Office Hours

All characters are at least 18 years old.

------

Hank

"So you never really answered my question. What are you doing here, two nights in a row at that?"

I had trouble meeting Jean's eyes, shame bubbling up and out of control inside me. I glanced back over to the booth next to us, where the other man had been sitting. If he came here every night, eventually he would have a taste of Jean. The roiling mess inside me twisted at that thought, becoming thick and insidious. "I don't want you being pushed to do something you don't want, just because you're desperate for money. Places like this, I can totally see it happening." She was quiet, and by her brooding expression, she wasn't thrilled at the possibility. "Do they still pay you the same if you just sit and chat with customers rather than... servicing them?"

"I think so, yeah," she replied with a nod.

"Then that's what I'll do. It seems like your manager knows I'm here for you, so I can probably just request you every time. And we'll just sit here and do nothing, and you get paid."

Her eyes widened as she stared at me, then she lowered her gaze while her hands fidgeted with my shirt. Suddenly she grew half a smirk and looked at me again. "You're not here to just sit here and do nothing, prof. It's okay, let me pamper you a bit."

"Jean."

"Minerva," she corrected.

"Jean," I insisted, and she stilled as if afraid of what I was about to say. "I know none of this is my business, and I'm kind of a creep for doing all this. Following you after hours and all that. Kissing you. And you don't need some guy to save you or anything. I mean, you had to have known what you were getting yourself into, working in a place like this. But..." I faltered a bit, attempting to figure out what I was trying to say. "...I'm here anyway, y'know? Any way I can help. If you don't want me here, I can leave and never come back." The baser part of me was gonna make that a bit difficult, but I would do it.

She looked at me strangely, expression implacable. Finally, she scoffed and smacked my chest once. "Why you gotta be so dramatic? Just say you like being here and leave it at that." The tension seemed to lift, and I chuckled. "Did you want a drink?"

"I probably should, huh?" I said ruefully. "Don't want your manager thinking you can't even sell a few drinks." My fingers drummed on the table. "Yeah, I'll have a martini."

"Alright, James Bond," she said sarcastically with a grin, climbing off of me and heading off.

"James Bond's martini has vodka in it. Don't mess it up!" I called after her, laughing. While I waited, I watched the dancers at the center of the floor. Some of them were being quite brazen, openly fondling their partners in front of everyone. Just went to show what kind of club this was. In all fairness though, I wasn't exactly an expert on the club scene.

Jean came back with a martini for me and a Long Island iced tea for herself. She set the drinks down, then surprised me by climbing back onto my lap, straddling my thighs as she faced me. She twisted to pick up the drinks again, handing me my glass before leaning back unsexily and propping herself against the table with her elbow. "So, Mister Bond, did I get it right?"

I took a sip of my drink, then nodded in approval. "Yep. Tastes shaken."

She rolled her eyes. "Is there a fucking difference?"

"I have no idea. I would assume so," I chuckled.

"I started a tab for you, by the way," she explained after taking a sip of her beverage. "Since... You'll be here tomorrow too, right?" She was quiet when she asked, and it made me smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be here."

She beamed, then quickly snuffed it out. Acting tough, huh? It was irritatingly cute, I admitted. She distracted herself by sipping her drink again. Or rather, she started downing it. Before I could stop her, she'd made it through half of her glass.

"Damn, this stuff is good," she remarked, her grin slightly lopsided.

"Wait, you're not old enough to drink," I pointed out with a frown.

She smirked at me, leaning in close and lowering her voice. "You gonna snitch on me, prof?"

I sighed, regarding her sternly. She giggled mischievously, biting her lip. Between that and her straddling me, I was already beginning to poke at her from below. In her tiny skirt, it was impossible she missed it.

"

One

drink," I asserted, and she pouted playfully. There was no way she was already drunk. Was she really tipsy enough to have loosened up this much?

"Well, guess you're gonna have to watch me the whole night to make sure I don't sneak any more in," she countered before taking another big gulp. She set the glass down and leaned forward again. With a chuckle, she planted a clumsy kiss on my lips. I cupped her cheek with my left hand, and when she pulled away her hand held mine. "No ring. You got a girlfriend, prof?"

"Do I look like I have a girlfriend?" I chuckled. I was no eye candy, that was for sure.

"You look like you do pretty well with the lay-dees," she replied, slurring the last word.

"I don't," I insisted, smiling and shaking my head at how quickly the drink had messed her up.

"Would you like a girlfriend, prof?" Her voice had turned seductive in an instant, and she kissed me again before continuing. "I mean, like, in here. Like as Minerva's boyfriend. Y'know? 'Cause Jean would never date somebody old and gross like..." She grinned at me, jabbing me in the chest with a finger. "But Minerva's a li'l more open-minded, right? So what do you say?"

I shook my head. "I'd say there's no way you're hammered so soon."

Her face immediately dropped into a scowl, and she sheepishly took another sip. "Fine, maybe I was hamming it up a bit. Although this shit is pretty strong. Wasn't expecting that."

"Jean... why do you keep acting like this? Is there something wrong with just being yourself?"

She nibbled her lip, deeply troubled, before hanging her head. "Nobody is happy with the person in the mirror. Everybody wants to be somebody else." Hesitantly, she raised her gaze to meet mine again. "Honestly, when I got this job, part of me was kinda... excited. Yeah, it might not be a very reputable job, so you gotta kinda keep it on the down low. But so a secret like this... and no using real names in here... I could be whoever I wanted in here." Her gaze intensified. "I could be somebody... you could be with. A girl who wasn't your student.

"I... I like you, Professor Lang," she stammered. "I guess that's pretty obvious, right? And I'm pretty sure you like me too. You just can't really do anything about it 'cause I'm your student, and you're older, and a guy, and it just wouldn't be a good look. I get it." She began speaking more fervently. "But the other girls here, some of them have worked other clubs in the past. And nobody has seen anything like this place before. All of them say that there's no judgement here. Like, legit none." She twisted around to gesture out to the dance floor. "You've seen some of these people, right? The age gaps between couples? And not in a gold-digger kinda situation, either. I know you know what I'm talking about."

I did. Looking at some of the shared characteristics between couples, I was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion of just who some of these people were to each other.

"We... We wouldn't be the strangest couple here, professor. Not gonna lie, we're among the normal ones. Nothing leaves the club. So... could we give it a try?"

I took a deep breath, thinking it over. Was this okay? So many things could go wrong here. She was clearly vulnerable, and I didn't want to take advantage of that. But if she needed me, then what was I supposed to do? Obviously my dick knew what it wanted, but I definitely had to put her first. I just didn't know what was right in this situation.

"

If

we do this, we'll need some ground rules," I said firmly. Immediately, her expression brightened, as if she couldn't restrain herself. "If I decide that this whole thing is bad for you, that it's going in the wrong direction, then I

will

walk away." She nodded in understanding, though with a bit of reluctance. "And I think this goes without saying: only in this club, alright? We don't do this anywhere else. If anybody finds out--"

"I know," she asserted. "I'd never do anything to get you in trouble. Promise." I grunted approvingly, and there was a pause before she continued hesitantly. "So... does that mean you say yes?"

I studied her for a moment, still pondering this quandary, before smiling wryly. "Tentatively."

She grinned, biting her lip again. Leaning in once more, she paused before our lips met, as if asking for permission. I took another breath before closing the distance, feeling her soft lips against mine. Down below, I was stiff and pressing up against her under her skirt. She felt like a furnace, even through my trousers.

Placing her hands on my shoulders, she gave me an experimental lick. My kisses began traveling down her face in response, and she moaned when I got to her neck. The heat of her crotch pressed against me, and I cupped her waist to pull her across my length. She gasped as she felt my hardness running along her slit through her panties, desperately wrapping her arms around my neck. I buried my face right below her jaw, occasionally letting my tongue have a taste of her skin. She smelled of vanilla, deliciously sweet.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she panted, pulling away. She was visibly flustered, and combed her hair out of her face.

"Sorry, was I too forceful?" I asked, letting go of her.

"No, no, it's my bad. Just..." She took a deep breath, letting it out shakily. "We're moving pretty fast here, y'know?"

"Definitely." We both took a sip of our drinks to create emotional distance and regroup. "Maybe we should stick to talking for the moment."

"And what? Have a getting-to-know-you period?" she laughed. "That's lame shit."

"Couldn't hurt." I rolled the olive around in my glass. She held hers in front of her, as if hiding behind it. "I actually had something I wanted to ask you." Her brows raised in curiosity. "Why me?"

She stared at me blankly. "What?"

"Why did you... I dunno, pick me? You could have chosen a guy your age, or even another member of faculty."

That only seemed to confuse her further. "I didn't

pick

anyone, prof. Do you have a checklist of shit to choose who your friends are?"

"Well, no..."

"Do you stop caring about someone when they no longer meet a criterion?"

"It's not so simple--"

"Do

you

have a reason for why you love the people you love?"

"There's more to it than that, Jean. You know that." Shit, she really had me here.

"That's right," she said triumphantly. "And it's more than what I can put into words. I don't know why it was you, prof. I just...

like

you." She looked at me earnestly, an unfamiliar tenderness in her usually rough demeanor. "Does there need to be anything beyond that?"

I stared at her as if for the first time. "I suppose not," I admitted.

"I know people need to have some sort of standards, otherwise folks would just be falling in love willy-nilly, and everybody would be friends and get along, and ugh..." She rolled her eyes at the prospect. "And I know people need to know what they want, develop preferences and shit. You won't believe how many girls have no fucking idea what they're looking for. But yeah, I know what I want."

She didn't elaborate further, probably at risk of sounding uncharacteristically sappy. I chuckled, nodding in agreement as I cupped her cheek. Her eyes grew wide, and I pulled her into another kiss. She didn't fight me, rather leaning into me instead. This... could actually work. As long as we followed the ground rules, making more later as needed. As long as we kept everything in this club, which I believed we could manage.

Boy, was I wrong.