You had seen him the night before. It was dark in the crowd, like it always was, sure, but you remembered him. The scruffy hair, the polo shirt and matching pants that made him look far too innocent and out of place at the strip club.

Maybe that was what caught your eye, or maybe it was simply how gorgeous he was. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what - maybe the way the club’s lights highlighted the sharp lines of his face, or the way his eyes latched onto you and didn’t let go for almost your whole shift.

And honestly, you had to have expected something like this happening eventually. You were in college for fucks sake, of course one of your classmates would show up at the strip club not even ten minutes away from campus.

But your professor?

The way his eyes widened ever-so-slightly when he caught your eyes, or perhaps it was the quick way his eyes scanned down your body that revealed your identity to him. Of course he recognized you, his eyes hadn’t left your half naked body once the night before.

The class is spent in eye contact that lasts way too long and a few stutters from the usually so put together professor. And the moment class ends, the tension seemed to have grown so much that he couldn’t handle it anymore. And honestly, neither could you.

The next moment you and him are in his locked classroom, and he’s pressing you up against the door - and you can tell it’s unintentional by the way realizations dawns in his eyes and he steps back, one hand moving to tangle in his hair.

“This can’t be happening,” he murmurs to himself, brows knit and eyes downcast.