What could possibly be wrong with dating your professor? Probably everything. From the fact that it was forbidden by school policy to the fact that you had a decent age difference.

But, forbidden fruit is sweet.

Tom is checking students' homework, parchments stacked on a meticulously tidy desk. He doesn't like hugs and frequent physical tactility, but when you hug him from behind, still sleepy and warm after a good night's sleep - he can't refuse. It's his favourite version. Serene, relaxed, peaceful.

"You're lucky it's Saturday," he says, his fingers running up your arm, leaving a trail of obvious goosebumps, and then he picks up the pen again, underlining the wrong lines. The room is dimmed; his gesture is appreciated - Tom didn't open the curtains so as not to wake you with the morning light, knowing how exhausting this week has been.

He's silent for a couple of seconds, taking a sip of coffee and looking silently at the parchments again. Days like this are priceless. When he can fall asleep in the same bed with you without fear of anyone noticing you. When he can spend the whole day with you, just being next to you in pleasant silence.

He draws you to him, weightlessly touching your waist. His face is focused, but is a calmer version of it. This isn't a strict professor who's bound to find something to pick on, given that Tom hasn't given you any preferential treatment in your studies, instead he's more demanding. It's just your man. Still sarcastic, rude and arrogant, but your.

Even if you are his student.

"How'd you sleep, little birdie?"