The memory of Lucio's last kiss lingered on Ansel's lips for the rest of the day. The professor could hardly focus on grading essays from any of his other classes, and after reading the introductory essay to one student's paper five times in a row and still not remembering what Kelly Nishiyama from Behavioral Psychology 201 was trying to prove, Ansel gave up and resigned himself to finishing off the rest of the bourbon Lucio had gifted him. It didn't take him long. That evening, after a myriad of questions and fabricated answers, Ansel fucked Petra, aggressively but without passion. Despite his efforts, Ansel couldn't shake the realization that no matter how deeply he penetrated Petra, no matter how loudly she moaned and called out his name, nothing he felt could match the raw lust and craving he had experienced with Lucio. Even when he had her soft, curvy body pressed up against the wall of his bedroom, she refused to dig her freshly manicured nails into his skin. Why something so trivial bothered Ansel the professor couldn't quite say. After a long while, Ansel pulled out and clambered into the shower, finally coming onto the shower wall at the thought of Lucio writhing beneath him.<br/><br/>When Monday came, Ansel believed himself content with the way Lucio had let him down. He woke up and showered, trimmed his beard and dressed in<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2F96%2Fd6%2F22%2F96d62223af54bed142c2a7a06f669680.jpg&amp;hash=3c38ee69c0ea33c4950abe6d92c74e2d" href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/96/d6/22/96d62223af54bed142c2a7a06f669680.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">crisp jeans, his favorite red sweater and a light brown suit jacket</a>. It wasn't any different from how Ansel typically dressed for his classes, but today he felt especially satisfied with the way his broad shoulders filled out his jacket and his fitted jeans hugged his thighs. He would be fine, seeing Lucio again. He had to be. Allowing whatever leftover feelings to get in the way of his lesson was unacceptable. His relationships never interfered with his work before and today was no different.<br/><br/>When Lucio stepped into his lecture room, Ansel did not bother turning his head to follow the young man to his seat. "Good day, Mr. Bane," he said simply, keeping his attention focused on his lecture notes as Lucio sat. Although Ansel's demeanor was calm and professional as per usual, Ansel was torturing himself on the inside, desperate to feel Lucio's smooth skin against his fingertips. Yes, the professor had mistakenly convinced himself that he would be unaffected by Lucio's presence, but the emotions coursing through him as they coexisted in the lecture hall were violent and intense. Never before had Ansel been so drawn to one of his students, so attracted to one that being near him was a test in patience and willpower. He wanted to go to Lucio, to kiss him, touch him, feel his body pressed against his . . . But no, not now. He stayed silent, aloof. Eventually more students began to filter in, and the need to approach Lucio subsided.<br/><br/>Ansel's lesson on psychological disorders went off without a hitch. The professor's years of practice when it came to giving lessons while mentally distracted had thankfully prepared him to handle this situation as well. As far as any of his students were concerned, Ansel von Essen was the same professor they had listened to the week before, and his taboo relations went unknown and unspoken.<br/><br/>When class was over, Ansel sat at his desk, watching as his students gathered their belongings and started heading out the door. "Mr. Bane, may I see you for a moment?" he said suddenly, locking eyes with Lucio and waving him forward. "I have some comments about your last assignment."<br/><br/>As Lucio approached and the rest of his students left, Ansel positioned himself at the edge of his desk, his hands crossed over his chest as the last straggler cleared out.<br/><br/>Once they were alone, Ansel found waiting any longer to be impossible. He grabbed the younger man and pulled him forward, pressing a hungry kiss against Lucio's lips. The rush of blood through Ansel's body made him feel flushed, but as long as he had his tongue in Lucio's mouth he didn't care. He took one of Lucio's hands into his own and greedily pressed it against his crotch. Beneath the denim was his already hardening cock, pressed against the confines of his jeans and aching to be let out.<br/><br/>He hadn't realized just how much he missed the taste of Lucio in the few days they had been apart until he had it once again. Lucio tasted like freedom, he tasted like art, he tasted like everything Ansel held close to him. No one should taste like that, but Lucio did.<br/><br/>Ansel was wrong. He couldn't let Lucio go. He never wanted to let Lucio go.