Up Side Down. Chap 2.
Title: Up Side Down
Chapter: TWO
Genre: Original, humor, romance and maybe a tad bit of drama
Warnings: Unbeta'ed, slash
Rating: I'd say PG-13, but maybe a soft R is required, since there's a lot of cursing and sexual innuendos
Summary: Meet Frank McCole.
I dragged my feet across the school’s enormous football field to the lonely oak tree planted on the far end of the grounds, exhaling long, white clouds of cigarette smoke as I whistled, stopping only to breathe in the dry, cold air. I loved winter.
My favourite spot to waste time before class had always been this tree. It was planted behind the library building, and since the first day I came to teach in the academy, that tree had been my quite little friend. It sounds stupid, I know, but if a tree can soothe me like that one could, it deserved to be called my friend.
Every morning I would sit under it, between its large, thick roots, and just...just do nothing at all. Stare into space as I sipped my coffee and smoked half a box of cigarettes. No one would ever bother me there. No one could ever find me there; at least it felt like it. It was great.
But this morning, when I reached the tree and sat down on one of the thick roots sticking out of the dark earth, there was someone there already. He turned around to look at me, wide-eyed, and for a second I was actually surprised to see him there, but then my surprise hardened into frustration.
Frank McCole. One of my students. Fuck!
Damn him to Hell! I was hoping not to see any of them stupid brats (my students) until 8:00 AM.
To hell with that thought...and with Frank McCole.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Mr. McCole?" I asked, blowing smoke in his face.
Frank quickly stood up, hiding his right hand hastily behind his back. Was he being obvious on purpose? I sure hoped so, because if he wasn’t, his sneakiness skills were non-existent and that was just heartbreakingly sad. Then again, Mr. McCole was a pretty-faced, stupid twit, so I guessed lack of sneakiness (which was a skill of the mind) came with those nice green eyes and the soft-looking skin.
"Oh...Mr. Barker," he stuttered. "I wasn't hoping to see you here...ha..."
"That," I growled, as Frank grinned nervously down at me, “is obvious, Mr. McCole, or you wouldn't have been smoking, would you?"
Frank's eyes widen slightly, but he didn't say anything. I knew he was desperately racking trough his brain, looking for an excuse, a lie, (I could see it in his eyes and his wavering grin) but when he couldn't find anything he resorted to the stupidest, oldest and more childish defense in the book (I didn’t expect anything better of him):
"Well, so are you."
I grinned humourlessly, pushing myself up from the root I was using as a stool to level our heights. Well...not exactly to 'level our heights', because the kid was half a head shorter than me and I had to tilt my head down to look him in the eye. It's just that having him look down on me didn't make me comfortable.
"Yes, indeed. But I'm not underage, am I? Or a student," I grinned wider, colder. "You could get expelled for that, I think."
The kid took a step back, sighing in defeat, frowning just a tad.
"Look, Mr. Barker, I'm sorry, I...I just...I just...I just needed it, alright? Sorry," He met my gaze unflinchingly, waiting for me to either condemn him or absolve him.
I took my time to decide. Not because it was a hard decision, but because I'm such an IDIOT (and, okay, let’s be honest: I liked watching him squirm). You’re going to probably think this is sick, strange, and that I’m one hell of a disturbed, sick, sick person, but to hell with that too, because we agree.
This kid had the nicest pair of green eyes I had ever seen. Every time I looked at him in class I thought the same thing: ‘Fuck! Nice eyes, kid’; not that I ever told him so, however I did think that a lot. Bright, luminous, absolutely green eyes. Not only that, but his hair was ink black, which just made his eyes look even lighter and greener.
Ah, but that isn’t freaky and sick like I promised, is it, you yellow creeps? Well, what if I tell you the other real nice thing this kid had going on were his lips and that I just wanted so bad to put them to good use and I don’t mean answering questions in class.
And don't even get me started on his face...
God help me, the kid was beautiful.
Ew, okay, this is where we start to agree. I feel like a pedophile and I bet you think I’m one, too. Let me clarify: I’M NOT. No matter what my thoughts seem to show you, I’m not, I swear on my mother’s grave, I am not a pedophile, don’t crucify me yet, let me explain. ‘Kay, on to the story, those of you who are willing to listen:
Alright, so Frank…How old was he? 16, if I remember correctly.
To tell you the truth (and freak you out even more), I had fantasized about Frank more than once, and, oh, boy did I feel bad afterwards. I usually tried to cut the fantasies off when they got too R rated, but it’s really hard to stop something that feels so good. I only felt the incredible, eat-me-alive-from-the-inside-out guilt after my orgasm had died down and my hand was sticky; that’s when I started to feel wrong in my own skin. The worst part? I couldn’t help myself and I didn’t want to admit how much I lusted after the kid; I kept repeating in my head that he looked 21 and that’s why he made me feel all hot and bothered like that. Just for the record: he didn’t looked 21; he looked his age and that was just me, being pathetic.
To clear things up: I'm not gay. Bisexual, yes. When I want to jack off I have two choices: Angelina Jolie or Jude Law. It all depends on how I feel that night.
Masochistic: Angelina.
Sadistic: Jude.
I was a bit freaked out when I realized, back in high school, that I liked dudes the same way I liked girls and that the captain of the football team was gayer than Boy George, but I never expected to lust after a 16-year-old until I met Frank.
"Mr. Barker? Are you quite alright?" I heard Frank's voice and blinked a couple of times before slowly shaking my head ‘no’. Frank had an eyebrow raised suspiciously and looked a bit impatient. At the time, it surprised me he could muster such a smart expression.
Shit. I had been staring…again.
"Look, McCole, just go the fuck away." I said, rolling my eyes. I was annoyed at myself and my hormones, but I was furious at Frank for making me want him. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I needed someone to blame and he was the nearest escape-goat since my father was in New York.
Frank didn't move.
"What?" I asked, blowing smoke to the side, out of the corner of my mouth.
The kid opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again like he’d thought better of it. He looked at me for a while, without saying anything, and I was about to tell him to piss off when he grinned innocently and spoke.
"Could I use your lighter, Mr. Barker? Mine ran out of gas and I used my last match a few minutes ago," he explained, showing me an empty, blue Bic lighter and the equally empty box of matches. "When you scared the shit out me I kinda put out my cigarette against the tree, hoping you wouldn't notice."
I leaned my back against the oak and reached inside my pocket, wrapping my fingers around my own lighter hesitantly. As a teacher, I wasn't supposed to do this, but what the hell? The kid was already nicotine-dependant, an addict, and school hadn't started yet, so technically I wasn't his teacher.
"Don't you dare tell anyone, kid, or we'll both get our asses kicked out of this place faster than you can say Bic. Here," I threw the lighter at him and watched him light his cigarette like a pro. When you’ve been smoking and hanging out at pubs as long as I have, you learn how to separate the amateur smokers from the experts just by watching them light the stick.
"Thank you," Frank said, blowing small clouds of smoke. He was looking straight ahead; not at me, not at the tree, not at his cigarette, not at the school, but straight ahead into space, like he could see something I couldn’t. But the scary thing was the wicked grin spread across his fine features. It made chills ran down my spine. It confirmed he knew something I didn’t.
"Did you like my essay, Mr. Barker?" he wondered suddenly, turning his eyes and his grin on me. He reminded me of a very pretty Cheshire Cat.
"Which?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow. "If you hadn't noticed, kid, you're not my only student and I don’t have time to memorize all of your handwritings. You better tell me which one was yours if you want an answer."
"The one about the 'beens'", he chuckled and I knew. It was him!
I turned my neck so quickly I heard it crick, grinding my teeth almost audibly. I could tell my expression was vicious, but Frank didn’t even blink and kept grinning.
"You...," I growled, narrowing my eyes dangerously. "You little fuck. You fucking owe me 20 minutes of my life and a fucking red pen. D'you know how much my head hurt after correcting all that gibberish? D’you know how expensive good red pens are? D’you think I have time for your bullshit?"
And after my furious, little speech, Frank had the nerve to burst out laughing.
"I didn't think you’d correct the whole thing!" He said between fits of laughter. "How could you have been so stupid? I thought you’d give up after reading the title! Or the first sentence, at least," and then he laughed some more. Asshole.
I waited until Frank stopped laughing, with my jaw muscles tightly set and my fists clenched under my armpits to keep myself from punching the kid. I’m not a particularly violent person, but with headaches like the one I had at the time, not even I can be safe.
...and what the fuck did he mean by 'the whole thing', did he think I only corrected the titles?
"I should refill my pen with your blood, McCole, but you know what? I'm going to solve this in a less satisfactory, though legal, way," I said, once he’d shut his muzzle.
The kid raised an eyebrow, grinning widely. Well, well, he was bolder than I originally thought. It wasn’t like he didn’t gave me shit in class, because he did, but usually he just threw the stone, hid his hand and when I asked who’d said what and do they care to repeat it in my face, he buried his face in some book. Now that I thought of it, he always had a book. Was he looking at the pictures? Because he sure as hell wasn’t reading the damn thing. I mean, if he read so much, why was he so below average in my class?
"Yeah? How?" Frank asked insolently.
I gave him a calculative stare and without another word I crushed my cigarette against the oak’s rough trunk, turned around and stalked off towards the main building, whistling again.
McCole ran after me.
"You didn't tell me..." he started in a rather defiant tone, but I cut him off.
"You'll see, Mr. McCole." I growled. "Now get the fuck out of my face or I'll make it double."
"What? No, but..."
"Now!" I barked.
And Frank did as he was told. He stayed behind, but I could feel his green eyes glaring at my back.
When I finally reached the Teacher's Lounge most of my colleagues were there already, chatting, drinking coffee with too much sugar and being too happy for my taste (its was 7:51 AM. Why were they smiling?). Most of them (especially the younger ones) still said hello, even if all I did to acknowledge them was nothing. The older teachers knew better and without asking Mrs. Washington poured some coffee in my mug and set it on the table, giving me a small reserved smile that I returned when she wasn’t looking.
I had only 10 minutes left before class started to scheme vile revenge against Frank McCole. I don’t take shit from anyone. Not even the ones as pretty as McCole. Frank had to learn once and for all: you don’t fuck with me. I can’t really explain why that joke with the essay made me so angry, you’d have to be me to understand, but the fact was: it made me furious enough to seek revenge.
But I could hear the obnoxious call of duty whispering in my ear: There are still two un-graded essays, it chirped happily; so I sighed irritably, took my blue pen out of my pocket and sat down.
Chapter: TWO
Genre: Original, humor, romance and maybe a tad bit of drama
Warnings: Unbeta'ed, slash
Rating: I'd say PG-13, but maybe a soft R is required, since there's a lot of cursing and sexual innuendos
Summary: Meet Frank McCole.
I dragged my feet across the school’s enormous football field to the lonely oak tree planted on the far end of the grounds, exhaling long, white clouds of cigarette smoke as I whistled, stopping only to breathe in the dry, cold air. I loved winter.
My favourite spot to waste time before class had always been this tree. It was planted behind the library building, and since the first day I came to teach in the academy, that tree had been my quite little friend. It sounds stupid, I know, but if a tree can soothe me like that one could, it deserved to be called my friend.
Every morning I would sit under it, between its large, thick roots, and just...just do nothing at all. Stare into space as I sipped my coffee and smoked half a box of cigarettes. No one would ever bother me there. No one could ever find me there; at least it felt like it. It was great.
But this morning, when I reached the tree and sat down on one of the thick roots sticking out of the dark earth, there was someone there already. He turned around to look at me, wide-eyed, and for a second I was actually surprised to see him there, but then my surprise hardened into frustration.
Frank McCole. One of my students. Fuck!
Damn him to Hell! I was hoping not to see any of them stupid brats (my students) until 8:00 AM.
To hell with that thought...and with Frank McCole.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Mr. McCole?" I asked, blowing smoke in his face.
Frank quickly stood up, hiding his right hand hastily behind his back. Was he being obvious on purpose? I sure hoped so, because if he wasn’t, his sneakiness skills were non-existent and that was just heartbreakingly sad. Then again, Mr. McCole was a pretty-faced, stupid twit, so I guessed lack of sneakiness (which was a skill of the mind) came with those nice green eyes and the soft-looking skin.
"Oh...Mr. Barker," he stuttered. "I wasn't hoping to see you here...ha..."
"That," I growled, as Frank grinned nervously down at me, “is obvious, Mr. McCole, or you wouldn't have been smoking, would you?"
Frank's eyes widen slightly, but he didn't say anything. I knew he was desperately racking trough his brain, looking for an excuse, a lie, (I could see it in his eyes and his wavering grin) but when he couldn't find anything he resorted to the stupidest, oldest and more childish defense in the book (I didn’t expect anything better of him):
"Well, so are you."
I grinned humourlessly, pushing myself up from the root I was using as a stool to level our heights. Well...not exactly to 'level our heights', because the kid was half a head shorter than me and I had to tilt my head down to look him in the eye. It's just that having him look down on me didn't make me comfortable.
"Yes, indeed. But I'm not underage, am I? Or a student," I grinned wider, colder. "You could get expelled for that, I think."
The kid took a step back, sighing in defeat, frowning just a tad.
"Look, Mr. Barker, I'm sorry, I...I just...I just...I just needed it, alright? Sorry," He met my gaze unflinchingly, waiting for me to either condemn him or absolve him.
I took my time to decide. Not because it was a hard decision, but because I'm such an IDIOT (and, okay, let’s be honest: I liked watching him squirm). You’re going to probably think this is sick, strange, and that I’m one hell of a disturbed, sick, sick person, but to hell with that too, because we agree.
This kid had the nicest pair of green eyes I had ever seen. Every time I looked at him in class I thought the same thing: ‘Fuck! Nice eyes, kid’; not that I ever told him so, however I did think that a lot. Bright, luminous, absolutely green eyes. Not only that, but his hair was ink black, which just made his eyes look even lighter and greener.
Ah, but that isn’t freaky and sick like I promised, is it, you yellow creeps? Well, what if I tell you the other real nice thing this kid had going on were his lips and that I just wanted so bad to put them to good use and I don’t mean answering questions in class.
And don't even get me started on his face...
God help me, the kid was beautiful.
Ew, okay, this is where we start to agree. I feel like a pedophile and I bet you think I’m one, too. Let me clarify: I’M NOT. No matter what my thoughts seem to show you, I’m not, I swear on my mother’s grave, I am not a pedophile, don’t crucify me yet, let me explain. ‘Kay, on to the story, those of you who are willing to listen:
Alright, so Frank…How old was he? 16, if I remember correctly.
To tell you the truth (and freak you out even more), I had fantasized about Frank more than once, and, oh, boy did I feel bad afterwards. I usually tried to cut the fantasies off when they got too R rated, but it’s really hard to stop something that feels so good. I only felt the incredible, eat-me-alive-from-the-inside-out guilt after my orgasm had died down and my hand was sticky; that’s when I started to feel wrong in my own skin. The worst part? I couldn’t help myself and I didn’t want to admit how much I lusted after the kid; I kept repeating in my head that he looked 21 and that’s why he made me feel all hot and bothered like that. Just for the record: he didn’t looked 21; he looked his age and that was just me, being pathetic.
To clear things up: I'm not gay. Bisexual, yes. When I want to jack off I have two choices: Angelina Jolie or Jude Law. It all depends on how I feel that night.
Masochistic: Angelina.
Sadistic: Jude.
I was a bit freaked out when I realized, back in high school, that I liked dudes the same way I liked girls and that the captain of the football team was gayer than Boy George, but I never expected to lust after a 16-year-old until I met Frank.
"Mr. Barker? Are you quite alright?" I heard Frank's voice and blinked a couple of times before slowly shaking my head ‘no’. Frank had an eyebrow raised suspiciously and looked a bit impatient. At the time, it surprised me he could muster such a smart expression.
Shit. I had been staring…again.
"Look, McCole, just go the fuck away." I said, rolling my eyes. I was annoyed at myself and my hormones, but I was furious at Frank for making me want him. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I needed someone to blame and he was the nearest escape-goat since my father was in New York.
Frank didn't move.
"What?" I asked, blowing smoke to the side, out of the corner of my mouth.
The kid opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again like he’d thought better of it. He looked at me for a while, without saying anything, and I was about to tell him to piss off when he grinned innocently and spoke.
"Could I use your lighter, Mr. Barker? Mine ran out of gas and I used my last match a few minutes ago," he explained, showing me an empty, blue Bic lighter and the equally empty box of matches. "When you scared the shit out me I kinda put out my cigarette against the tree, hoping you wouldn't notice."
I leaned my back against the oak and reached inside my pocket, wrapping my fingers around my own lighter hesitantly. As a teacher, I wasn't supposed to do this, but what the hell? The kid was already nicotine-dependant, an addict, and school hadn't started yet, so technically I wasn't his teacher.
"Don't you dare tell anyone, kid, or we'll both get our asses kicked out of this place faster than you can say Bic. Here," I threw the lighter at him and watched him light his cigarette like a pro. When you’ve been smoking and hanging out at pubs as long as I have, you learn how to separate the amateur smokers from the experts just by watching them light the stick.
"Thank you," Frank said, blowing small clouds of smoke. He was looking straight ahead; not at me, not at the tree, not at his cigarette, not at the school, but straight ahead into space, like he could see something I couldn’t. But the scary thing was the wicked grin spread across his fine features. It made chills ran down my spine. It confirmed he knew something I didn’t.
"Did you like my essay, Mr. Barker?" he wondered suddenly, turning his eyes and his grin on me. He reminded me of a very pretty Cheshire Cat.
"Which?" I inquired, raising an eyebrow. "If you hadn't noticed, kid, you're not my only student and I don’t have time to memorize all of your handwritings. You better tell me which one was yours if you want an answer."
"The one about the 'beens'", he chuckled and I knew. It was him!
I turned my neck so quickly I heard it crick, grinding my teeth almost audibly. I could tell my expression was vicious, but Frank didn’t even blink and kept grinning.
"You...," I growled, narrowing my eyes dangerously. "You little fuck. You fucking owe me 20 minutes of my life and a fucking red pen. D'you know how much my head hurt after correcting all that gibberish? D’you know how expensive good red pens are? D’you think I have time for your bullshit?"
And after my furious, little speech, Frank had the nerve to burst out laughing.
"I didn't think you’d correct the whole thing!" He said between fits of laughter. "How could you have been so stupid? I thought you’d give up after reading the title! Or the first sentence, at least," and then he laughed some more. Asshole.
I waited until Frank stopped laughing, with my jaw muscles tightly set and my fists clenched under my armpits to keep myself from punching the kid. I’m not a particularly violent person, but with headaches like the one I had at the time, not even I can be safe.
...and what the fuck did he mean by 'the whole thing', did he think I only corrected the titles?
"I should refill my pen with your blood, McCole, but you know what? I'm going to solve this in a less satisfactory, though legal, way," I said, once he’d shut his muzzle.
The kid raised an eyebrow, grinning widely. Well, well, he was bolder than I originally thought. It wasn’t like he didn’t gave me shit in class, because he did, but usually he just threw the stone, hid his hand and when I asked who’d said what and do they care to repeat it in my face, he buried his face in some book. Now that I thought of it, he always had a book. Was he looking at the pictures? Because he sure as hell wasn’t reading the damn thing. I mean, if he read so much, why was he so below average in my class?
"Yeah? How?" Frank asked insolently.
I gave him a calculative stare and without another word I crushed my cigarette against the oak’s rough trunk, turned around and stalked off towards the main building, whistling again.
McCole ran after me.
"You didn't tell me..." he started in a rather defiant tone, but I cut him off.
"You'll see, Mr. McCole." I growled. "Now get the fuck out of my face or I'll make it double."
"What? No, but..."
"Now!" I barked.
And Frank did as he was told. He stayed behind, but I could feel his green eyes glaring at my back.
When I finally reached the Teacher's Lounge most of my colleagues were there already, chatting, drinking coffee with too much sugar and being too happy for my taste (its was 7:51 AM. Why were they smiling?). Most of them (especially the younger ones) still said hello, even if all I did to acknowledge them was nothing. The older teachers knew better and without asking Mrs. Washington poured some coffee in my mug and set it on the table, giving me a small reserved smile that I returned when she wasn’t looking.
I had only 10 minutes left before class started to scheme vile revenge against Frank McCole. I don’t take shit from anyone. Not even the ones as pretty as McCole. Frank had to learn once and for all: you don’t fuck with me. I can’t really explain why that joke with the essay made me so angry, you’d have to be me to understand, but the fact was: it made me furious enough to seek revenge.
But I could hear the obnoxious call of duty whispering in my ear: There are still two un-graded essays, it chirped happily; so I sighed irritably, took my blue pen out of my pocket and sat down.