Jumping on the bandwagon again. Read, review, and enjoy!
Kurt had always considered himself a romantic.
On top of that, he had always known he was gay.
It was all so painfully obvious to him. Sure, he had gone through a bit of denial in his sophomore year of high school but that was all behind him now. Because what other conclusion could you come to when all you wanted for your birthday was a sensible pair of heels, when you caught yourself gazing longingly after boys in the hallway, and when nothing thrilled you more than to sing, dance, and design outfits?
Behind the snark and sarcasm he exuded on a day to day basis was a deeper, softer inside. The sharpness to his attitude was only a defense-mechanism, really. And it was hard for Kurt, wanting things he could never have. Wanting to walk down the hall hand in hand with the person he liked, wanting to slow dance at his prom. Wanting to stand tall with no one constantly judging him all the time. Hence the defense-mechanism. It was the only way he could cope. He was forced to stow away his romanticist ideas because the world just didn't work that way.
So Kurt was a romantic, and he was gay, and he was a little naïve, but he was by no means stupid.
Which was why he was currently cursing himself for proving otherwise.
Because that snippy exterior, his prickly sarcastic take on his surroundings was melting right before his very eyes the moment the new AP English Literature professor stepped into class the first day of Junior year at Dalton Academy.
"Hello everyone," said the over-enthusiastic teacher, straightening his tie nervously. "My name is Mr. Anderson and I'll be taking over for the... late Ms. Thornbury this year."
There was only a brief moment of silence for poor Ms. Thornbury before the class broke out in a hushed murmur, boys whispering amongst each other mischievously about pranks they planned to pull on the poor, unsuspecting new teacher.
Kurt didn't hear any of them.
He was too busy bewilderingly drinking in Mr. Anderson's sparkling hazel eyes, the way his curls rebelled against the gel holding them in place, the dazzling smile that had Kurt convinced he would see everything else in darker monotones from that day on.
His heart gave a little jolt when Mr. Anderson's eyes found his and widened slightly in surprise. Kurt was sure he saw something like astonishment and, he hoped a little punch-drunkenly, captivation. But as quickly as it was there it was gone, and the new teacher's attention was drawn back to the entirety of the room.
"Alright boys, let's turn to page one in Beowulf, shall we?"
Kurt swallowed, his tie suddenly feeling much too tight.
Weeks went by and Kurt saw Mr. Anderson every day for first period. He wasn't surprised that, before long, he became an obvious favorite. His newfound infatuation (admiration, Kurt reminded himself, because he refused to give in to the notion that he was in love with a teacher, God forbid) had not distracted him from his impeccable work ethic. No question went answered incorrectly, no assignment went neglected, no extra credit assignment went brushed off. Kurt, being more of a French person himself, soon found that English was quickly becoming his favorite subject.
In these short few weeks it was easy to mistake adoration for admiration. Kurt passed off his pride at answering every answer correctly for simply being happy to be right. He shook off the fluttery feeling at the pride in Mr. Anderson's eyes whenever he answered correctly for a teacher being glad he was doing something right for his students.
But after a while, it became a little harder to tell the difference.
Like the moments. They were little, and sparse, but they were there. Like when Mr. Anderson would pass back yet another A+ paper to Kurt, and sparks would fly when their fingertips brushed ever so slightly with the contact, their eyes meeting briefly before looking away flusteredly, Kurt staunchly reading over his paper and Mr. Anderson heading a little too quickly to the next student. Or when the room was silently reading 1984 and Mr. Anderson caught Kurt, who had finished the book back in the eighth grade, watching him intently as he graded papers; and instead of blushing self-consciously he would smile to himself and resume his work.
It wasn't long before Kurt began to daydream.
At first it was innocent fantasies. Just imagining a one-on-one class with his teacher, learning everything he had to say by heart. Or walking across campus with him, chatting about things other than writing strategies and analysis. Because it was just plain weird to imagine being with a teacher like that. Just the thought of thinking of kissing Mr. Anderson caused Kurt to shudder. But it turned out his subconscious or curiosity was getting the better of him because one day he did decide to imagine it. Just to think about it. Because there was nothing wrong with thoughts, right? Thoughts weren't harmful unless they were acted upon.
It turned out Kurt had once again proved himself wrong.
Because once he had imagined kissing Mr. Anderson (across the desk in congratulations for earning yet another A on a paper, for the record), he didn't seem able to stop. Or think about anything else for that matter.
And one thing led to another, and things started to get seriously out of control.
Kurt had always believed he wasn't stupid. But that much he knew was now tossed out the window because hey, here he was daydreaming about a guy he could never in a million years be involved with.
Another thing Kurt had always believed was that he wasn't sexy. And with that came the belief that sex or anything similar was downright unclassy and vulgar, and Kurt simply knew he would not be one to partake in such activities.
Well that just turned out to be one more thing to add to the list of things Kurt was proving wrong about himself.
"Mr. Anderson, I don't know if this is such a good idea."
"What?" Kurt asked, but just faintly. Mr. Anderson had him finally backed up against the desk, trapped.
"Call me Blaine," he clarified sweetly, smiling ever so slightly.
And that was when he snapped. Kurt grabbed 'Blaine's' tie for dear life, snapping his lips forward to crash against his own.
It was sooner rather than later that Mr. Anderson (Blaine, Kurt reminded himself half-heartedly) had cleared the contents of the desk in one sweep to make room for slamming Kurt down onto it.
Kurt squirmed underneath him in bliss, surrendering to the tongue attacking his neck...
He jerked up and nearly fell out of his seat, crossing his legs quickly and reflexively.
Mr. Anderson looked worriedly at him, picking up the textbook that had fallen in Kurt's mad scramble to hoist himself out of his heated daydream.
"Sorry, Mr. Anderson. What were you saying?"
The teacher looked warily at him. "I was asking whether or not you find Grendel's struggle with himself to be justified or not, but now I'm wondering if you had better see the nurse. You look a little... hot."
Kurt tried to ignore the way that word on his teacher's lips made his stomach do flips. "I'm fine, sir. I promise. Just... tired."
His classmates' snickers from behind him went unnoticed in the pause in which Mr. Anderson observed Kurt. "See me after class, Mr. Hummel."
Kurt sank down a little lower in his seat, the chorus of "ooooohs" from his classmates effectively dissipating whatever problem was left in his pants. This was it, he was busted. How could he let this happen? How could he let his guard down like this, let his romanticism take over to the point where he actually considered and thrilled in the thought of participating in overtly lewd acts with a teacher who not only was unidentified in his sexual preference, but was also was nine years his senior...
His panic hadn't settled much by the time class came to an end. In fact, it only heightened to something just shy of hysteria as the last of his classmates trickled out, some patting him supportively on the back, leaving him alone in the room with Mr. Anderson.
Now Kurt really was getting hysterical in his head; him and Mr. Anderson alone in a room, especially considering Kurt's wild fantasies from before, could not be considered safe or even remotely legal in any county. Or dimension, or universe for that matter.
Kurt packed his things into his back quietly, setting it down beside his chair. His legs, however, seemed glued to the spot, not allowing him to move from his ramrod straight position in the chair.
Mr. Anderson, at his desk, finally sighed and straightened up to walk over to Kurt's desk. Kurt's heart beat wildly, expecting the worst, imagining all the ways his teacher was going to reprimand him for being so stupid as to even consider losing attention in class in favor of dreaming about an obviously unavailable twenty-five-year-old teacher-
But to Kurt's surprise, Mr. Anderson took a seat on Kurt's desk, hands on his lap.
"Kurt. I'm worried about you."
The boy in the chair tried very, very hard not to relish the sound of his first name on his teacher's lips.
But before he could speak Mr. Anderson was continuing.
"Not just today. You've been losing focus, for quite a while if I might add, and your grades aren't suffering yet but I'm afraid that they will, if you don't get your act together."
"Sorry, sir," was all Kurt could seem to mutter, eyes trained on the spot where Mr. Anderson's shirt tucked out of his jeans just slightly near his hip.
"Don't be sorry," Mr. Anderson smiled slightly. "I know whatever's going on is more than fatigue, Kurt."
Kurt snorted. That much was true.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Kurt snapped his face up to look at Mr. Anderson, then. What a silly notion. Talk about how he fantasized tearing his teacher's tie off with his teeth before ravishing his body up against the bookshelf? Discuss how he had imagined being slammed down on the desk ten feet away so many times he was almost sore just from the thought of it? Analyze the precise moment in time when Kurt had took a turn for the worse in his life? Yeah. That would be a great idea.
Ah, there was the sarcasm Kurt knew and loved.
Kurt hardened his exterior they way he knew best, covered up his true motives and feelings, plastered on a fake smile and allowed himself to look Mr. Anderson straight in the eye and tell him that he was tired and would promise to go to bed earlier in the future.
But it was like lighting. He was struck by a something in Mr. Anderson's eyes, something he hadn't seen since that first day he stepped into class. Something that bordered dangerously on the edge of sheer and utter captivation. Something that broke through every defense Kurt could possibly think of, cracked his fake smile and his guarded walls and let flow all of the romanticism hopes and dreams that Kurt had been struggling to keep at bay for so long to keep himself safe.
And what he said instead was, "I'm in love with you."
The captivation in Mr. Anderson's eyes was gone, pushed out by what could only be described as terror.
"I'm sorry?" he choked, smiling defensively.
Kurt was suddenly not so confident anymore. "I- I love you."
"That-" Mr. Anderson started, but couldn't quite figure out how to finish.
"That's why I haven't been able to concentrate," Kurt said cautiously, eyes finding the floor. "Because I've been- I've been allowing myself to get carried away with it. And it's changed me. For the worse, I think, and I should probably-" he paused, catching the blank look on Mr. Anderson's face, "-Probably leave. Before I embarrass myself further. So if you'll excuse me, sir..."
His legs had no problem standing now, but it was only a few moments before they were frozen again, cued by a noise from behind him.
Mr. Anderson had exhaled sharply, breath hitching slightly on back on the intake.
Maybe it was because it sounded near a sob, or maybe it was because that was the precise noise Kurt had imagined over and over again in his frenzied daydreams, but whatever it was he turned back around to find that his teacher was turning slowly on the desk to face Kurt.
Kurt couldn't even define the look in those eyes this time. But it was more alluring than anything he had ever seen in his life and it was causing his legs to take a step and then another, closer and closer until he was directly in front of Mr. Anderson, who was watching him helplessly from where he sat, transfixed on the desk.
Something small and nagging told Kurt to give into his instincts.
And looking into the unreadable hazel eyes, he couldn't help but obey.
He lay a hand gently on Mr. Anderson's knee, the other coming to rest on the crook of his shoulder, as he leaned in slowly to brush his lips against the teacher's.
He half-expected Mr. Anderson to push away, to order him out of the room and tell him never to come back.
What he wasn't expecting was for Mr. Anderson to return the kiss softly, opening his legs so that Kurt could fit between them.
Kurt's hand traveled down his teacher's chest as Mr. Anderson deepened the kiss, parting his lips willingly against Kurt's and Kurt wasn't even worried that he had never kissed anyone before because his hand had found Mr. Anderson's tie and he was pulling it gently, craving to be closer.
Mr. Anderson seemed to share the same sentiment, because his arms came up to wrap possessively around Kurt, one around his back and the other skimming dangerously low on his waist. Kurt breathed in deeply, greedily albeit a little messily swiping his tongue along Mr. Anderson's bottom lip. His teacher made a delicious little noise before breaking away, breathing heavily.
"Oh God," he whispered, almost to himself as his eyes skimmed hungrily over Kurt's lips. "I told myself that couldn't happen."
"What?" Kurt asked, trying to make the room stop spinning.
"It's one thing to be gay and single," Mr. Anderson was now near hysterics, hands hesitantly leaving Kurt to run through his hair. "But this is just god damn desperate, I mean look at you!"
Kurt was suddenly very offended. He planted his hands on his hips. "What about me?"
"Oh no, not like that," Mr. Anderson's head fell forward into Kurt's chest. "You're just... so young... and god, I was coping so fine, I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm practically a pedophile here-"
"Mr. Anderson, please-"
Kurt's heart stopped.
"You can call me Blaine. You kissed me, you can't just continue on calling me Mr. Anderson like that."
"I-" Kurt stumbled over words. "Blaine, then, you're not a pedophile. We're only nine years apart."
"You're not even eighteen yet," Blaine said, panic rising in his voice.
Kurt was beginning to get annoyed. Now that the shock had cleared and he knew his feelings were undoubtedly reciprocated, he wanted nothing more than to take advantage of the situation.
"Well then, Blaine," he said, putting extra emphasis on his teacher's first name, "Tell me this."
To Mr. Anderson's dismay, Kurt climbed up easily onto the desk, straddling his hips and drawing his lips close.
"Does it really matter how old I am when I do this?"
And then he promptly reached down to inch his hand into the waistband of Blaine's pants, sucking his tongue ferociously into his mouth.
His teacher made an odd keening noise, hands flying down to grasp at Kurt's hips. Kurt tilted his head to deepen the kiss impossibly, thrilling at the slight scratch of scruff against his cheek.
"Please, Kurt," Blaine begged against his lips, though the hands pulling Kurt's hips closer contrasted with his plea. "Stop."
"Why?" Kurt challenged, kissing him softly.
"Because of how wrong this is on so many levels," Blaine tried, chuckling a little insanely.
"But it feels right," Kurt said simply.
These four words were enough to earn him a few more moments of Blaine's lips meshing lazily with his.
"No one can know," Blaine finally said.
Kurt could hardly believe what he was hearing.
"As far as everyone else knows, you're my favorite student, and I'm your favorite teacher, and that's all. The impromptu meetings at lunch we share will be to discuss Literature and life and ask scholarly questions because we enjoy each others' company, because you're a student and I'm a mentor and no one, absolutely no one, will ever find out about this. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," Kurt beamed.
And at that precise moment, the bell signaling ten minutes until class rang.
Mr. Anderson- Blaine, Kurt corrected himself- cleared his throat with finality as Kurt clambered off the desk. "Alright then, Mr. Hummel. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"I don't know Mr. Anderson," Kurt smiled wryly. "I think I might have some questions concerning the nature of Nihilism in Grendel after school today."
"Don't push your luck," Blaine said grimly.
Kurt only smiled haughtily, picking his things up and sauntering confidently to the door.
"And your grades in my class had better stay stellar," Blaine added before Kurt grinned to himself and closed the classroom door.
There's one more thing you should know about Kurt:
He always gets his way.