequence.
He chooses this one purely out of curiosity — and because he loves handsome men. Just looking at Professor Dekarios makes it worth attending. He likes imagining what it would take to make that perfectly composed mask finally crack.
Tonight, he hopes to find out.
He stretches out across his narrow dormitory bed, phone glowing in his hand. He spends half an hour perfecting his profile — no full face, just a hint of his collarbones and that cutting grin of his. Enough to lure without revealing too much. He keeps everything as vague as possible just in case the professor recognizes him.
Damn! He should have used a different name or—
When Gale’s message arrives, his heart leaps.
Astarion smirks. Oh, he knows exactly how to play this. They banter back and forth - and there’s no hint either way if Gale knows who Astarion is or not.
The elf watches the typing bubble flicker on and off, savoring the pause, imagining Gale’s hesitation. It makes his pulse quicken.
Gale: Eager students are so hard to come by these days. Perhaps I could be persuaded...
Astarion bites his lip. The exchange continues, each more teasing and biting than the last.
When Gale finally replies, "Professor will do just fine," a sharp shiver of victory runs down Astarion’s spine.
Perfect.
He wonders if Gale knows. But if this professor is as straight-laced as the rumors say he is, then Astarion could risk ruining this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity if he tries to confirm it.
No. He can’t risk it. Besides… it’s not like he’s lying necessarily. He just left out some truths. That’s all.
He slides off his bed, typing fast in response, as he looks at his clothing rack free standing in the corner of his dorm room. Limited choices, but in the end he settles on tight black jeans and a thin, pale button-down just transparent enough in the right lighting. To finish the look, he combs his hair into a tousled, effortless mess.
He gives himself one last glance in the mirror, smirks, and grabs his phone.
Astarion can barely sit still on the bus. Certainly not his preferred mode of transportation, but his check from work still hasn’t cleared. Even if it had, after rent, there’s hardly anything left for a cab. Still, the excitement coursing through him makes him jittery in his seat.
A tall, broad-shouldered jock he’s seen on campus sits across from him and gives him a subtle wink. Normally that would be a delicious opportunity for Astarion, but tonight he has better plans.
Why waste time on a simple burger when he has a steak waiting at the next stop?
He can already see it: the exact moment Gale opens the door. Astarion wonders what the professor will be wearing off-hours. What kind of beast that reserved man might unleash on him.
When he finally stands outside the door, he takes a breath to steady himself. Smooths the edge of his shirt. Tilts his chin up.
Astarion lifts his hand and rings the bell.
He can hear the other man stir inside. The nervous shuffle.
And then he waits, lips already curling into a secret smile.
Gale exhales one last slow breath and opens the door.
For a moment, he forgets how to speak.
Standing before him is a vision — a young man with pointed yet delicate handsome features, hair, thick and curled, pearly skin nearly luminous in the hallway light. His shirt clings to a lean, lithe frame, hinting at the soft curves of his waist and hips in a way that makes Gale’s breath catch.
An omega. A perfect, delicate, too-good-to-be-true omega.
Gale’s pulse thunders in his ears. He feels it again, that deep, primal instinct stirring just beneath his careful veneer. The instinct to take, to claim, to press that gorgeous body down and listen to every gasp and whimper.
But he forces himself to steady.
"Good evening," he manages despite the heat rising beneath his skin. "Come in."
Astarion steps inside, hands in his pocket, as he looks around. There is a faint aroma clinging to him — sweet, enticing, a dangerous lure that makes Gale’s fingers twitch with restraint.
Gale shuts the door gently and gestures toward the sitting room. "Make yourself comfortable," he says. "Can I offer you something to drink?"
Astarion’s deep golden honey eyes (even more striking up close) sweep the grand foyer before landing back on him, "I’d love some wine, Professor."
Gale nearly flinches at the word. He swallows hard and moves to pour them each a glass, careful not to let his hands shake. When he returns, he hands one to Astarion and settles into the armchair across from the couch, putting a respectful distance between them.
"Before we… begin," Gale says, swirling the wine thoughtfully, "I’d like to discuss boundaries."
Astarion blinks, surprised, though he masks it quickly with a small smirk. "Boundaries? You mean we’re not just going to tear each other’s clothes off and rut like animals right here on the carpet?"
Gale allows himself a small laugh. "Tempting," he hums, "But I believe in communication first. I want to know what you want tonight — what you enjoy, what you don’t. Where your limits are."
Astarion cocks his head, lips parting slightly as though he doesn’t quite know what to say. The playfulness falters for a moment.
“You… want to talk about it?” he asks, brows lifting.
Gale sets his glass down. “Of course,” he says, licking the wine from his lips. “I may indulge certain… particular fantasies, but I’m not a monster. I need to know this is something we’re both truly comfortable with. I need to know you feel safe. It's imperative.”
Astarion seems taken aback, as if no one has ever bothered to ask before. His fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, and for a moment he just stares at Gale, as if he’s assessing him for some odd reason.
Then a slow, real smile spreads across his lips. "Well," he murmurs, “that’s… unexpectedly nice of you, Professor."
Gale feels something in his chest tighten at the title again, but he only nods.
"Tell me what you want tonight," he repeats, leaning forward just slightly. "And I’ll tell you what I want. We’ll set the stage together."
Astarion takes a breath, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor before rising back to meet Gale’s.
"Alright," he says quietly. "I want to keep my shirt on tonight."
Gale is a bit surprised at such a simple request. "Not a problem," he says softly. "You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to."
Astarion’s fingers drum against the glass, his mouth twitching in a forced smirk. "Good. Because I won’t."
The moment stretches, and Gale merely inclines his head in acceptance, refusing to push.
"And," the boy continues, shifting in his seat, "I want to be prepped properly."
Gale scrunches his eyebrows together, “Well, naturally, of course.”
But Astarion’s laughter is brittle. "You say that like it’s a given. You’d be surprised how many eager ones of your nature think a few hurried strokes and a spit-slick hand is enough before they decide to—"
"I see," Gale interrupts gently, lifting a hand. There’s a flash of irritation across his face though it's not directed at Astarion, but at the faceless men who have left this beautiful creature wary enough to have to clarify something so basic. "That is not how I do things. You’ll be cared for properly."
Astarion’s shoulders soften minutely, and he sighs in relief a little. And suddenly his posture changes to one of confidence. A devilish minx. He leans over the coffee table between them.
"Other than that, I want to be used. Abused, even — I want to feel it tomorrow. I want to commit fully to our little… performance. And,” he takes a long sip from his wine before setting it down and smacking his lips together.
"I want to start now."
Gale simply watches him for a beat before he pulls his mouth into a slow, feral grin. He sets his wineglass aside with a quiet clink. Stands.
In one smooth motion, he reaches up and ties his thick hair back behind the crown of his head. Then he rolls up his sleeves to the elbow, exposing those strong, veiny forearms.
Astarion’s eyes follow him, enraptured.
Gale reaches back down for the final sip from his glass, tilting it and draining it in one gulp. Then he sets it down beside Astarion’s untouched drink, and tilts his chin upwards, beckoning Astarion up.
"Very well.”
He leans forward, gaze locked to Astarion’s, and the corners of his mouth curl upward into a dangerous, knowing smile.
"Class is now in session."