Tease oneshots

You brong me too my knees

I'll see you again on Monday," Davey calls as the other students file out the door.

"Make sure you do the readings, and bring questions if you have any."

He hums to himself as he tidies the classroom he hosts his tutoring sessions in, sweeping up loose bits of paper and eraser shavings and dumping them in the waste basket. He's in the middle of stacking textbooks back onto the shelves when he hears the classroom door creak open.

Davey glances over and smiles.

"Hey, Spot," he greets.

Spot shuts the door behind him and sets his bag down with a soft thunk but doesn't reply. His expression is strange: his face is flushed and there's a look of intense focus burning in his dark eyes. Davey doesn't think much of this—Spot must still be amped up from practice—and turns back to the textbooks.

"I'm almost finished," Davey says, bending down to place the last of the books on a lower shelf. "Just let me get these put away and we can go." He straightens up and stretches, giving everything one last survey to make sure all is back where it should be.

Then abruptly, Spot is right behind him. Davey lets out a yelp of surprise as Spot pushes him, hard, up against the bookshelf he was just organizing, his strong hands moving to settle on Davey's hips, holding him so they're pressed flush together, back to front. He leans in to nose at the sensitive spot behind Davey's ear, then places a kiss there.

"What are you playing at, Dave?" Spot murmurs, his breath tickling at the nape of Davey's neck as he speaks. He's absolutely plastered along Davey's back, his hips seated tightly against Davey's ass. "Are you trying to drive me crazy?"

"What?" Davey asks, uncomprehendingly.
"Do you have any idea what your ass looks like in these jeans?"

"I— what?" Davey tries again. He feels hot and a little dizzy, sudden desire spreading through him like warm honey. He's usually quicker on the uptake, but he can't focus on anything other than the feeling of Spot's dick pressed against him, thick and hard through their jeans. "What are you talking about?"

"I've been distracted all day—everyone's noticed except you. Jack and Albert spent all of practice laughing at me and I nearly set mine and Race's chem station on fire in class today because I was too busy staring at'cha." Spot says, dragging his mouth down the length of Davey's neck, one hand moving from its place at his hip to massage his inner thigh.

"But how am I supposed to focus," he continues, "when my boyfriend's wearing the tightest pair of jeans known to man, prancing his sweet ass around like the world's most oblivious fucking tease?"
"Spot," Davey whimpers, and god, he already sounds wrecked. "Spot, I— Mmm. "
Davey's head falls back onto Spot's shoulder, unable to help the soft, keening noise that escapes him as Spot rolls his hips into his ass, nibbling at his pulse point. Spot's hand slides up his thigh and over his stomach, as if to somehow pull him impossibly closer, then starts working Davey's zipper open.

"Spot," he manages to protest, even as he widens his stance to give Spot more room to maneuver. "Someone could hear, someone could walk in."

"Then I guess you'd better keep quiet," Spot growls, then wraps a hot hand around Davey's dick.

"God, Spot," Davey moans, overwhelmed by the efficiency of Spot's ministrations.
His eyes flutter closed as he pants, tilting his head to give Spot better access to his throat. He can't decide whether to cling to the bookshelf in front of him or hold onto the strong arms wrapped around him, if he wants to thrust forward into Spot's hand or grind back against the hard length of Spot's dick.

Spot gives him a few hard, fast strokes, then stops, using his grip on Davey's hips to pull him away from the shelf. He nudges him forward, and Davey takes a few shaky steps until he can brace himself against the edge of a nearby desk.