R-18: PINNED DESIRE

The lecture hall smelled faintly of rain and wet pavement, the kind of damp chill that made people huddle into their jackets. Ezra stood at the front, nails painted a glossy black that caught the pale fluorescent light as he flipped through his notes. He wasn’t dressed like most guys in their third year, today it was a soft cream cardigan that slid just off one shoulder, a pleated skirt that skimmed mid-thigh, and sheer tights that made his legs look like they belonged in some perfume ad. The outfit was deliberate, and from the way his green eyes kept flicking toward the middle row, it was clear who it was for.

Adrian sat there, pretending to be absorbed in his laptop screen, but his fingers were still on the same line of notes for the past five minutes. He kept telling himself to focus on Ezra’s presentation—but the way Ezra moved was a constant distraction. The way he leaned a little too far over the podium, voice dipping low at certain phrases, or the casual tug at his cardigan hem that pulled attention to his bare thigh peeking through the slit in the skirt.

“And while societal acceptance has increased,” Ezra said, his tone smooth, “there’s still the matter of… lingering prejudice.” His eyes found Adrian’s, holding them for just a fraction too long. “Sometimes,” he added with a small, knowing smile, “it’s about challenging people’s ideas of what they expect.”

Adrian felt his throat tighten. He looked down quickly, typing something nonsensical just to break the tension, but his ears burned. Ezra went on with his report, tossing in the occasional glance, the slow curl of a smirk whenever Adrian happened to meet his eyes. By the time Ezra wrapped up, the lecture felt less like a class and more like a private performance, one Adrian wasn’t sure he’d agreed to, but definitely wasn’t complaining about.

When the professor dismissed them, Ezra passed by Adrian’s row, close enough for the faint scent of his cologne to linger. “See you around,” he murmured, the words feather-light but deliberate.

---

The thing about Ezra was that he wasn’t just in Adrian’s classes, he was everywhere. The cafeteria, the library, even the corner of the quad where Adrian liked to eat in peace. It was never accidental. Ezra would find him. Sometimes it was just a quick brush of fingers when handing him a napkin. Sometimes it was a lingering gaze over the rim of a coffee cup. Once, Ezra sat across from him in the library, dressed in a loose cardigan that slid off one shoulder, pencil between his teeth, smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Adrian tried ignoring him. Tried burying himself in work, in food, in his phone. But Ezra didn’t need words to get under his skin. He’d cross his legs slowly in tight jeans, lean forward so his perfume barely kissed Adrian’s nose, or whisper something about the weather that somehow sounded like a promise.

By the third week, Adrian couldn’t walk into a room without scanning for that familiar face. And every time, Ezra would meet his eyes first—like he’d been waiting.

It was only a matter of time before Adrian’s self-control gave way.

---

Adrian almost didn’t go. A “group study” in Ezra’s dorm sounded like the perfect setup for more of his smug little games, but there was also that part of Adrian that wanted to prove he could handle it. That he wasn’t affected. That Ezra wasn’t under his skin the way he obviously thought he was.

Adrian knocked once before letting himself into Ezra’s dorm room, balancing his laptop and a stack of notes. The space was warm compared to the cool hallways, smelling faintly of vanilla and laundry detergent. Ezra was sprawled on his bed, propped up against the headboard, legs crossed, wearing one of those soft oversized sweaters that slipped off one shoulder and left a distracting amount of collarbone exposed. His hair was a little messy, like he’d just run his fingers through it while pretending not to care.

“Hey,” Adrian said, glancing around. “Where’s everyone else?”

Ezra looked up from his laptop with a smile that was just a little too knowing. “Oh, I guess they couldn’t make it. Just us tonight.” His tone was light, but his eyes lingered on Adrian in a way that made it hard to breathe.

Adrian sat down at the small desk, flipping open his notes. “Alright, let’s just start then.”

Ezra didn’t move from the bed. “You could sit here,” he suggested, patting the space beside him. “It’s more comfortable.”

“I’m fine here.”

Ezra just smirked and went back to scrolling on his laptop, occasionally making little comments about the assignment, leaning over to show Adrian something on his screen—except he leaned too close, their knees brushing. Once, when Adrian reached for a pen, Ezra’s hand covered his for half a second longer than necessary.

It was little things. A soft hum when Ezra read a paragraph aloud. The way he stretched, sweater riding up to reveal the thin waistband of his sweatpants and the sharp lines of his hipbones. The quiet laugh when Adrian’s voice faltered mid-sentence.

“You’re distracted,” Ezra murmured, head tilted, watching him.

Adrian cleared his throat. “I’m not.”

By the time midnight rolled in, the campus outside was dead quiet, save for the occasional hum of wind against the dorm windows. Their books had been pushed aside hours ago, papers left half-finished, and Adrian was sitting cross-legged on Ezra’s bed instead of at the desk. Ezra was leaning back against the headboard, one knee bent, lazily flipping through Adrian’s notes as if he owned them, and by extension, him.

“You write too neat,” Ezra murmured, tapping his pen against a word in Adrian’s margin. “Makes me wonder if you’re that careful with everything you touch.” The smile that followed wasn’t friendly, it was calculated, slow, the kind of smile that worked under your skin.

Adrian’s throat felt tight. “I’m just… organized.”

“Organized, huh?” Ezra tilted his head, eyes sweeping over him without shame. “You should teach me sometime. I’m a fast learner.” His tone dripped with something heavier than study talk, but he didn’t break eye contact long enough for Adrian to hide.

At some point, Ezra had shifted closer—Adrian didn’t even notice until their knees brushed. Ezra’s foot slid along the inside of his calf, deliberate and unhurried. He reached for Adrian’s pen, took it without asking, and started twirling it between his fingers, gaze locked on him like the pen was just a placeholder for something else he wanted to take.

Ezra let the pen roll between his fingers before setting it down on the bedspread. “You know,” he said softly, “you’re easier to read than you think.”

Adrian’s brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ezra leaned forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands. “That look you get when you’re trying not to react. Like right now. You’re so stiff, I could probably knock you over with a finger.”

Adrian swallowed hard. “I’m not—”

Ezra’s foot nudged higher along his calf, feather-light. “Not what? Not distracted? Not… curious?” His voice dipped on the last word, and his eyes held him there, refusing to let go.

Adrian shifted, his pulse climbing despite himself. “You’re playing games.”

“That’s the thing, Adrian.” Ezra’s smirk sharpened. “I don’t play games unless I already know I’ll win.”

Before Adrian could respond, Ezra was already straddling him.

Adrian froze, every nerve wound tight. “Ezra—”

“Relax,” Ezra said, voice a slow purr. “You’re acting like I’m about to bite.” He tilted his head, lips ghosting just shy of Adrian’s ear. “Unless that’s what you want.”

Adrian’s fingers dug into the blanket without him realizing. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, and yet here you are,” Ezra murmured, shifting forward just enough to crowd him back against the headboard. “Alone in my room. Past midnight. Sitting exactly where I told you to.”

“That’s not—”

“Don’t bother.” Ezra’s smile was soft, but it held the kind of certainty that left no room for denial. One hand braced on the headboard beside Adrian’s shoulder, the other tracing an idle pattern over his knee. “You’ve been looking at me for weeks like you want something you’re too polite to ask for.”

Adrian’s throat worked as he tried to find words, but Ezra’s proximity made it impossible to think straight.

Ezra leaned back just enough to study him, green eyes alight with something sharp and amused. “I told you I’m a fast learner,” he said. “And I’ve already figured out exactly how to get what I want.”

The silence stretched, thick with the kind of tension that felt ready to snap at the smallest push.

Ezra gave that push with a single, deliberate move—he took Adrian’s wrist and guided it up to the edge of the headboard, holding it there with casual firmness. “Now,” he said softly, “are you going to be good for me, or do I have to make you?”

Adrian’s chest rose and fell, shallow and unsteady. Ezra’s hand was warm around his wrist, firm but not trapping—like he was daring Adrian to try and pull away just so he could laugh at him for doing it.

“I—” Adrian’s voice faltered, his thoughts tangling somewhere between defiance and surrender.

Ezra leaned in until their noses nearly touched, his smile a slow curl that promised trouble. “That’s not an answer.”

Adrian’s breath hitched, the heat between them building in ways that had nothing to do with the stuffy dorm air. He could feel Ezra’s thighs bracketing his hips, the faint weight of him pressing down, keeping him exactly where he was.

Ezra tilted his head, eyes flicking over Adrian’s face like he was cataloguing every twitch, every blink. “Come on,” he said, voice velvet over steel. “Say it.”

Adrian’s pulse thundered. The rational part of him screamed to shove Ezra back, to regain some semblance of control. The rest of him, the much louder, hungrier part, only leaned into the heat curling in his gut. “…I’ll be good,” he said finally, the words low, like dragging them out cost him something.

Ezra’s grin sharpened into something downright dangerous. “Knew you would.”

The hand on Adrian’s wrist slid down to lace their fingers together, a deceptively gentle touch that didn’t match the way Ezra’s hips rolled forward just enough to make Adrian’s breath stutter. Ezra stayed close, their foreheads brushing, his perfume mixing with the faint scent of vanilla from his sweater.

“You know what’s funny?” Ezra murmured, his free hand drifting down Adrian’s chest, slow and unhurried, stopping just at the hem of his shirt. “You keep pretending you don’t want this. That you don’t want me running the pace.” He leaned in, his lips grazing Adrian’s ear. “But you’ve been following my lead since day one.”

Adrian’s hands tightened in the sheets, nails catching on the fabric. “Ezra…” It was a warning. It was a plea. It was both.

Ezra pulled back enough to meet his eyes, his smirk lazy, triumphant. “Good,” he said softly, like the word was sealing a deal neither of them had spoken aloud. Then, without breaking eye contact, he shifted his weight, pushing Adrian back until he was flat against the bed, Ezra’s thighs still caging him in.

“Let’s see,” Ezra said, voice dipping lower, “just how good you can be.”

Ezra’s smile sharpened the second he saw the flicker of understanding in Adrian’s eyes. “Oh, you’ll like this,” he murmured, sliding off Adrian’s hips just enough to reach for the long scarf draped over the back of his chair. It was soft, silk-like, dyed deep wine red and Adrian immediately knew it wasn’t there for warmth.

“Hands up,” Ezra said simply.

Adrian hesitated, muscles taut, but Ezra just arched a brow. “You said you’d be good for me.” The reminder left no room for protest.

Adrian raised his arms, feeling the smooth slide of fabric as Ezra wrapped the scarf around his wrists. Ezra’s fingers worked with practiced ease, tight enough to hold him, loose enough to let him feel the shift of the knots against his skin. Then Ezra looped the scarf through the headboard slats, securing him so his arms were stretched but not strained.

Ezra leaned back, admiring his work. “Perfect. Now you can’t interrupt.”

Instead of touching him right away, Ezra shifted back, the soft cream cardigan sliding even lower off his shoulder as he adjusted the pleats of his skirt. Adrian’s gaze was drawn, unavoidably, to the way the hem swished against Ezra’s thighs, just long enough to tease, short enough to flash the edge of black lace underneath.

“I’ve been wondering…” Ezra said, voice dipping as he sat back on his heels, hands smoothing over the skirt before deliberately pushing it higher. “…how long I could make you watch before you lost your mind.”

Adrian tugged at the scarf automatically, a low sound leaving his throat. “Ezra—”

“Shh,” Ezra interrupted, a slow smile curving his lips. The lace panties were thin, semi-sheer, a delicate floral pattern framing what they barely concealed. His hand smoothed over himself, fingers tracing the outline with just enough pressure to make his breath catch. “You don’t get to tell me what to do right now. You just get to… enjoy the view.”

He slid his fingers under the lace, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second before wrapping his hand around himself. When he opened them again, his gaze went straight to Adrian’s face, watching every reaction, every twitch in his jaw.

Ezra shifted his knees apart slightly, skirt bunched around his hips, stroking slow, deliberate, unhurried. His thighs tensed, the lace catching faintly on his movements, the sound of his breath mixing with the faint wet slick of his hand.

“You’re so easy to read,” Ezra murmured, his breathing heavier now. “The way you keep straining against the scarf like you’d grab me if you could.” He let out a low, pleased hum, pumping faster for a moment before slowing down again. “But you can’t. All you can do is lie there… and watch me get off.”

Adrian’s chest rose and fell hard, his jeans unbearably tight, every muscle screaming for contact he couldn’t get.

Ezra’s smirk deepened. “Good boys don’t beg,” he teased, leaning forward just enough that his breath fanned over Adrian’s lips. “But I’m not sure you can last without it.”

Adrian’s throat worked around a swallowed groan, his eyes dragging over every inch, how Ezra’s fingers squeezed on the downstroke, the way his hips gave the tiniest upward twitch when his palm passed over the tip.

“God, I could fuck you like this,” he móaned. “Just lower myself onto you, let you fill me."

Adrian’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His arms strained subtly against the scarf, the fabric digging into his wrists with each useless pull.

Ezra let his head tilt back for a moment, a small hiss slipping past his teeth when he gripped tighter. His free hand came to rest on his thigh, nails digging in just enough to leave faint crescent marks as he picked up the pace. The slap of his palm meeting the base of his cock grew sharper, wetter, precum dripping down to his knuckles.

The rhythm wasn’t fast, not yet. He kept it measured, savoring the tension, letting his breathing deepen. Every so often, he’d slow down to a crawl, thumb rubbing circles into the swollen head until his thighs trembled from holding back. Then he’d speed up again, strokes long and greedy, the sound growing louder in the still air.

By the time his breathing hitched into a ragged edge, Ezra’s hips were rolling up into his hand with each stroke, chasing the heat building low in his stomach. His lashes fluttered as he looked down at Adrian again, a thin smile curling his lips.

“I could make you watch me all night,” he said, voice thick. “But I think I want you to see what you’re missing.”