His Lesson

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I walked into my thesis advisor’s office, nervous that he had sent me an email requesting a meeting instead of just flagging me down in the hallway.
“Luke, I don’t know if I can do this much longer,” he said as I opened the door.
“Do what,” I asked. I went from nervous to terrified. What if he couldn’t be my advisor anymore? What if my work was so bad that threw me out of the program and never spoke to me again?
“You know what I mean,” David said, his eyes looking over the latest pages of my research. He had written all over it, green pen as prevalent as the black ink of my work.
I sat down, hoping he’d say more and I wouldn’t have to voice any of my fears. He was at his desk, as calm and cool as ever. Nothing seemed to bother him whereas everything bothered me. It was just another reminder that I was still a kid, relatively speaking. Even though he was only 15 years older than me, the gulf between us was huge.
He sighed and tossed his pen on the desk. He ran his hand across his stubbed jaw and closed his eyes. His face relaxed and he looked too young to be my professor. He opened his eyes and they were filled with pain. Rated '5/5 - Explicit and plentiful' for steam/spice/heat level.