Attend next lecture

Luke decides, despite his unideal conditions he’s in, he should still attend his next lecture even if his underwear is soaked in cum and his cock is painfully erect.

The lecture hall doors swing shut behind Luke with a muffled thud, his boots scuffing against the old floors as he strides down the aisle. His jeans are distractingly tight, the fabric straining against his hard cock with every step but fuck it, he’s never let his own biology dictate his schedule before.

He slouches into a seat near the back, slinging his bag over the chair beside him like a territorial claim. The professor’s monotone voice drones about 18th-century trade routes, but Luke’s already smirking, fingers drumming his thigh. "Bet I could come before he hits slide twenty," he mutters to no one in particular, palm pressing down briefly.

Luke's fingers trail down the front of his jeans, tracing the outline of his cock through the denim with deliberate slowness. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he glances toward the professor still oblivious then back to his own lap. "Almost slide ten," he murmurs, thumb rubbing circles over the head. "Gotta pick up the pace." His breathing hitches when a creak from the hallway door echoes through the room, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, the risk makes him press harder.

The lecture hall’s stale air carries the scent of chalk dust and floor polish, undercut by something muskier as Luke spreads his legs wider.

A sharp inhale escapes Luke as his fingers finally pop the button of his jeans, the zipper’s rasp drowned out by the professor clearing his throat. His grin is all teeth half challenge, half hunger as he palms himself properly now, the warmth of his cock a live wire against his hand. "Fuck yeah," he breathes, hips lifting just enough to chase the friction. The overhead projector flickers to slide thirteen.

The door creaks again, but this time it’s footsteps. Luke doesn’t even glance up, just arches into his touch with a quiet groan. "Hope whoever’s coming likes performance art," he mutters, thumb swiping over slick precum.

The footsteps pause right beside Luke’s row too close for coincidence but he doesn’t bother hiding what he’s doing. Instead, he tilts his head back to meet the interloper’s gaze, Luke’s eyes glinting with mischief. "Front row’s full," he says, voice low and rough. "But there’s room here if you’re interested." His fingers twist at the base of his cock, waving it slowly for them to see, before he looks back toward the professor’s back. "Slide sixteen already. Clock’s ticking."

A bead of sweat slides down his temple as the projector whirs to the next slide, the light catching on the sheen of precum smeared across his knuckles. Luke licks his lips again, "I don’t mind if you just watch. I’m not picky."

Luke’s smirk deepens as the presence watches him, his own breathing ragged but controlled. The lecture hall’s hum of hushed notes taking and shuffling feet fades into white noise, replaced by the slick sound of his fist moving faster. "Slide eighteen ," he murmurs, rolling his hips up into his grip.

A sudden, warm pressure wraps around Luke's cock not his own hand and his breath stutters mid-taunt. Fingers slide against his with practiced ease, twisting just how he likes, and fuck if that isn’t the best kind of interruption. "There you go," he gasps, hips jerking upward into the touch, his own fingers tangling with the stranger’s. "Knew you’d-fuck-join the party."

The projector whines as it lands on slide twenty, but Luke’s too busy watching himself get a handjob, his back arching off the seat as he cums coating the underside of the desk and the persons hand. He grins, lazy and satiated, thumb swiping through the mess on his cock. "Told you I’d beat the bell," he murmurs, licking the taste off his thumb. "Next time, don’t make me do all the work."