Work Text
Chapter 1: Time For Class
Realms University was the best school in all of Dragons Isle; no one would deny that. It was located in the richest city on the island, had the best programs, the greatest sponsorships and scholarships available, and the highest graduation rate, earning it the #1 place on “The Greatest Universities” listings all over the web and whatnot.
Not that Lindar believed it; he had come up with his own private conspiracy theory, one that suggested that the school board bribed these industries and review tabloids with a substantial portion of the government fundings they received thrice yearly; Lindar had enough intell to know that this theory at least had grounds, but nothing could be made public- at least not on his behalf. He didn't want to loose his job, after all.
Said dragon looked up at the grandiose, silently intimidating building before him; four stories tall, big skylight-encrested
dome that sparkled in the sunlight as if bejeweled; its prescence filled the large, rolling green around it like a renaissance palace, flaunting its culture and enrichment, and beckoning forth those who seeked
true
knowledge and skillsmanship from within its brick and steel confines.
Needless to say, the history professor felt out of place in front of it; youngish, being only 30 years or so in age, dressed in a mere navy blue sweatervest over a white dress shirt, midnight blue slacks, and red bowtie; other teachers here dressed more...erudite.
They
looked like they belonged here; Lindar could catch glimpses of them as they passed by, in their suits and fancy wear, and those snobbish sneers he just wanted to…
Nevermind that. He needed to rush in before he was late; it wouldn't look too good if the students were on time, but their professor tardy.
He checked the time on his watch, an old mechanical one with a brown leather belt and a bronze-gold face; it had a tourbillon mechanism displayed proudly on the face, which the history professor had installed himself; others here wore their watches-usually the new, shiny quartz brand- as a symbol of financial status or boardsmember power; not him. His had been restored by hand, and he wore it as the fruits of pain-staking toil and labour, and wore it for the pure appreciation of craftsmanship.
And that steampunk aesthetic he adored. But no one had to know that.
For now, all they had to know was that he was the sassy, slightly eccentric history professor who was currently running down the large hallways, flying up flights of stairs, and jumping over wet floor signs as if they hurdles- all just to get to class before-
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!
“SHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIT!”
The history professor only barely managed to skid into his class right as the bell rung, to the deafening chorus of cheers from teirs of elated students. They all clapped and hooted and hollered, making comments about his ‘'best time yet,” and congratulating him on “breaking a record”. Paper planes and balls of discarded notepaper, as well as various other classroom supplies flew into the air on the wind provided by the wings of excited teens, and they rained down like confetti upon the professor's white upturned plume of hair.
He shook it all off and brushed his sweatervest clean of the debris and whatever lint accumulated upon it during his journey. He put his brown leather briefcase upon the large desk that faced the terraces of students before him. He sighed.
“Hey kids, sorry about that; got a little caught up in things.”
A loud, crude laugh cut across the air and towards him from the front row. Lindar's mind immediantly put hearing to recognition, and he didn't even have to look up to know who it was.
“Well, well, well. Looks like the teach's late for once. Where's your tardy pass, professor Lindar?”
Lindar looked up, his icey blue gaze practically cutting through the space between his desk and that of the impertinent purple youth before him. The “green horn” had his big purple feet kicked up on his desk, his arms folded carelessly behind his head, and his tail swishing beside him as he smirked at the older blue dragon; he was any little girl's rebel dream-boat.
Lindar narrowed his eyes at him. “...You're my least favorite student. I hope you know that.” There was a jovial tone hidden behind that glare, despite his expression; Spyro, as a matter of fact, had been one of his favorite students this year. He was close to the youngling, and his adoptive father; he even babysitted in the past.
Spyro huffed and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his purple and yellow hoodie. He took a picture of the memos on the big black chalkboard and immediantly turned it off.
“Yeah, yeah, right back at ‘cha, teach.” Again, that jovial tone was returned with a bit of a smirk.
Lindar snorted and pulled out some chalk. “Anyway, kiddos: hope you all like surprises, ‘cuz today we're having a
surprise
pop quiz!”
His announcement was met with a wave of groans, made from deep dismay; Lindar turned to the crowd of students with a big, toothy grin.
“Oh, by the way: any groaning I hear- I'll take 10 points off your quiz for bitching!”
Again, more groans. Lindar laughed evilly.
Sometimes, he loved his job.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 2: Remains of the Day
The white wooden door yawned open with a conspicuous creak, and through the threshold- like a refugee seeking sanctum from the outside world,- shuffled in the history professor.
He practically dropped his briefcase like a burden and kicked off his shoes as if they were filled with fire ants; he
felt
as if they were, because he was itching to get out of them. He needed comfort, rest, relaxation; for him, three of the most difficult things to obtain.
But he managed; he showered, slipped into his pajamas: fuzzy blue sweatpants with alarm clocks printed all over them, and a t-shirt he received
from the last steampunk convention he went to- and flopped onto his couch. He sighed as the television babbled on in the background, the only thing in his home that could be considered ‘company’ in some shape or form.
His cellphone buzzed on the coffee table. He groaned into the cushions of the couch and reached towards it hesitantly before answering the message that flashed across the screen:
Paint Splat: Hey Lindar, how are you? :3
Lindar groaned.
Me: Hey Gils. Will u evr stop using that cat face emoji? I already regret teaching it to u.
Paint Splat:
Mmmmmm. No. :3
Me:
…
Paint Splat:
;3 Anyway, how are ya? I haven't seen you around for awhile.
Lindar sighed silently. Gildas worked at the pre-school near the Univeristy, where the parents dropped off their kids every morning. Gildas was the arts and crafts teacher: he often kept the little ones preoccupied with all sorts of colorful activities, including painting, so the blue dragon was always covered in paint splats by the end of the day, so much so that Lindar had listed him as ‘Paint Splat’ on his contacts list.
He used to go straight to the pre-school after work, just to talk to Gildas and his husband of 20 years, Thor, who also worked there. They both were really delightful, the way their ‘old man banter’ always gave Lindar a good laugh, and just being around them gave him a warm feeling; they were just so jovial and positive all of the time; and honestly, they were a cute couple. Lindar remembered a time when he had come to the pre-school, after the kids all left with their parents, and he just found them sitting at one of the tables quietly. Gildas was just braiding Thor's hair, but the way he did it...it was such a soft, loving gesture in Lindar's eyes.
It almost made him envious. They had gotten to grow old together, while here he was, in his 30s, and he couldn't even…
He snapped out of his train of thought before it could go any further. He returned to the blank reality
of his response:
Me: Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, Gils. Been busy with all of these grades. These kids been killin’ me. ;-;
Paint Splat:
Awwwwww. Do you want a hug? :3
Me:
...No.
Paint Splat:
Do you want a kiss? :3
Me:
No.
Paint Splat:
Do you want me to pick you up and spin you over my head like a helicopter propeller before using the top of your hair like a paint brush? :3
Lindar couldn't help but laugh a little at that imagery.
He snorted.
Me:
Nah, but thanks anyway, Gils. ;) I needed a good laugh.
Paint Splat:
Anytime, friend. ;3
Me:
Tell Thor I said hey.
Paint Splat:
I will. Hold on-
Me:
You don’t have to do that
Paint Splat:
He says hi too. :3
Me:
…Do you do this shit just to spite me?
Paint Splat:
yes. :3 Maybe I get it from you. ;3
Me:
Noooooooooooo I'm rubbing off on you! The world can't take two of me!
Paint Splat:
Yes. You’re a bad influence. Shame. ):3
Me:
Do that cat face one more time…and I swear…
Paint Splat:
…;3
Me:
:3
Paint Splat:
Welp, glad you're doing ok. I gotta go help Thor get some clay out of his hair. See you tomorrow!
Me:
Hahaha. Poor guy. Bye.
Lindar was just about to put the phone down, when he got another message; the sudden, unexpected vibration annoyed him, and he growled.
“Damn it, Gildas, I just said-”
Gavin:
Hey hun.
Lindar's heart skipped a beat. His breath froze in his chest, caught mid-exhale. His fingers shook as he responded:
Me:
Hey.
Gavin:
I haven't seen much of ya lately! You doing alright?
Me:
Yeah. Just busy.
Gavin:
Aw. Nestor and the board keeping ya on ur toes, huh?
Me:
Yeahhehe… Sucks to be me.
Gavin:
Pfft. Awe. You’re being sure to take breaks though, right? Don’t overwork yourself!
Me:
Don’t worry, I’m not.
Gavin:
That's good. Just let me know if you need anything. I’m here for you.
The history professor's heart fluttered upon reading the message. He tried to steady his breathing.
Me:
Awe, thanks. Been feelin’ a little...Meh, tbh.
Lindar wanted to kick himself for that one. He knew what the response would be before it even appeared:
Gavin:
Awe! Do you want me to come over?
Lindar sighed.
Me:
Nah, I’m good. But thanks anyways, hun. You’re sweet.
Gavin:
Hehe. Always sweetie. Welp, I'll let you get your beauty rest. ;) Bye.
Me:
Bye.
Lindar put the phone down with a slight groan and brushed a claw through his spikey mess of hair; it hung dangerously close to his eyes.
As he ran his claws over his scalp, faint memories came up; the last person he had allowed to do that to him had been Gavin, the last time he had come over. His chest tightened, and he cursed himself; he should never have let him come.
He had invited the barista to come over last week, on the pretense
of watching a movie with him. They had watched the film together, with Lindar leaning against one of his muscular arms…
The next thing he knew, he was half-asleep in the other's lap, and he was running his claws through his hair...and when he awoke next, he was in bed, tucked in, and Gavin was gone.
He had spent the rest of the next day crying, half of the tears being sourced from self-pity and the other half in self-loathing; he had to fight back the urge to call Gavin and beg him to take him back, to forgive him...but his defense against the notion was solid: he drank down an entire bottle of scotch and another of brandy, and that put him to sleep, therefore preventing him from doing anything so stupid.
Although maybe the stupidest thing he had ever done, was calling it quits with Gavin.
He had been the best lover he ever had, and so far, was just as good of a friend; checking in on him every day, making sure he didn't overwork himself…
He got up and pulled out an old tambour he was in the process of restoring and put it on the coffee table along with some tools. He needed to work on something to keep his mind preoccupied. Something that didn't involve a nasty hangover in the morning.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter 3: Trouble Brewing Lindar scratched the notes on the board as went along, explaining the context behind them and inhaling a small portion of chalk dust through his nose; it smelled like ancient bones and buried memories. “...Now, this guy, Shen Lung, was the greatest Dragon Emperor of his time; not that we personally know, we just assume he was, because these ancient dudes who wrote these texts just LOVED the guy!-Like, they basically were kissing his-” Something hit the back of his head softly and stuck there, wedged into his hair. The resulting calamity for his appearance prompted a round of laughter from his students. He reached around and pulled it out of his locks; it crumpled dryly in his claws: a crude paper airplane. He turned around, using the chalk stick like a dowsing rod to point out the guilty party to him. “...Who threw that paper?” He asked, calmly. All the students went silent. Slowly, they all pointed to a young drake in the far right. Lindar pointed the chalk at him. “...I fucked your dad. Anyway,” he turned back to the board, with more laughter from his students. “...Shen Lung was awesome: That's what the ancient texts say, that's what we're going to go with until someone says otherwise. So, since we concluded your notes for today, you're going to have…(drum roll please)...A homework assignment!” The groans that rang throughout the class made him smile. “Aw, come on guys, it ain't that bad. All you have to do is write me a 300 word-” More groaning. He shrugged and held up his hands. “...Alright, alright...Touchy...A 600 word-” He paused, as if waiting for any more verbal objections. He continued: “...A 600 word essay telling me what Shen Lung did to make these old dudes see him as awesome. Cite at least five sources.” Some kids were grumbling to themselves as they packed up their stuff, and the professor crossed his arms with a snort. “Aw, come on guys; Just imagine how I feel; I got to grade you guys’ papers, and then three other classes besides!-Don’t start bitching when you don’t know how hard others have it!” Some students shrugged, but continued grumbling under their breath; that didn't prevent him from getting his usual ‘good-byes’ and ‘have a great day!’. He waved to those passing by, then returned to his desk...he had a liiiitttle bit of time before the next period began...maybe he could…He pulled out another watch out of his desk, as well as a screwdriver. His heart pounded as he removed the face and stuck the screwdriver into the contents beneath…“Um, excuse me, Professor Lindar?” He gave a startled jolt and quickly swiped the watch and screwdriver into his desk. He blinked and smiled up at the student innocently. “Yes, Miss Clara Burner? How may I help you?” The light blue dragoness was well-built at the age of 17, with her lovely flame blue scales, twirling darker blue horns that formed towards each other gracefully, and a supple form, well complimented by her taste in style: dark black jeans, name-brand, and some sort of dollecete designer blouse, white. She had her purse slung over her shoulder, and her wings were folded in such a way that the lighting above her was partially blocked from view, giving her shining, black curls of hair a halo of sorts. To put it bluntly, she looked like perfection, except for that pouty face she wore on her other wise lovely features. She had one slim, dainty hand on her hip, and her tail swished behind her as she held up the offending object: a large C-, circled and written on the heading of the paper in blue marker. Oh. No. Lindar tried to put on a pleasant smile. In the most gentle tone of voice he could muster, he tried to explain to her why she had gotten that grade on her last paper, and why her current average in his class was a 62 percent: “Ah, yes. That; well, you see Miss Burner, you earned that grade because you didn't throughly explain the topic: you were supposed to tell me how the agricultural methods introduced to Riptonia from Avalar were an example of cultural transfer; you gave me three short paragraphs, which started off with the correct topic, but then kinda went off into this tangent about how useful tractors were to Avalar's agricultural development; you see, tractors wouldn't have been invented for another six centuries after the Cheetah and Faun wars.” He hoped that would be enough, and she would understand; for about sixteen seconds, she seemed to have gotten the point...but then…She put the paper down on his desk and smiled at him sweetly, batting her eyelashes (damn, this girl wore too much mascara!). She leaned forward with her arms planted on his desk, spread to as to show off the curves under the confines of her blouse to him. “Are you certain,” her tone suddenly became overbearingly suggestive as to her methods, “that there's absolutely nothing I can…’do’...to change that ‘F’ average into an ‘A’?” She batted her eyelashes again. Lindar leaned backwards in his chair a bit, fighting the urge to gag and berate her for her actions; either that, or laugh in her face...but another idea came to him. He smiled and leaned towards her. “...Actually...there is something you could do…” he beckoned her forward, to whisper in her ear. She smiled, a small, almost smug smile, like a cat that got to eat the canary...She leaned towards the professor and tilted her head, pushing aside her thick curls and revealing an elegant, elvish ear to him. He paused for a moment. Then whispered: “...Study.” He pulled back, giving her the biggest, most smug grin he could. She did a complete 180 degree switch on him; in an instant, her sweet, flirtatious facade was cast away, revealing to him the demon he had unleashed. She snarled, flashing her pure white fangs, and flared her wings at him.“How dare you?! Do you have any idea who my father is?!” She practically shrieked. Lindar crossed his legs and reclined further, his hands folded in a chapel manner so the fingertips were touching; he couldn't possibly look anymore disinterested in this spoiled brat. “Yes, yes, Miss Burner: your father is the in the Board. I’m sure if I explained to him why you're failing my class, and how you tried to flirt your way out of an F, then he would understand. Now, if you are quite done, I have another class coming in, so just a reminder: don’t forget about-” “Forget it! I’m done with you!” She pushed a couple of beliwdered students out of her way as she stormed to the door. She turned at the threshold, and just like a scene in a movie, she pointed a polished, manicured claw right at him, hissing: “...You’ll regret thisssss!” Right before stomping out into the crowded hallway. The students who arrived gave their history professor confused- and perhaps concerned - glances as the bell rang. Lindar shrugged in response and stood up. “...Welp, kids: this is why animal control was invented...which was during the era of industrialization! Let’s talk about that!” He went to the board and erased the evidence of the last class. The chalk smell entered his lungs again. ○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○“Professor Lindar, report to my office immediantly.” The intercom rang it's static message throughout an empty room. It was 4:00 PM, the students had long left. Lindar looked up from his papers and blinked. “Hm. Nestor's still here? Shouldn’t he have taken Spyro home?” But he got up and answered the call. Only the lonely sound of his footsteps accompanied him all the way to the Headmaster's office, which resided on the top floor, nearest to the dome of glass. At the front entrance he stopped, and looked up at dark, imposing mahogany door before him, embroidered with a golden plaque: Headmaster NestorLindar knew this dragon. He had no reason to be intimidated by him; he had even babysat his adopted son more than a few times. Strange how a title can make you fear a person. The door alone, and his solitary form before it, small and frail in comparison, made him feel like a child all over again. A naughty child going to the principal's office to be punished…But Lindar was an adult, and he had done no wrong. He took a deep breath and walked in. Nestor was sitting behind the desk, stacked with papers and a computer that looked brand-new; the grants had been generous again. Lindar smiled when he saw the green dragon and his familiar, professional dress of suit and velvet green tie. “Hey! Nestor, what's up?” He said cheerily, a pathetic attempt at an ice-breaker. But Nestor cut through it easily; his face was grim, his hands folded on his desk as his eyes cut through Lindar like a knife through butter. Lindar froze. His smile fell, and his worry shone through. “Lindar. Please, sit.” He gestured to the chair in front of him, and Lindar settled in with the confidence of a man slated to be executed. Nestor looked at him for a moment in silence. His gaze was scrutinizing, almost...pitying. This only increased Lindar’s concern, and he swallowed, only to find his mouth had gone dry. “...Yes? What is it?” He steeled his voice to avoid it cracking; wouldn't that be embarrassing? Nestor sighed. His wings seemed to relax. “...Lindar, I've received a complaint from a young female student. Miss Clara Burner.” Lindar clutched his knees. The knuckles turned pale blue-white in rage. That little bitch! Nestor noticed this subtle gesture and raised his eyebrows. “...She says that your behavior is inappropriate for a school setting, and that you made advances on her.” Lindar looked appalled. “Advances on her?! She was the one who tried to flirt her way out of an F! If anything, she was the one who made advances on me!” Lindar couldn't help the outburst; how dare she? All because he wouldn’t let her have her way?! Nestor raised his hands to signal a calm. “I am well aware of the situation; your conduct may not be the most...genteel at times...but I know for a fact that this is simply not something you would do. In fact, she's made a few complaints of similar nature on several other teachers...however…” Lindar looked up. It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. “...However…?” Nestor half-growled, half-sighed. His fists clenched against the desk. “...Her father is Benson Burner...the head of the financial department of the Board...if his daughter doesn't graduate from Realms University...He’ll assume it's a fault on our part, and he’ll cut our funding.” Lindar sighed and slowly sank into his chair. “...So you're saying…?” Nestor nodded. “...Let her have her way. My hands are tied...I’m sorry Lindar.” Lindar ran a hand down his face. “...I need a drink.” Nestor gestured to the door with a wing. “Permission granted.” ○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○And to the bar he went. Some popular, local tavern called “Zoe’s Kiss”. It was lively, but not rowdy, calm, but not drab or boring. Somewhere you could relax and have a few shots with a friend. But Lindar had come alone. He clutched a bottle of Sgt. Bird's Home Brew and ran his claws through his hair again. His bow tie was undone, and he found it increasingly difficult to focus on one train of thought; yep, the brew was doing its work. He finished his 8th bottle and went for the next, popping off the cap and chugging away. His thoughts and worries were drowned out, his mind spinning away in fragments of both memory and emotion; anger, remorse, regret...more anger...Worry. He drank to keep the worry at bay. Eventually, his head was laying in the crook of his elbow, and he was sobbing into it uncontrollably as he moaned about how “unfair” it all was. It took him a awhile to snap out of it when he realized someone was speaking to him, and rubbing his back. “Hey, buddy...Buddy! Hey...I think you've had enough.” Lindar was reminded vaguely of a guy he used to date. He sighed and leaned into the strong shoulder for support. The other dragon froze, but gently held him, rubbing his shoulder and arm as if to comfort. “...There there...It’ll be ok, buddy...Let me get you home.” The voice was strong, but smooth all in one, even under the influence of strong beverage. Lindar found consolation in it, and he somehow found himself confessing everything to this dragon, how this little brat was threatening his job, how he missed his ex...how he felt so damn alone all of the time, and no one could help him...how he was going to die alone. The other dragon led him to a taxi and reassured him that everything would be fine. He got in with him, asking him between the blue dragon's sobs for his address, and making sure he stayed awake. The other dragon introduced himself as Titan, and revealed to him that he was with the police, but was off duty that night; that he too, was alone, that he too, was sad sometimes, and hadn't found ‘the one’ quite yet. Lindar found comfort in him, and he told Titan so; Titan seemed surprised, but said that he felt the same. This teacher leaning on him, confessing the burdens of his heart and his worries...something about it filled Titan with warmth and a feeling of kinship towards the other dragon. They eventually stopped, and Lindar sobered up enough to pay fare. Titan helped him out and up to his porch. He gave Lindar his keys, expecting that he'd be fine from this point onward, and his guidance was no longer needed…But the way Lindar looked up at him, with those teary blue eyes...and how he leaned on his chest...his voice, begging him to stay...the unwarranted kiss from the professor was only the cherry on top to complete this salacious sundae. How could Titan refuse? Yes, the drink may have influenced his decision...maybe he shouldn't have done what he did next, but he couldn't resist what was being offered so freely. He fell into that kiss, let the feelings it provoked consume him. He easily picked up the school teacher and unlocked the door, only breaking away once to find the bed and lay the night's reward upon it.He pulled his sweatervest off of him and unbuttoned the oxford shirt underneath, pulling off his own t-shirt in between. These he tossed to the side, which formed a small pile near the bed, a messy splotch in the otherwise orderly bedroom. Titan let that thought pass away into nothing, and allowed the moment to matter more; this mattered, that school teacher under him mattered. He kissed the professor's neck, earning a light purr and a gentle hand running down his back in approval. His tail wrapped around Titan's and squeezed. Something about the gesture; the clumsiness of it, perhaps, or maybe the gesture itself...Titan stopped. Lindar looked up at him, blinking woozily. “What'z wrong?” He asked, softly. Titan looked down at the drunken professor. He ran a claw down his bare chest, down his stomach, towards his lower abdomen...the blue dragon's muscles reacted subtly; slight twitches of pleasure, a soft moan verbally…His hand stopped at the bindings of his pants. He paused, then looked into his blue eyes...those pretty blue eyes, stained with tears…He placed a hand on Lindar's cheek. “...We're going to begin. I just want you to know something before we do.” The professor huffed in annoyance, but allowed this small delay. “...Yes?” “...If you ever want me to stop, tell me so. Alright?” Lindar was a little taken back by this. He nodded silently and rubbed Titan's chest as a sign to continue. He didn't hesitate. He unbuttoned the professor's slacks and pulled them down, revealing a pink, throbbing member. Titan tossed the slacks away upon the growing pile and pulled off his own simple jeans. His red erection stood proudly, dwarfing the professor's in size. Titan chuckled at the way Lindar looked at it in a mixture of shock and awe. He wrapped his fingers around it and began working it, watching the look on the blue dragon's face. “Like what you see?” He purred. The dumbfounded response was a simple nod. Titan laughed and grabbed the professor by the hips, pulling him towards himself. His legs were splayed out, the back of his thighs resting against the front of Titan's. The red erection poked and prodded at Lindar's tail hole. The professor murmured something and groaned when Titan's tip pressed in. He froze, recognizing the signs. “Do you want me to use lube?” He said. He didn't want to hurt him. Lindar looked away and sniffed. “Mmmm-nmm-mn...No. I don't have any. Not since I broke up with my ex.” Titan rubbed his cheek and ran his claws through the teacher’s thick white hair. “I'll go nice and slow, then.” Lindar nodded and purred softly at the gentle touch. He adjusted himself and clutched the covers, to brace himself against what was sure to come. Titan was true to his word. He pushed in nice and slow. Lindar moaned as inch after inch of the thick red appendage pushed into him, even if it was a bit painful; Gavin had been big, yes...but Titan was thick and long. Lindar’s mind blurred between immense pleasure and pain, and the concerned realization that maybe not all of it would fit. Titan kissed the blue dragon's neck as he pushed in faster, faster, until he was up to his base. Lindar's smaller pink cock throbbed at the feeling of something that big in him, rubbing up against his insides in the most pleasurable ways possible. Pre was already dripping down his length at the feeling alone. Soon, Titan was up to his slit. He growled, enjoying how the smaller blue dragon felt around him: tight, warm, soft. Perfect. He dug his fingers into his hips and slowly pulled out, making Lindar moan softly and clench around him; Titan was going to have to loosen him up some if they were to continue. He held the teacher's hand and rubbed it gently. “This...Might be a little painful. Brace yourself, ok?” Lindar nodded and clutched the covers tighter. Titan rubbed his hips and thighs reassuringly, before he bottomed him out in one, clean movement. The professor arched his back and gave out a loud cry. His member shot up, shooting a small stream of pre from the angle Titan pounded him into. All he could think about for a good few solid minutes was: big, big, BIG. Titan was going steady; he didn't want to break his new toy, after all. His member throbbed and swelled inside the professor's tight ass, and slowly picked up the pace as the going got easier. He allowed a small moan to escape himself before he took notice of how the blue dragon's untreated member was twitching and leaking pre with each pound; it was practically begging for release. Smirking, he reached down and wrapped his fist around his pink cock, squeezing and rubbing. This made Lindar whimper and moan loudly, and yelp every time Titan thrusted straight into his prostate. Sweat was dripping down his forehead and neck, he clutched the covers underneath him harder, practically tearing into the cloth with his claws. He looked adorable to Titan. He began to slow his pace, pounding hard once, then pulling out to ram into him again. He squeezed the base of his cock and moved his fingers upward, relieving the pressure only when he had reached the top. “Do you want release?” He pounded into him after every word, making the professor's legs shake. His muscles were tense, his eyes scrunched shut. “Mmmmggnnnn…” Was the pitiful response. His member twitched and throbbed frantically. “What was that?- Couldn't hear you, hun.” Pound. Pound. Pound. “Y-Ynnn…” Titan titled his head. “Hm? What was that?” He rammed into him, much harder than before. “Y-YES!” The blue dragon yelped. Titan smiled and pulled out of him. “Flip over.’’ He commanded. The teacher laid there, sweaty and shaking. His member throbbed pathetically. “Mmh? B-But…” “Flip over or I leave you right on the brink.” He growled; only for the show, of course. He wouldn't do that to him. Lindar swallowed and rolled over onto his stomach. He got onto his hands and knees, still shaking from both pleasure and drink. Titan lifted his tail and immediantly pushed right back into him. The history professor gave another loud cry as Titan nailed him right in the p-spot. Titan rammed into him, faster and harder than ever before; he was close, and he was going to finish off with a finale. “Fffffft...FUCK! I'm going…!” The teacher under him was silent for once, clutching the pillows. His panting let Titan know that he too, was near his limit; it wasn't long before they both finally came. “FFF….YES!” Titan's hot seed flooded the insides of Lindar's ass, plastering the inner walls. He continued thrusting into him, riding his orgasm out till the end. He heard a small cry beneath him, and could tell from the clench around his member that his companion came too. When it finally ended, hitting them both with a wave of exhaustion, Titan rubbed Lindar's back, right between the wings; the teacher had already collapsed, his eyes closed peacefully and his breathing steady. Titan smiled softly and pulled out of him. He nestled into the covers next to the blue dragon and put a wing over his thinner form; maybe he wouldn't leave just yet.