
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/478683.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, My_Chemical_Romance
  Relationship:
      Frank_Iero/Gerard_Way
  Character:
      Frank_Iero, Gerard_Way
  Additional Tags:
      Teacher-Student_Relationship, Rimming, Oral_Sex, Masturbation
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-05 Words: 11485
****** What I Go To School For ******
by dear_monday
Summary
     Gerard has a strict policy when it comes to teachers, namely that
     they should be avoided at all costs because every last one of the
     bastards is out to get him.
     (Mikey says Gerard is paranoid. Gerard says that's exactly what they
     want him to think.)
     What's getting to Gerard is that he's never had any reason to doubt
     his theory before now. Now, though... well. All of a sudden, Gerard
     does have a reason to question his policy, and it wears ties and
     cardigans and ridiculously dorky sweater vests and gets all excited
     about metaphors.
     A teacher!Frank fic, in which cliches abound.
Notes
     Huge, huge thanks to what feels like about half of tumblr for
     encouraging me with this and putting up with my liveblogging as I
     wrote - and to a few of you in particular for your help and your
     wonderful ideas. You know who you are. I couldn't have done it
     without you ♥
Gerard has a strict policy when it comes to teachers, namely that they should
be avoided at all costs because every last one of the bastards is out to get
him.
(Mikey says Gerard is paranoid. Gerard says that's exactly what they want him
to think.)
What's getting to Gerard is that he's never had any reason to doubt his theory
before now. He's suffered through years and years of teachers who were more
childish than the kids they were teaching, teachers who he's pretty sure were
escaped convicts, teachers who went out of their way to seem nice and then
turned out to be cruel, bullying assholes. Gerard hasn't so much had a bad
experience as one big, long, clusterfuck of bad experience.
Now, though... well. All of a sudden, Gerard doeshave a reason to question his
policy, and it wears ties and cardigans and ridiculously dorky sweater vests
and gets all excited about metaphors. Past experience would lead Gerard to
suspect that Mr. Iero falls into the third category - the teachers who pretend
to be sweet but are actually agents of Satan himself - but Gerard has been
watching him like a slightly chubby, greasy hawk since day one. If it's all an
act, Mr. Iero deserves a fucking Academy Award. It's flawless. He hasn't put a
single foot wrong. If Gerard didn't know better, he'd be beginning to suspect
that Mr. Iero really is just a decent human being.
The thing that Gerard finds more confusing than anything else is how
enthusiasticMr. Iero is. At first, Gerard put it down to the fact that Mr. Iero
looks about twelve when he smiles, so this is almost definitely his first
teaching job. But that relentless cheerfulness should have been ground out of
him after a few weeks, and now it's halfway through March and he's still going
strong. It's weird, is what it is. It's weird, and Gerard doesn't trust him.
And he definitelydoesn't melt a little every time Mr. Iero starts beaming and
talking with his hands when he finds, like, a simile that he wants everyone
else to appreciate as much as he does.
Liking a teacher is totally against Gerard's principles, obviously, but if
there's one thing to be said for Mr. Iero, it's that he's not a pushyteacher.
It's just one of those fucking days - Gerard got another D in history, and when
Miss Fitzgerald gave him back his trig quiz from last week, it had an angry SEE
ME AFTER CLASS scribbled in the corner instead of a grade. And then, on top of
all that, Mr. Whitman is making him come up with a whole new proposal for his
art project because apparently vampires ripping people's throats out are
inappropriate. All Gerard wants right now is to be invisible, so he waits for
the stream of people filing into the English classroom to thin out before he
slopes in, takes his usual seat in the back row and slumps down in his chair
with his hands clamped over his ears. He flinches when some asswipe throws a
balled-up piece of paper at him and it hits him square between the eyes, but
apart from that he does a pretty good job of tuning the rest of the world out.
When Mr. Iero finally fucking bounds in and starts the register, Gerard answers
with an unenthusiastic grunt when his name is called and sinks a little lower
into his seat. It's not that he doesn't like English - it's the least tortuous
lesson on his timetable after art, although even art is stressing him out right
now. It's just one of those times when he needs to be left alone to stew in his
misery and contemplate is many, many failings for a while.
By the end of the lesson, Gerard hasn't taken in a single thing Mr. Iero said,
but he doesn't feel like he's going to puke anymore, which he considers a plus.
He's just slouching back through the door on his way out when Mr. Iero calls
his name.
"Gerard? Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Gerard groans inwardly. Motherfucking fuckon a cracker. This is it, the moment
when the apparently nice teacher reveals their true, scumbaggy colors and hits
him with detention every day for the next twenty years. He knows how it goes.
Slowly, reluctantly, he turns back. It really doesn't help that Mr. Iero is-
- well, the only word for it is cute, with untidy hair and big, round eyes and
a face that's practically fucking cherubic.
"C'mon." Mr. Iero perches on the edge of his own desk and points to the smaller
desk directly in front of it. Gerard sits down gingerly in the plastic chair
tucked underneath it, and stares fixedly down at the artistic rendering of a
cock and balls that someone has scratched into the pockmarked wood. Whatever it
is, Gerard hopes it's going to be quick. This day feels like it's been going on
for about a month. Gerard just wants to go home, barricade himself in his room
and destroy his ears with Marilyn Manson at full volume.
"So," Mr. Iero says, and Gerard looks up. "What's up?"
Gerard blinks at him, confused. Is this some kind of trap? What the fuck is he
supposed to say to that? "Uh," he says. Mr. Iero's eyes are fuckinghuge, all
earnest and concerned."Not much, I guess?"
"Okay," Mr. Iero says, looking distinctly kicked-puppy-ish. "I just - I mean,
you looked kind of out of it today and I wanted to make sure you were alright.
There anything you want to talk to me about?"
Gerard waits for the other shoe to drop.
"I mean it," Mr. Iero insists. "Whatever it is, okay?"
"It's just... you know, grades and sh-- stuff," Gerard says, the words tumbling
out of him before he even has time to think. Fucking Mr. Iero and his fucking
ninja interrogation tactics. Gerard is still kind of expecting some kind of
punishment, but now he's started talking he can't stop himself. "Like, I'm
failing everything, even art, and if I don't get into art school because my
portfolio's not good enough then I'm not going to get into college because I
don't have the grades, and--"
"Whoa, whoa! Stop. Back up a minute." Mr. Iero hops down off his desk and puts
his hands down on the edge of Gerard's instead, leaning forwards and looking
practically distraught, and Gerard cannot deal with this. Stupid cute teachers
and their stupid mind games. "C'mon, you're not failing English! And what makes
you think you won't get into art school?"
Gerard shrugs, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. "What makes you
think I will?"
"Don't give me that." Mr. Iero takes a step back, folding his arms. "Don't
think I haven't seen you doodling in this class."
Shit.
Mr. Iero cracks up. "Your face, oh my god. Don't worry, your secret's safe."
And he taps the side of his nose and winks, still fucking giggling, and holy
shit, how did Gerard never realize what a massive dork he is?
"But seriously," says Mr. Iero, "is there anything I can do? I mean, I'd offer
to tutor you, but I don't think you really need it."
"Thanks," says Gerard, feeling his stupid, treacherous face opening up into a
smile. "I mean - yeah. Is there anything I could do for, like, extra credit?"
he asks, on a sudden impulse. He could really use some extra credit, and Mr.
Iero actually seems like an okay guy. For a teacher, that is.
Mr. Iero eyes him shrewdly. "Hmm," he says. "How are you at filing?"
 
                                       *
 
It's one of those obscure coffee house shows that Mikey finds out about through
his bionic hipster radar, and he was the one who insisted that Gerard needed to
get out of the basement after the shitty week he's had. Mikey promisedhim that
he wouldn't see anyone from school, which was what finally persuaded Gerard to
go.
He pulls a face at his reflection in the smeared mirror in the cafe's bathroom
and runs his fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time. His eyeliner is
good, he thinks, smudging it a little on one side so it's even. He mooches out
of the bathroom and over to the temporary bar, where he orders a diet coke and
slopes off into a dark corner to spike it with the vodka stashed in the pocket
of his hoodie. The band haven't started playing yet, but the people milling
around have started to gravitate towards the stage. He scans the crowd, and
sighs. There's no sign of Mikey, of course. That bastard, he promised he
wouldn't abandon Gerard this time. He knows Gerard isn't good with crowds.
Gerard is about to go look for him, then thinks better of it when he realizes
that Mikey is probably playing tonsil hockey with one of the many scene girls
who are inexplicably drawn to his pointy hipbones and sleepy eyes. Gerard
settles deeper into his little corner, and shudders. No big brother needs to
see that shit.
And then the band take to the little makeshift stage, and Gerard forgets all
about Mikey.
That's Mr. Ieroup there, in skintight black jeans and a white button down,
sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing a gorgeous sprawl of colored ink.
There's a broad, shit-eating grin on his face, and he looks - Gerard doesn't
know, comfortablein a way he never has in front of a chalkboard. Gerard doesn't
know shit about guitars, but the one slung over Mr. Iero's shoulder is
beautiful - bright white, with PANSYemblazoned on the body in bold, chunky
letters. Mr. Iero adjusts the volume dial on his guitar and tweaks one of the
tuning pegs slightly, and Gerard can't tear his eyes away from Mr. Iero's
hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Ladies and gentlemen," says Mr. Iero, and Gerard can feeleveryone in the room
shifting their attention to him. Mr. Iero is practically glowing with it, and,
wow, this guy is totally wasted on teaching disinterested teenagers at
Belleville High. "Thank you all for coming out tonight!" Mr. Iero continues,
still grinning. "We're Pencey Prep, and this song's called Ten Rings."
Gerard gets ready to book it if Mr. Iero's band turns out to be cringe-makingly
terrible, but then Mr. Iero starts playing and Gerard abruptly forgets all
about that. Mr. Iero is holding his guitar practically fucking sensually, and
the look on his face is-- fuck, it's just pornographic. His eyes are half-
closed and his mouth drops open, wet and shiny. Gerard has only ever seen that
look before on porn stars, usually when there's another porn star between their
legs. Between that and the wealth of ink on his arms, Gerard doesn't think
he'll ever be able to look at his English teacher the same way again. Mr.
Iero's voice is rough and scratchy (smoker, Gerard thinks, please, God, let him
be a smoker), a little nasal, just like it is when he speaks, but it suits him,
somehow. It's kind of endearing.
It's warm in the coffee shop, which Gerard would normally bitch about to Mikey,
but Mikey isn't there. More to the point, it's starting to make Mr. Iero's
pristine button-down stick to his skin. Gerard is positivethat there's more ink
under there, and as Mr. Iero throws his head back, exposing the line of his
throat and dropping down to his knees, Gerard lets out a little involuntary
whimper. What the motherfucking fuck. Teachers are supposed to be boring. They
are notsupposed to turn out to be the tattooed, guitar-playing embodiment of
Gerard's wet dreams.
Gerard watches Mr. Iero, mesmerized. He's throwing himself around like he's
caught up in some invisible current, playing like a man possessed. Gerard can
see the faint sheen of sweat on his skin under the lights and can't help
imagining getting close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. God, he is so
completely fucked.
He adjusts his jeans and keeps watching.
 
                                       *
 
Gerard is sort of dreading seeing Mr. Iero in school on Monday. He's
irrationally terrified that Mr. Iero will look at him and be able to tell what
Gerard was thinking about when he jacked off in the shower after the show. And
what he was thinking about when he woke up the next morning with a raging hard-
on and humped the mattress until he came in his pajama pants. And what he was
thinking about when-- well. The point is that if Mr. Iero is a mind reader,
Gerard is going to spontaneously die of embarrassment on the spot. This stupid,
inconvenient crush or whatever it is has gotten out of hand alarmingly quickly,
and Gerard has a nasty sinking feeling that spending time with the guy isn't
going to help.
Gerard walks as slowly as he can to English that afternoon, even though he
knows an extra minute or two won't make a blind bit of difference. And, of
course, because he's an idiot, he fucking volunteered to help Mr. Iero with his
filing, so he's going to be alonewith him for an extra hour after school.
Gerard tends to say stupid things (more often than usual, that is) when he's
around attractive people - a category into which Mr. Iero has just unexpectedly
crashed. Fuck his life, seriously.
His mood isn't improved when he eventually gets to the classroom and sees that
some douchebag has taken his usual seat in the back row. And, of fucking
course, the only seat left is right in the front, directly in front of Mr.
Iero's desk. This is totally the universe punishing him for jacking off to the
thought of his English teacher bending him over a desk.
Mr. Iero is already in the classroom, and when he catches Gerard's eye, Gerard
could swear he flashes him a little knowing smile. Gerard's stomach lurches,
but he manages not to fall on his ass or do anything else too embarrassing. He
takes his seat, and resigns himself to two hours of utter torture.
The lesson isn't actually going too badly until Mr. Iero plays an H-bomb of a
trump card. He leans over the front of his desk to look for something, and, oh
god, his ass is right there. It's a really, really fucking nice ass. Gerard
bites the inside of his cheek, letting the pain knock some of the impure
thoughts out of his head. It's not good, exactly, but it's better. At least,
it's enough that he can pretend to be a functioning human being instead of the
melted puddle of loser that Mr. Iero has reduced him to.
Mr. Iero threads his way between the tables, handing back last Friday's quiz.
Gerard resists the urge to bang his head repeatedly against his desk. He was
right in the middle of his personal crisis on Friday; he doesn't even remember
doingthe fucking quiz. He really, really can't get afford to fail anything else
right now. When Mr. Iero drops his quiz in front of him then makes his way back
to his own desk, Gerard feels faintly nauseous. He braces himself, picks it up
and flips it over.
It's blank. He didn't answer a single question. But there, written in one
corner in Mr. Iero's sprawling handwriting, is an A. Underneath, it says, For
your awesome music taste. Ssh.And then-- Gerard has to pick the sheet of paper
up and peer closely it, unable to believe what he's seeing, but no, that's
definitely a little smiley face. A winkingsmiley face.
Fuck.
 
                                       *
 
"So, uh," Gerard says, as soon as the rest of the class have left and he's
alone in the classroom with Mr. Iero. "My quiz, you--"
Mr. Iero waves Gerard's question away. "No big deal," he says. "I could tell
you were having a shitty day. Oops." He looks around guiltily. "You didn't hear
me say that. And then I saw you at my show!" He's practically beaming, as if
he's really, genuinely pleased. Gerard is momentarily reminded of an excited
puppy.
Logically, Gerard knows that this is the part where he tells Mr. Iero how great
his band is and how much he enjoyed the show, but suddenly all he can think
about is how good Mr. Iero looked on his knees. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The silence
is getting awkward and he's probably blushing, oh god, where was he when the
social skills were being handed out? He can't think of a single inappropriate
response that won't sound like a hopelessly inept come-on.
"Yeah! You were, uh, awesome," he eventually manages to choke out. He sort of
wants to punch himself in the face, but at least he's through that particular
minefield.
Mr. Iero's grin gets impossibly wider, practically blinding. "Yeah? Thanks,
man! I mean, just because I have a real jobnow--" he rolls his eyes and
sketches air quotes around the words "--doesn't mean I should have to give it
up, right?"
For a bizarre and disorientating split second, Gerard completely forgets that
Mr. Iero is a teacher. He nods, not trusting himself to form a coherent and
appropriate sentence, and Mr. Iero chuckles.
"C'mon, you can start sorting out these papers for me. I might as well take
advantage of you while I've got you here."
Gerard almost chokes on his own spit. What the fuck, the universe is actually
trying to kill him. Of all the ways Mr. Iero could have put that, he had to
pick that one. Gerard tries not to think about all the ways he'd like Mr. Iero
to take advantage of him. He fails miserably. Over a desk with Mr. Iero's hand
between his shoulderblades, holding him down, or up against the chalkboard.
Jesus Christ.
This is going to be the longest hour ever.
 
                                       *
 
By the time Gerard gets home that afternoon, he's exhausted from the effort of
keeping his mouth shut. It doesn't help that he's starting to suspect that Mr.
Iero isn't really a teacher at all - he doesn't take himself too seriously, and
he's funny. Gerard has never met a genuinely funny teacher before (the ones who
think they're funny are another story). He's finding it all very confusing.
It turns out that while Mr. Iero spends hours reading and marking the essays he
makes them write, his filing system is... well, Gerard would describe it as
non-existent, and that's coming from someone whose bedroom looks like a
disaster area no matter how many attempts are made to tidy it up. Grinning like
a total asshole, Mr. Iero dumped a mountain of papers in front of Gerard,
pointed him to the filing cabinet and told him to "work something out" before
sitting down at his desk to mark the assignments from one of his other classes.
Gerard had been hoping that he'd be able to just sit there quietly and pretend
his was on his own, consequently avoiding any further embarrassment. But
apparently his karma is even worse than he'd realized, because Mr. Iero kept
talkingto him - making jokes about his other students' spelling, their
mistakes, the places where they were obviously just making it up. At first,
Gerard tried just acknowledging him with a polite smile and trying to look busy
(he had a complicated fucking system going, to which the five different kinds
of sticky-notes were pivotal), but Mr. Iero didn't stop.
What really threw Gerard was the way Mr. Iero didn't talk to him like he was
just another bratty teenager, didn't talk down to him or watch his mouth.
Gerard kept finding himself fucking wheezingwith laughter at Mr. Iero's
dramatic readings of some of the more slapdash essays - "Oh my god, look at
this one. That's not even a word. Not on this planet, kid, try Mars."
Gerard had sort of been hoping that Mr. Iero would turn out to be boring as
hell, or that he'd have some other unattractive personality trait that would
put a lid on Gerard's persistent urge to just fucking bend over for the guy.
Obviously, that didn't work out.
In the shower that night, Gerard jerks off with two fingers in his ass and
comes so hard his vision bleeds white at the edges. He is sofucked. And not in
the way he'd like to be, either.
 
                                       *
 
He doesn't have English on Tuesday and he manages not to run into Mr. Iero in
the hallways once. He can't quite decide if that's a disappointment or a relief
- on one hand, perving on Mr. Iero is fast becoming one of Gerard's favorite
pastimes (and, god, when did he turn into such a fucking creep?). On the other
hand, this whole mess is redefining Gerard's idea of sexual frustration. It's
maddening. Mr. Iero is right there, close enough to touch, but he might as well
be locked up like a princess in a tower for all the walls there are between
them. He's older, he's wayout of Gerard's league, he's a fucking teacher -
Gerard'steacher - and on top of all that, Gerard doesn't even know if he's into
dudes.
He almost wishes he hadn't let Mikey drag him to that stupid show, because that
way he would probably never have realized how insanely attractive his English
teacher is and could have avoided all this. Really, it's all Mikey's fault.
Gerard's last hope is exposure therapy - that if he spends enough time with Mr.
Iero, he'll get over this inconvenient crush before too long. The odds are
slim, he's willing to admit that much, but he's all out of ideas.
 
                                       *
 
Sitting in Mr. Iero's classroom for an hour after school on Tuesdays and
Thursdays becomes so deeply embedded in Gerard's routine that when he shows up
one week only to be greeted with a quizzically raised eyebrow, it sort of
throws him for a loop.
"Uh," he says, hovering in the doorway.
"Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?" asks Mr. Iero, his
eyebrows drawing together and his lips pursing to form an adorably concerned
expression.
"I - filing?" Gerard says, because Mr. Iero's face is highly distracting and
not at all conducive to Gerard's ability to form coherent sentences.
Mr. Iero gestures to his tidy desk and meticulously labeled filing cabinets.
The little radio on the window sill is playing the Cure. "All done, remember?
You finished last week. I mean--" he flashes Gerard a wry smile. "--I'd give
you extra credit just to sit in here so I'm not talking to myself, but I'm sure
you've got things to do, right?"
"No!" blurts Gerard, before he regains control over his mouth. "I mean, no I
haven't. Uh. That'd be-- yeah."
He still lives in hope that one day he'll wake up and magically become a
functioning human being. It hasn't happened yet.
Mr. Iero beams at him as if he actually wants Gerard around. "Yeah? Well, c'mon
in."
                                        
                                       *
 
Gerard isn't entirely sure how he managed to swing extra credit for hanging out
with the dude he's got a major hard-on for, but he can hardly believe his luck.
It's a pretty fucking sweet deal whichever way you slice it. Mr. Iero is chatty
without being one of those people who feel the need to fill every silence with
small talk, which is a relief. Gerard isn't very good at small talk. He usually
ends up babbling about Star Wars. It's just... nice. Pure torture, of course,
especially when Mr. Iero rolls his sleeves up and Gerard can see all that ink,
but nice.
It might just be wishful thinking, but Gerard suspects that Mr. Iero lets him
get away with more than the rest of the class in lessons. If he's spaced out,
Mr. Iero never seems to call on him to ask him questions. If he forgets (or
sometimes just doesn't bother to do) the homework, Mr. Iero turns a blind eye.
Gerard isn't sure how to feel about this. Being the teacher's pet is an
entirely new experience for him.
And then he has to bite his tongue and force himself to concentrate on what Mr.
Iero is saying about iambic pentameter, because the phrase teacher's petfills
his head with the kind of thoughts that lead to inconveniently mistimed boners.
Mr. Iero calls him back at the end of the lesson, and Gerard gets a few smug
looks from his classmates, who obviously think that Gerard's stint as golden
boy must have come to an end. Gerard approaches Mr. Iero's desk with
apprehension curling in his belly. He's suddenly very worried about Mr. Iero
being able to read minds, irrational as he knows that is.
"You, uh, wanted to talk to me?" he says, and  Mr. Iero looks up from the copy
of Much Ado About Nothingthat he's thumbing through. His hands, oh god. Gerard
is willing to bet he has guitar calluses. Fuck.
Mr. Iero's face splits into a broad, disgustingly gorgeous smile. "Yeah! Don't
worry, I wasn't gonna put you in detention or anything. It's just that my
band's playing another show on Saturday at the Loop, I thought you might wanna
come. It's, like, five bucks to get in, but I could put your name on the list
if you want."
Gerard does want. Gerard really, reallywants. Also, he thinks Mr. Iero might
just have invited him to his show. "Seriously?" he says. He can feel himself
grinning like a total loser. "I mean, yeah! That'd be awesome."
"Alright," says Mr. Iero, with a smaller smile, warm and pleased. "Maybe I'll
see you there."
 
                                       *
 
Gerard had sort of been hoping that knowing what to expect would take the edge
off his frankly embarrassing reaction to Mr. Iero playing with his band. His
hopes weren't high, sure, but if anything this is even worse than last time. He
dragged Mikey with him for moral support, and Mikey predictably disappeared
almost as soon as they got to the Loop, but Gerard doesn't mind. His strategy
for gigs usually involves lurking at the back of the room, avoiding the crush
of the crowd, but he makes an exception for Pencey Prep.
And, fuck, is he glad he did.
Mr. Iero is wearing a white t-shirt that stretches taut across his chest,
revealing the faint outline of an impressive chest piece that Gerard fucking
achesto get a better look at. The ink wrapping around Mr. Iero's forearms
doesn't stop there, reaching up to his biceps, and Gerard knows he's staring,
but he can't tear his eyes away. He doesn't know much about tattoos, but he
knows they're not cheap, and he wonders how many years of his teacher's salary
Mr. Iero is wearing on his skin.
Mr. Iero plays as if he's been plugged in like the guitar slung over his
shoulder, as if the music is so much bigger than him that all he can do is let
it take him. Again, Gerard wonders what the fuck he's doing teachingwhen he can
do this. Maybe it's true that those who can't do, teach, but Mr. Iero
definitely cando.
Gerard stops over-thinking and starts enjoying the music and Mr. Iero's truly
gorgeous mouth.
 
                                       *
 
Despite all the times it's got him into trouble, Gerard still hasn't learnt not
to let his imagination run away with him when there's a pencil in his hand.
It's a pretty rough sketch, but it's unmistakably Mr. Iero, down on his knees
with his guitar cradled close to his body, his eyes closed and his mouth slack
with ecstasy.
Unfortunately, that fucking asshole Gabe Saporta spotted it on Gerard's desk
and is now taking full advantage of his stupidly long arms to try to swipe it
and get a better look. He's only getting away with it because Mr. Iero is
really getting into his point about the effect of the caesura in the middle of
the line (Gerard can tell by the increasingly enthusiastic hand gestures).
Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to have noticed Gabe, which means Gerard is left
trying to fend him off by jabbing at him with a viciously sharpened pencil when
he gets too close.
Mr. Iero has started to pick his way between the desks, handing out copies of
the poem for them to annotate. Gerard is fatally distracted for a moment by the
way Mr. Iero's crotch is right at his eye level, and Gabe pounces on his moment
of weakness and whips the sketch off his desk. Gerard's stomach lurches. Jesus
fuck, now would be a really good time for the ground to open and swallow him
up.
And then someone snatches the page out of Gabe's hand, and Gerard doesn't even
need to look up to see that it's Mr. Iero.
Gerard wonders if it's possible to commit suicide with nothing but a pencil.
This is it. He's going to be denounced as a creep and a pervert in front of the
entire class and within ten minutes the entire school will know and he'll have
to move to fucking Alaska or somewhere and change his name and get
reconstructive facial surgery.
He risks a glance up at Mr. Iero. What he sees isn't what he's expecting.
Mr. Iero doesn't look disgusted or horrified. His eyes are dark, a little
unfocussed, and Gerard could swear he just heard his breath hitch. Then the
weird expression is gone as quickly as it arrived, and Mr. Iero is folding the
page neatly into quarters and telling Gabe to stop disrupting the lesson.
Mr. Iero finishes the lesson as if nothing happened, but Gerard knows what he
saw. His stomach is churning. He doesn't know what to think. He considers
staying after class to talk to Mr. Iero, but what would he say? It's going to
be awkward as fuck even if he does try to play it off as a joke. In the end, he
bottles out, and scurries out of the classroom without meeting Mr. Iero's eyes.
 
                                       *
 
Gerard meansto go to Mr. Iero's lesson the next day, he really does. He means
to go right up until he finds himself walking down the hallway towards Mr.
Iero's classroom, and it strikes him that he's going to have to sit there and
meet Mr. Iero's eyes as if he hasn't jerked off to the thought of him every
night for the last three weeks and then fucking drawnhim looking like porn.
He just can't do it.
He brutally suppresses the twinge of guilt and slinks back down the hallway.
 
                                       *
 
Miss Halliday, the school secretary, might look like she's made of spun sugar,
but Gerard has learnt from experience that she's actually made of pure,
distilled evil. Right now, he's running away from her. Or walking briskly away,
at least, because running in the hallway would only give her something else to
bust him for. Fucking hell, he should have known she'd be all over him for
cutting that English class.
He can hear her heels clicking on the stairs. Fucking fuck. There's a supply
closet just up ahead, if it's unlocked he'll be able to hide in there until
she's gone. He half-runs the last few meters, yanks the door open and ducks
inside just as he hears her footsteps rounding the corner.
The supply closet is very, very small and very, very dark. There's a shelf
digging uncomfortably into his back and another one pressed against his ass.
There has to be a light switch in here somewhere. He puts his hand out to the
wall and gropes blindly for a switch--
--and shrieks when his fingers brush something warm and soft and alive.
"Motherfuck," says a voice in the dark, with feeling.
It's a familiar voice.
"Mr. Iero?" says Gerard disbelievingly. "The f-- what are you doing hiding in a
closet?"
He sort of hears it as it comes out of his mouth and feels a sudden urge to
punch himself in the face. But Mr. Iero just laughs that painfully adorable pot
laugh, his face becoming clearer as Gerard's eyes adjust to the gloom.
"Same as you, if you're hiding from Miss Halliday. I stopped hiding in the
metaphorical closet years ago."
Gerard tries to sound politely interested and accepting while choking slightly
on his own spit. He's suddenly acutely aware of how closeMr. Iero is, so close
Gerard can smell ink and cigarettes and clean cotton. Mr. Iero's eyes are big
and bright, his grin pale in the dark, and Gerard just - wants. This is the
first time he's seen Mr. Iero since the incident with the drawing, he realizes,
and it looks like Mr. Iero has just had exactly the same thought. His breathing
quickens, just a little, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
Gerard is so, sosure he isn't reading this wrong, but the risk sends a tingly,
sparkling wave of adrenaline through him. Slowly, slowly, he leans in towards
Mr. Iero, and butterflies blossom in his stomach when Mr. Iero doesn't back
away, just tilts his head a little, his eyes fluttering half-closed. Gerard can
feel Mr. Iero's breath on his own lips and it's too much, too hard to resist.
Gerard closes the gap between them and ghosts his mouth over Mr. Iero's. Mr.
Iero makes a soft noise, low in his throat, and kisses back, chaste and close-
mouthed and gentle.
And then there's someone knocking angrily at the door, and they spring apart
like they've been burnt.
"I got this," murmurs Mr. Iero, touching Gerard's wrist lightly. "Where's the
fire?" he drawls, sauntering out into the hallway and kicking the closet door
shut behind him.
"Who were you talking to?" asks Miss Halliday suspiciously. Gerard can almost
hear her eyes narrowing.
"No one. Just talking to myself," Mr. Iero says nonchalantly. And wow, the guy
must have balls of steel or something, because Miss Halliday's suspicious look
cuts right through most lesser mortals and leaves them a gibbering wreck in a
matter of seconds. "First sign of madness, right? See you later, Karen."
 
                                       *
 
Gerard spends the next few hours in a daze, wondering if he dreamed the whole
thing. He kissed his English teacher. He kissedhis English teacher. He kissed
his English teacher. And his English teacher - his English teacher - kissed
back. It's so fucking surreal.
It isn't long before the disbelief turns into flat-out rage at Miss Halliday,
the fucking cockblocker. His first sober kiss, his first kiss with the guy he's
already totally gone for, and thanks to Miss fucking Halliday, they barely got
to first base. It's not fair. Gerard sits on the bus on his way home and
seethes with resentment and sexual frustration.
Staying angry turns out to be surprisingly tiring to sustain, and before long
he can feel it draining out of him, leaving him feeling flat and vaguely
unhappy. Maybe getting interrupted brought Mr. Iero to his senses, and he's
gratefulthat the whole student-kissing situation didn't go any further than it
did. And, of course, if that's the case, then Gerard's chances are well and
truly blown and things are going to be weird and awkward with the one teacher
who doesn't hate him and he basically might as well just die.
By the time he goes to bed that night, he's so exhausted that he doesn't even
jerk off to the thought of Mr. Iero tying him up with his own tie. Which, in
his opinion, is definitive proof of emotional trauma.
Fuck his fucking life.
 
                                       *
 
He's dreading English the next day from the moment he wakes up. He considers
skipping it again, but not knowing where he stands with Mr. Iero is killing
him. Also, he knows he had a lucky escape with Miss Halliday last time, and the
safest course of action is probably just to lie low for a while.
Of course, because the universe can be a real douchebag sometimes, English
isn't until last period, giving Gerard the whole day to work himself up into a
state of nervous wreckage over the whole thing. He doesn't really like sneaking
outside to smoke during school (half-expecting a teacher to appear out of
nowhere and bust him for smoking on school property kind of stops him enjoying
it), but today is an exception.
He bolts his lunch so fast he feels sick, and makes for the narrow space
outside the school's back fire door. There's another, larger space by around
the side of the school's main building - that's where most of the smokers go,
which is exactly why Gerard avoids it. How the fuck is he supposed to enjoy a
well-earned cigarette on a particularly shitty day if he has to worry about
making awkward small talk with other people over borrowing a lighter or
something?
There are cigarette butts on the concrete that he's almost sure he didn't leave
there, he notices as he steps outside into the damp, chilly air. He's pretty
sure there are one or two other people who use this spot as well, but as long
as he doesn't have to see them, he can deal with that.
He fishes his almost empty packet out of the pocket of his hoodie and lights
up. He feels better already. In fact, he thinks, exhaling smoke, he feels
almost ready to face Mr. Iero this afternoon. He can totally do this.
And then the door swings open and Gerard's good mood vanishes instantly. He
drops his cigarette (almost new, he thinks, dying a little inside) and quickly
grinds it out under his heel, trying to look like a model citizen who just
needed some fresh air. It's probably just another student, but he's not willing
to risk it.
It isn't another student.
It's Mr. Iero.
Gerard blinks at him like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and Mr. Iero's
face lights up with a bright, genuine smile. Gerard's first instinct is to say
something to break the ice, but nothing springs to mind, so sort of ends up
just standing there with his mouth hanging open.
"Don't worry, I'm not here to bust you for smoking," says Mr. Iero, rolling his
eyes with that fucking lopsided smile. Gerard is confused and terrified and
almost-hopeful all at once, and it's making his head spin.
Mr. Iero pulls a squashed carton of smokes out of his jacket pocket. "Fuck," he
says. "Left my lighter at home, can I--?"
Gerard fumbles for his own and hands it over. "Why d'you curse in front of me?"
he asks, before he can stop himself. It's one of the many, many things about
Mr. Iero that confuses him.
Mr. Iero doesn't look too put off by the weird question. "Well," he says. "You
know, you're..." he waves his hand descriptively at Gerard (his hands, god, his
fucking hands). "You," he finishes unhelpfully, and an uncomfortable silence
falls. Mr. Iero hands Gerard's lighter back, mumbling a thankyou around the
cigarette between his lips. Gerard reaches out for the lighter, but he's so
distracted by Mr. Iero's mouth that it slips through his fingers.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Gerard drops to his knees on the cold, damp concrete, feeling his cheeks
burning as he scrabbles for the lighter. Once he's got it, he heaves himself
upright again, carefully looking everywhere but Mr. Iero. Instead, he stares
fixedly down at his own hideous school shoes. He hadn't thought anythingcould
possibly be this awkward, but apparently he was wrong.
The silence is getting unbearable. He hasto say something. "So--" he starts.
"Listen--" Mr. Iero says at exactly the same moment, and they both stop. Gerard
looks up, meeting Mr. Iero's eyes, and his stomach flips.
"You first," says Gerard. His mouth has gone all dry, and his voice comes out
as a sort of hideous croak. He can't see how this could get any worse, but that
doesn't mean it won't happen.
"Okay," Mr. Iero says, taking a drag on his smoke. His voice is steady, but
Gerard could swear his hands are shaking, just a little. His eyes are huge and
earnest and, god, Gerard has never wanted to kiss him more. "Yesterday, what...
happened, I shouldn't have done that. If you wanna - uh, report me or something
then I get that, or if you just wanna forget it ever happened then, you know,
that's fine too. I'm not gonna start grading you differently or--"
"But I don't want to," Gerard blurts. Both of those options are a step back
from what he wants, namely a chance to kiss his fucking English teacher for
real.
Mr. Iero looks at him quizzically.
"I don't wanna report you," Gerard says. His heart is fucking pounding, he
can't believe he's doing this. "And I don't wanna just forget about it. Unless,
I mean-- obviously you don't have to if youdon't want to, but. Uh."
"Gerard," says Mr. Iero seriously. His right hand is hanging loose at his side,
his cigarette forgotten. "I mean it. I'm in a position of authority, it'd be
wrong of me to... I couldn't."
"But you could," insists Gerard. Some weird sixth sense is spurring him on,
telling him he's close, he's so close, that he just needs to push Mr. Iero a
little further and then he'll crack.
"Fuck. Don't do this to me, Gerard," Mr. Iero says, almost pleadingly, dropping
his cigarette and grinding it out. "It's not fair."
He looks up at Gerard, so hopelessly torn, and Gerard is stumbling forward and
kissing him before he even knows what he's doing. Mr. Iero makes a startled
noise against his mouth and Gerard has a sudden moment of blind panic - maybe
he's been reading this all wrong, maybe all this is just Mr. Iero's way of
letting him down gently - but then Mr. Iero starts kissing back, licking
tentatively at the seam of Gerard's lips. Gerard feels warm, strong hands
coming up to cup his face, and he's on fire. It's like his skin is singing,
sparking and glowing in all the places where Mr. Iero is touching him.
It's so, sogood.
Mr. Iero's mouth is hot and smoky-tasting, and, fuck, it's intoxicating. It's
so much, the sensation going straight to Gerard's head and making him feel
dizzy and weak-kneed. Mr. Iero's being so gentle, taking everything deliciously
slowly as if he's worried about scaring Gerard away, but it's not enough.
Gerard opens up eagerly, letting Mr. Iero's tongue slide hotly against his own.
And - fuck. That's his teacher's mouth, his teacher's hands in his hair, his
teacher's breath catching when Gerard's teeth graze his lip. Gerard is pretty
sure he'd have a pathetic, starry-eyed crush on Mr. Iero even if he wasn't a
teacher, but there's something secret and guilty about this thing between them,
and that's fucking hot.
And then Mr. Iero is untangling his fingers from Gerard's hair, bracing his
hands against Gerard's shoulders and backing him up against the wall, and
Gerard's thoughts scatter like leaves. He can feel Mr. Iero pressed up against
him, hot and close, his weight pinning Gerard in place. He nips at Gerard's lip
and gets hold of his ugly school tie with one hand, kissing him harder, deeper.
It's like he's suddenly become a completely different person, smooth and sure
and almost predatory.
Gerard can feel his body responding, going pliant under Mr. Iero's hands. He
wantsthis, god, in ways he hadn't even thought about, ways he hadn't even
realized existed.Mr. Iero makes a low, wanting noise, and Gerard's stomach
flips. Hedid that. There's this gorgeous, stupidly talented guy who could charm
his way into anyone's pants with nothing but a smile, and Gerardis the one
making him moan like that. Gerard feels exhilarated, punch-drunk, powerful.
He's no stranger to the quick, fumbling hookup with another wasted, desperate
loser like himself, but this is brand new.
It's a buzz like nothing else he's ever known.
He lets out an involuntary noise of his own, high and thin and needy. Mr. Iero
breaks the kiss and leans in to rest his forehead against Gerard's. He's
breathing hard, his cheeks a little flushed, his pupils blown wide and his lips
swollen and spit-slick. He looks like a fucking wet dream brought to life.
"Fuck," he breathes, his voice rough and ragged at the edges, and that alone is
enough to knock the breath out of Gerard all over again. "The things I'd do to
you, if I had the chance."
A shiver ripples through Gerard, anticipation curling low and hot in his belly.
That sounded like a promise.
"Want you to," he says weakly. He'll take whatever Mr. Iero will give him. He
glances down and then back up at Mr. Iero through lowered lashes. "Sir," he
adds, softly. He doesn't know what makes him say it, but it somehow doesn't
sound as ridiculous as he thinks it should.
Mr. Iero moansat that, a shameless, filthy moan right out of one of Gerard's
go-to jerkoff fantasies. "Oh my god," he says, staring hungrily at Gerard.
"Fuck. Fuck.That's got to be the hottest thing I've ever heard."
Gerard shivers again, all lit up by the thrill. He's never been looked at like
that before, and it's getting under his skin. "What--" he starts, and licks his
lips. "What do you wanna do to me?"
He's mentally flicking through the possibilities even as he says it. He wants
Mr. Iero to make him beg, he wants Mr. Iero to hold him down and make him wait
and make him love whatever he's given.
Mr. Iero rubs his thumb over Gerard's cheek and trails two fingers teasingly
lightly down the side of his neck. "Pretty thing like you, I wouldn't know
where to start," he murmurs.
And then the bell shrills for the end of lunch. They both start guiltily, and
the spell is broken. Gerard feels sort of off-balance. One corner of Mr. Iero's
mouth pulls up in a lopsided smile.
"Some other time," he says, and Gerard nods eagerly, still completely unable to
think straight. Mr. Iero straightens his tie, runs a hand through his hair, and
steps back towards the door. He pushes it open, then looks back over his
shoulder at Gerard. "By the way," he says, flashing another devastating smile,
this one playful and just a little dirty. "My name's Frank. But I'm never gonna
stop you calling me sir."
 
                                       *
 
Gerard's head is still spinning when he gets to the English classroom, a minute
behind Mr. Iero - no, Frank. God, that's weird. It's like he's two different
people, opposite sides of the same coin. One is Gerard's cute, dorky English
teacher, the other is a tattooed guitarist with a filthy mouth and an unfairly
nice ass.
The dissonance between the parallel Franks is making it very difficult to
concentrate. Knowing that the dude Gerard was making out with five minutes ago
is right under the surface of the guy currently talking enthusiastically about
the flowof iambic hexameter is pretty distracting, as is Mr. Iero's mouth.
He'd feel pathetic for letting it get to him like this, but he's sureMr. Iero
is looking at him more often than is really necessary. Gerard wonders if Frank
is watching him like he's watching Frank, his eyes catching on Frank's hands,
his mouth, remembering how he felt and how he tasted.
"What do you think, Gerard?"
Gerard startles at the mention of his name, snapping to attention a moment too
late. "Um," he says.
"Or were you spacing out instead of listening?" purrs Mr. Iero, perfectly
deadpan, raising an eyebrow. "Detention, I think."
It's then that Gerard realizes two things. Firstly, that Mr. Iero is kind of an
asshole. And, secondly, that he fucking loves it.
 
                                       *
 
When the final bell rings, the rest of the class start to leave, chatting and
joking, their chairs scraping against the floor. Gerard stays where he is,
feeling so jittery and wired that he can hardly breathe. An hour. A whole hour,
alone in a classroom with Mr. Iero. Fuck.
It takes a fucking agefor everyone else to get out of the classroom, but when
they're finally the only ones left, Mr. Iero gets up from behind his desk and
saunters lazily over to the door.
Gerard hears the lock click shut, loud and clear in the silent classroom.
Mr. Iero turns back and looks Gerard slowly up and down. Gerard feels hyper-
aware of everything - his tie feels too tight, his shirt is sticking to his
skin, his pants are itchy and he feels young and clumsy and awkward.
"Shit," says Mr. Iero softly, with a grin, "All the time I spent watching you
and feeling like an old perv." He moves back over to his desk and leans against
it, facing Gerard. Gerard can't help but notice the way Mr. Iero's belt buckle
is right at his eye level. "If only I'd known I wasn't the only one looking."
"I was watching you at your shows," Gerard says. His mouth is dry, and he's
sure Mr. Iero must be able to hear his heart pounding.
"Yeah?" Mr. Iero's - Frank's- eyes have gone hot and dark, and he takes a step
towards Gerard. "Shit. Pleasetell me you went home and jerked off afterwards."
"Twice," Gerard says. Mr. Iero looks like he's mentally undressing Gerard, and
it's making him brave. "And again the morning after."
"Fuck," groans Mr. Iero. "C'mon, get up."
Gerard stumbles out of his seat, kicking it away, and Mr. Iero reels him in for
another kiss. Gerard lets himself be nudged backwards towards the desk and
obediently hops up onto it, spreading his thighs a little so Mr. Iero can get
between them. Mr. Iero edges closer with a low, satisfied noise, moving into
the space Gerard's made for him. Gerard can feel Mr. Iero's chest pressed flush
against his own, one of his hands on the back of Gerard's neck, the other
pressed flat against the small of his back, warm through his thin shirt. Mr.
Iero is kissing him teasingly gently, with barely a hint of tongue or a brush
of teeth, and it's slowly driving Gerard insane.
"Never thought I'd actually get to see you like this," Mr. Iero says softly,
and Gerard's breath catches, because - fuck.
"You, uh. You thought about this?" he manages.
"Uh huh. You sitting up here on my desk for me." he runs one hand up Gerard's
thigh and Gerard realizes how he must look, sitting here with his legs spread
like this - willing and needy, and, fuck. Yeah.
Mr. Iero grins, settling both hands just below Gerard's hips. "You look fuckin'
good enough to eat. Can't even do my job with you around. I had to sit through
that whole lesson trying not to think about you."
And then he slides his hands around Gerard's back and pulls him in so that
Gerard's hard-on rubs up against Mr. Iero's belly, and Gerard lets out a
startled, involuntary gasp.
"Shit," he says weakly. Now his dick has realized how fucking good it would
feel to just rub off against Mr. Iero, rut against him until he comes in his
pants, he's having trouble holding himself back.
Mr. Iero drops one hand down to palm at Gerard through his ugly school slacks,
and Gerard whimpers. That's Mr. Iero'shand. Mr. Ierois practically touching his
dick. Gerard wonders wildly when his life became this fucking awesome.
"Wanna see you touch yourself," says Mr. Iero, his voice low and hot. "You
gonna do that for me?"
Gerard nods shakily. God, he hasn't even got a hand on his cock yet and he
already feels hot all over, riled up and wound tight.
"Good boy," says Mr. Iero, taking a step back to lean against the other desk
behind him, watching Gerard hungrily. Gerard is so turned on he can hardly
think, fumbling with his belt buckle. This feels so fucking surreal; he's half
expecting to wake up any second now in his own bed with a raging boner.
Eventually, he manages to get his belt undone and his zipper down, and he
braces his hand against the desk so he can lift his hips and shove his pants
and his underwear down around his thighs. He's hard already, and he feels self-
conscious spitting into his palm before he wraps his hand around his cock. It's
good, it's so much better than jerking off has ever been before, all because of
the way Mr. Iero is looking at him. He starts slow, dragging precome down over
the length of his dick to ease the slide. He twists his wrist a little, playing
up to his audience, and his breath hitches on a moan.
"Shit," breathes Mr. Iero. "C'mon, show me how you like it."
Gerard lets his head fall back, bearing his throat, lets his mouth fall open on
another little gasp. He's feeling his way through the dark, just making it up
as he goes along, but he likes it. Fuck, he reallylikes it.
"Your mouth, oh my god," Mr. Iero groans. Gerard notices the bulge in his
pants, and that sends a hot tingle through him. "Want that pretty mouth on my
cock."
Mr. Iero's own mouth curls obscenely around the last word, and Gerard's rhythm
falters. He wants that too.
"Bet you make some pretty noises, too," Mr. Iero carries on. Gerard's cheeks
feel hot and he's breathing hard, letting little moans slip out when he hits
his sweet spot just right. "Bet you're really loud, fuck. Gonna make you scream
next time, wanna hear you. Wanna hear you lose it right here, where anyone
could hear you. Anyone could walk right in and see you with your pants down,
moaning for me."
"Oh, fuck," Gerard chokes out.
"You like that? Maybe I'd make you beg, get you so close and not let you come
until you said please. You gonna come for me now?"
"Please," groans Gerard. "Sir, oh fuck--" and then he's coming so hard he sees
stars, spilling hot and sticky over his fingers.
"Fuckin' gorgeous," says Mr. Iero softly, while Gerard's still coming down and
he's warm and loose-limbed.
"Yeah?" he says, glancing shyly up at Mr. Iero, suddenly feeling nervous and
fluttery, but... good. Definitely good. It's fucking ridiculous that he's
chosen nowto come over all bashful - he's just jacked off in front of his
English teacher, for fuck's sake - but he's never been told he's gorgeous
before. He's under no illusions about the fact that his role in his previous
hookups has been as a warm body to facilitate an orgasm and nothing more, but
this feels different.
"Oh, yeah. And I meant about next time, too. I... assuming you wanta next time,
I mean." For the first time, Mr. Iero's confident front cracks, and he looks
uncertain.
"I want a next time," Gerard insists. "Fucking - I really do. I want you." He
feels kind of stupid saying it, but it's the truth. It feels like something's
just started, it's too soon for it to be over. "You want me to--?" He makes an
abortive motion towards Mr. Iero's crotch.
Mr. Iero chuckles. "Uh uh, not today. But - yeah?" his smile is slow and warm,
and for the first time, Gerard doesn't have to work to see him as Frank, not
Mr. Iero.
 
                                       *
 
If there's one thing Gerard should have learnt after almost two months of
fucking his English teacher, it's that he underestimates said English teacher
at his peril.
Like right now, for instance. Gerard hasn't come for five days, fourteen hours,
thirty-two minutes and counting. It's not like he hasn't thought about rubbing
one out on the sly (because he has, god, he has), but Frank would know. Frank
just knows these things. What it comes down to, really, is that Frank promised
him something special if he could hold out until this afternoon, and he doesn't
know if it's just a normal symptom of fucking one's teacher or what, but
there's a small, insistent part of him that wants to be good for Frank, for Mr.
Iero.
In theory, Gerard just has to get through the rest of this lesson, then they'll
have the classroom to themselves so Frank can do filthy things to him, possibly
over a desk or up against the blackboard (again).
In practice, though, because Frank is a bastard, his sleeves are rolled up to
his elbows, showing off his gorgeous ink, and he's talking with his hands even
more than usual - which, Gerard thinks, surreptitiously adjusting his pants
under the desk, is even worse for knowing what those fingers are capable of.
Gerard catches a few of the girls in the class looking him over with interest,
which makes Gerard's stomach twist. And then, because Frank is apparently
playing for some kind of all-time high score in douchebaggery, he keeps giving
Gerard this fucking look. It's a hot, dark look, as if he's already imagining
what he's going to do to Gerard, and Gerard is just about ready to crawl out of
his fucking skin.
Gerard bites back a whimper, and goes back to highlighting examples of
hyperbole on the sheet in front of him.
The rest of the lesson drags. Gerard spends several minutes devising a complex
color-coding system for his highlighters, but when that fails too, he resigns
himself to thoughts of Frank's hands, his mouth, his cock, the noises he makes
when he's about to come, the way he sounds when he's telling Gerard how good he
feels.
This time, Frank isn't even pretending to be patient. He holds the door open
when the lesson is over, chivvying the rest of the class out, and Gerard can
only wait at his desk, practically vibrating with sexual frustration. Frank all
but slams the door behind the last stragglers and locks it, before going back
to pull Gerard out of his seat and push him over to the corner of the classroom
that can't be seen through the little window in the door. Gerard lets him do
it, because he's made his peace with what the idea of being manhandled by Frank
does to him. Frank guides him back, sitting him up on one of the desks, then
crowds in close, running his hands up and down Gerard's sides and pressing his
face into Gerard's neck.
"Fuck, I can't stop touchingyou," he says indistinctly, his mouth moving
against Gerard's skin, and Gerard draws a long, ragged breath. He's still not
happy with the flab on his hips and thighs and his belly, but Frank seems
determined to change his mind.
"Now," Frank says, stepping back to look Gerard in the eye. "We made a deal
last time.
Gerard nods frantically. "I kept it," he says, wrestling with the urge to stick
his hand down his pants. "I haven't-- not since last time, I swear."
"Yeah? You been good for me?" Frank moves in again. "You been doing what I told
you?"
Gerard nods again, not trusting himself to speak coherently, and a thin whine
slips out. He needs Frank to start touching him now. Fuck, even that's too
late. Yesterday, ideally.
"Not once?" Frank presses. "You didn't jack off in the shower? Didn't wake up
and take care of your morning wood?"
"No," Gerard says, not looking away. "Sir."
Frank's eyes have gone dark. "Fuck," he breathes. "God, you must be so ready
for it. I didn't think you'd actually-- fuck, oh my god." He leans in for a
rough, messy kiss. "You've been so good, gonna..."
And then he drops to his knees in front of Gerard, and Gerard could swear he
stops breathing for a split second. Frank looks up at him, his head on one
side, questioningly, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Gerard sits
there for a moment in gobsmacked silence before he catches on - that
questioning look really is a question, because Frank always likes to be sure
that Gerard is down with whatever they're doing, but this has got to be the
fucking dumbest question Gerard has ever heard.
"Please," he says, resisting the urge to squirm in place. "Jesus fuck, please,
I need..."
"Ssh," says Frank softly, deftly flicking Gerard's belt buckle open and running
the zipper down. "C'mon, let me-- that's it. I promised you something too, if I
remember rightly."
Gerard can only look down with his heart pounding at Frank as he ducks his
head, his breath ghosting over the obvious bulge in Gerard's boxers. Gerard is
achingly hard - fuck, he feels like he's been hard since forever,or at least
half an hour ago - and he shivers. Frank flashes Gerard a sharp, bright smile,
then dips his fingers under the elastic and tugs Gerard's underwear down.
Gerard makes an involuntary noise and bites down on his lip as the cool air
hits his cock, and Frank looks up at him approvingly.
"Shit, you really are ready for it," he says, his voice low and rough already,
and before Gerard can say a word or even string together a coherent thought,
Frank is wrapping his hand around the base of Gerard's cock and sinking down,
his mouth hot and wet and tight.
"Oh my-- fuck," he chokes. He stares down at Frank - fucking hell, at Mr.
Ierodown on his knees, the mouth that featured in several of his wet dreams
stretched around his cock. It's so surreal; he's spent so long imagining this,
and it's so, somuch better than he could ever have expected. Frank's cheeks
hollow as he sucks and Gerard groans, because, god, Frank's good with his
mouth. He does something with his tongue that's probably illegal in several
states, and Gerard's hands clench convulsively on the desk.
He hasn't had an orgasm in nearly a week, and now his insanely hot English
teacher is sucking his dick in a deserted classroom.
He's going to die. He is actually going to die, because he's only human and
this is a lotto take. Frank pulls off, jacking almost lazily while he looks up
at Gerard.
"Wanna hear you," he says. "How 'm I supposed to know what you want if you
won't beg?" He goes down again without waiting for an answer, and Gerard's
mouth drops open on a moan. He's helpless, putty in Frank's hands, and it's
worth every cold shower and every time he had to sit on his hands and think
about unsexy things.
Frank takes him deeper and Gerard makes a noise that's embarrassingly close to
a sob. He doesn't want this to be over but he can feel it coiling in the pit of
his stomach and the way Frank is licking and sucking at him, sloppy and messy,
is dangerously close to pushing him over the edge. His hips jerk forwards of
their own volition, and when Frank makes a low, satisfied noise around his
cock, the vibrations rattle right through him. Frank has his hand around what
he can't get in his mouth and he pulls off, jacking Gerard faster. Gerard's
fucking toes are curling and he's going to explode, fuck.
He opens his mouth to warn Frank, but a slight twist of Frank's wrist puts paid
to that, and whatever he'd been going to say comes out as a rough, wrecked
moan, and he comes harder than he ever has before, fire zinging through every
inch of him and burning out to warm, lazy relief as he comes harder than he
ever has before. That more than makes up for not being able to come for almost
a week, fuck.
And then he opens his eyes to see Frank - Mr. Iero - with come striping his
face, licking his lips clean and looking up at Gerard.
"Oh my god," Gerard blurts. "Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"Did you hear me complaining?" Frank says, and he's grinning. He gets to his
feet, brushing dust from his knees (and, wow, that's an image Gerard wants to
keep for later), and wipes his fingers through the mess on his face. He holds
his hand out, looking at Gerard expectantly, and Gerard doesn't stop to think
before he ducks his head to lick Frank's fingers clean, sucking at the rough
pads of his fingertips. Frank makes a low, appreciative noise, and Gerard is
still too full of afterglow to resist when Frank withdraws his fingers from
Gerard's mouth with a filthy, wet noise, turns him around and pushes him down
with a hand between his shoulderblades.
"What--" Gerard starts, but then Frank is tugging his pants and boxers down,
and Gerard's brain sort of short-circuits. He's bent over a desk, his ass bare,
his teacher close behind him, his thumbs digging into Gerard's ass as he holds
him open. Fuck, that's hot. That's right out of a porno, not something that
actually happens.
And then he feels Frank's tongue licking at his hole, and he makes a loud,
shocked noise. He's still tingling and over-sensitized from just coming and,
god, this is actually going to kill him. He hears Frank's low, dirty chuckle
behind him, and he shivers again. He knows Frank well enough to be absolutely
positive that that was a promise, or maybe a threat.
Frank's clearly done this before, because he's not holding back - he's fucking
going for it, holding Gerard open while he eats him out. That's Frank's spit
slicking his skin, Frank's fingers digging in just below his hips, Frank's
tongue teasing and tasting and opening him up, and it's almost too much for him
to take. He's almost sobbing, his breaths loud and ragged and uneven, and he
can feel himself getting hard again.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he pants, pushing back when Frank drags his tongue up the
cleft of his ass and back down. "Oh my god, Frank, sir, you're-- ngh, fuck!"
He knows, distantly, that he's babbling and that he's probably only
embarrassing himself and not even making any sense, but he doesn't care.
Frank's hot, clever tongue is working him open and it's filthy and amazing and
so fucking hot he can't even think straight.
Frank takes a step back and Gerard can't help the noise he makes, suddenly
feeling horribly exposed, but then he hears the sound of something ripping, and
then Frank's cool, slick fingers are pushing into him, slow and sure. Gerard
hisses at the stretch, but Frank doesn't let up, and as too muchbegins to tip
over into not enough, Gerard rocks back, bearing down on Frank's hand and
fucking himself on his fingers. Frank swears softly and adds a third finger.
"'M ready, fuck," groans Gerard, because he is, god, he's so ready.
"Yeah? Ready for what?" Frank purrs, sliding his fingers out. That's just not
playing fair, Gerard thinks, gritting his teeth.
"Ready for you to fuck me," he says, and Frank presses the tip of a single
finger into Gerard.
"Like this?"
"No, fuck. I want your fucking cock, come on."
Frank slaps his ass just hard enough to sting a little. "What do you say?"
"Please," Gerard manages to choke out. "Sir."
Frank makes a noise of satisfaction, and the next thing Gerard knows, he can
feel the blunt press of Frank's cock, and he lets out a sob of pure,
unadulterated relief. This is what he needs, Frank rolling his hips forward and
filling Gerard up, stretching him out.
"God, that's good," Frank says, breathless and throaty, thrusting deeper into
Gerard, and Gerard manages a moan of agreement. Frank is settling into a rhythm
now - slow, but gathering speed, and Gerard can feel the drag of every inch of
Frank's cock inside him when Frank finally sinks balls-deep into him, his hips
pressed flush against Gerard's ass.
Gerard knows he's making too much noise, little high, desperate ahs every time
Frank pushes in, and it hits him again that he's not going to last. Frank's
getting close, too, he can tell. His rhythm is faltering, his hips bucking
forward erratically, ad Gerard clenches around him.
"Shit," Frank says, and he slams into Gerard one last time. Gerard feels one of
Frank's hands reaching around to wrap around his dick and start to stroke while
Frank pulls out.
Gerard groans and gives in to it, and he comes with Frank's weight against his
back, and Frank's voice in his ear telling him that he's fucking perfect.
 
                                       *
 
(Another two months later, Gerard graduates with a smile on his face and a
scrap of paper in his pocket. On the paper, there's a string of numbers
scrawled above the words please call.)
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