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Chapter 3: Sweet Surrender
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2025-12-11 04:31:00LENNON
Lennon’s pulse thundered in his ears. Why the f*ck did he just say that?
The lecture hall was empty, but anyone could push through those doors at any second. A janitor, another early student or a professor. Did he really want to be fucked by his professor in the lecture hall?
Shit, what if he sends him out?
Well, he did kiss him first and it did startle Lennon for the first three seconds, but what made him think professor Grayson wanted to fuck him?
Lennon wished he hadn't said that out loud.
He was trembling in Damien’s grip, hoodie rucked up from the kiss, lips swollen and wet. Damien’s eyes were black with hunger, fixed on him like Lennon was the only thing in the world worth looking at. But that still didn't tell Lennon if he wanted to fuck him or not.
“Say it again," Damian ordered, startling Lennon from his macabre of thoughts.
Say what again?
“Tell me exactly what you want."
Lennon’s throat worked. “I want you to fuck me, sir. Right now. Please.”
Damien's smile was slow, “Such pretty manners when you're desperate."
He stood in one fluid motion, towering over Lennon, and spun him around so fast the room tilted. Lennon’s palms slapped onto the wide oak podium, the same one Damien lectured from every Tuesday and Thursday. The wood was cool against his cheek when Damien bent him forward.
“Stay still,” Damien murmured. A hand settled between his shoulder blades, pinning him gently. “Don’t move unless I tell you.”
Lennon's breath fogged the polished surface. His lungs forgot how to work. He heard the clink of Damien's belt, but Damien didn't undress fully.
Damien’s palms slid under the hem of Lennon’s hoodie, pushing it up to his armpits. Cool air kissed his skin; then Damien’s mouth followed, hot and open, tracing the ladder of his spine. Every kiss was almost reverent.
“Look at you,” Damien whispered against the small of his back. “Fucking flawless. Every inch of you is beautiful.”
Lennon whimpered. He couldn't help it. Praise from Damien Grayson was a drug he hadn't tasted before but was addicted to from his first hit.
Damien sank to his knees.
Lennon felt the drag of teeth on the waistband of his joggers, then the slow peel of fabric down his thighs. Cool air hit his bare ass and he clenched instinctively, but Damien’s hands were already there, spreading him open like.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Damien crooned. “Let me see how gorgeous you are here, too.”
The first swipe of his tongue was filthy and perfect. Lennon’s knees buckled. Damien held him up easily, one arm banded across his hips, and licked into him like he was starving. Wet, obscene sounds filled the quiet hall, Damien eating him out with slow, savoring strokes that turned hungry and rough. He speared his tongue inside, curled it, pulled back to circle the rim until Lennon was shaking so hard the podium creaked.
“Sir, please—” Lennon’s voice cracked.
Damien hummed, the vibration making Lennon sob, then pushed one finger in alongside his tongue.
A second finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching him open while Damien’s mouth kept working him.
Lennon felt like he'd pass out from pleasure.
“That’s it. Open up for me, sweetheart. You’re doing so fucking well. Look at you taking my fingers like you were made for it.”
Lennon’s cock was trapped against the edge of the podium, leaking steadily, smearing the wood. Every thrust of Damien’s fingers sent sparks up his spine. He was making high, broken noises he didn’t recognize as his own.
Damien added a third finger and crooked them just right. Lennon’s back arched hard enough to hurt.
“Damien—” It came out a whine, needy and wrecked. “Fuck me. Please, I can’t—need you inside me now.”
Damien rose behind him, chest to Lennon’s back, mouth wet against his ear. “I actually wanted to hear you beg. You want my cock, sweetheart? Want me to fill this perfect little hole here where anyone could walk in and see?"
“Yes..fuck, yes..”
Damien pulled his fingers free. Lennon heard the slick sound of him spitting into his own palm, then the blunt, impossibly hot press of his cock nudging between Lennon’s cheeks.
“Eyes forward,” Damien growled. “Watch the door. If someone comes in, they’ll see you bent over your professor’s podium getting fucked like a needy little slut. And you’ll still take every inch, won’t you?”
Lennon nodded frantically then Damien pushed in with one long relentless slide. Lennon's mouth opened on a silent scream just as Damien bottomed out and stayed there. Lennon tried to adjust to the burn, the stretch, the overwhelming fullness.
“Fuck,” Damien hissed. “Feel that? That’s me owning you. Every time you sit in this room from now on, you’ll remember exactly how I feel buried inside you.”
He started to move with hard and punishing thrusts that rocked the podium.
Lennon clawed at the wood, moans spilling out of him with every snap of Damien’s hips. Damien’s hand wrapped around his throat.
“You're doing so fucking good," Damien rasped against his shoulder, his teeth scraping the skin there. “You're taking me so deep, so perfect. My beautiful boy. Look at you, spread open and dripping for me."
Lennon was beyond words, reduced to desperate, whiny noises, tears streaking his temples. The danger, the praise, the brutal rhythm, it was all too much and nowhere near enough.
Damien’s hand snaked around to fist Lennon’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. “Come whenever you want, sweetheart. I want to feel you milk me when you lose it.”
It didn’t take long. Lennon shattered with a choked cry, spilling over Damien’s fingers, vision whiting out. Damien groaned, hips stuttering, and slammed in deep one last time.
“Lennon—” His name broke on Damien’s tongue as he came, pulsing hot inside him, hips jerking through it.
They stayed locked together, panting, Damien’s forehead pressed between Lennon’s shoulder blades. Slowly, the world came back: the faint squeak of the building, the distant echo of footsteps somewhere far off.
Damien eased out carefully, turned Lennon around, and cupped his face. His thumbs wiped away tears Lennon hadn’t realized were still falling.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You with me?”
Lennon stared up at him, brain sluggish, body humming. Something clicked into place.
The voice. That same voice from The Black Orchid. Now he knew. He was so sure.
Lennon’s lips parted.
“It’s… it’s you.” His voice cracked. “You’re
Obsidian.”
Damien’s smile was slow, dark, and utterly unrepentant.
“Took you long enough, baby.”
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