disclaimer: without prejudice. the names of all characters contained here-in are the property of FOX and Ryan Murphy. no infringments of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission.
author's notes: based on a gifset made my spuffina. i have been a jittery ball of feels all day and this had to come out. so there.
FORBIDDEN;;
chapter 1
"Oh–Jesus–Se–bas–tian," he stutters as his hips snap forward, again, and again, cock driving into Sebastian's ass, the steady slap of skin against skin intermingling with the moans escaping the boy beneath him.
It was only one drink. One innocent drink shared with two of the other teachers.
"Mr Anderson," Sebastian whimpers. He's all muscle flexing around his shoulder blades, writhing, hips trying to find a rhythm between fucking back on his cock and stroking his own against the sheets.
"Mr Anderson, what are you doing here?" Sebastian asked, eyes looking him up and down the way they always did, the way they'd been teasing for months now, devouring, long lingering glances and parted lips.
That boy thought things about him he shouldn't, things that accompanied him when he jerked off in the morning, or late at night, or that one time in the locker room when he'd gone to see one of Sebastian's lacrosse games and he got so hard it hurt.
Sebastian had been this little cocktease for months.
"Please," Sebastian moans. He has Sebastian pinned down on the bed, body trapped, his ass sticking up to meet his every thrust and he's perfect, thin and flawless skin and legs that run on for fucking-ever, fingers clawing at the sheets.
Two drinks. Three drinks. He lost count.
They were alone, most of the other students had retreated back to their rooms where they contented themselves with television or their computers. Sebastian sat lounged on a large couch, reading a book, an arm behind his head, hair sticking up where he'd run his hands through it. He had a leg propped up, the other outstretched, his crotch on wide display.
And he grinned at him.
"You should really lose that shirt and come to my room," he said, words not his own but rather a person inside that had wanted Sebastian spread out naked on a bed for such a long time now. "It has a strict no shirts policy."
"Don't–" he grunts and loses his rhythm, a subconscious he's your student reaching up through his drunken haze but his cock's throbbing and he's so fucking close, and sweet jesus Sebastian's never looked more taboo than right there, off limits but completely spread open and he ignores it, he can't think about anything else but the hard body and their cocks and–it's sex, it's just sex.
He pulls out, Sebastian whining in complaint, but he needs to see him, pupils blown and lips parted, he wants to watch Sebastian watching him fuck him, wants to see his leaking cock, wants to watch Sebastian come all over his chest. He flips Sebastian over like he's a rag doll, a marionette and he the puppeteer pulling at the strings.
He heard Sebastian's gentle footfalls behind him, the door closing. He turned, letting his eyes linger like they'd done a million times as well, but never this forward, never this noticeable. Sebastian was a hard guy not to take note of, tall and lanky in a very gracious way, smart too, evidenced by an entire semester of straight A's in all his classes. Sebastian Smythe was his type through and through.
The only problem being that he was, in fact, a junior in high school, and he was his teacher.
"Are you drunk, Mr Anderson?" Sebastian asked, sounding more excited than amused.
If he was in any state to he'd resist, he'd tell Sebastian to leave and forget this ever happened, he was a strict but fair teacher. But this wasn't fair, his judgement impaired by god-knows-how-many drinks of–of what exactly?
Sebastian took a step closer.
"Yes," he breathed and closed the distance between their bodies, hands reaching up for Sebastian's face and there was zero hesitation, Sebastian didn't wince once before his lips were working against his, hands groping at his back, fingers underneath his shirt. He pulled back, breathing hard.
"Call me Blaine," he pants, crashing his mouth against Sebastian's, a moan and Sebastian breaks away when his cock pushes back inside that tight ass. Sebastian throws his head back, throat exposed and spreads his legs for him, twists them around his hips and he pushes in deeper.
"Fuck, Sebastian, you want this, don't you?" he gasps, a hand kneading at the fleshy skin of Sebastian's ass, hips picking up a ruthless pace, fucking in and out of Sebastian's ass, his other hand on the bare skin of Sebastian's chest. "You want this so bad."
"Y–Yes, Mr–" Sebastian chokes out broken syllables, utterly wrecked below him. "Blaine."
"I thought I told you to take this off," he said, scraping fingernails down Sebastian's shirt and still a distinct lack of hesitation. Sebastian knew what he wanted, what he was getting himself into; he hooked his fingers into the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.
He kicked off his shoes, no socks, and removed his own shirt. Sebastian walked over, cocky almost, but he was beyond caring, desperation clawed at his ribs, and Sebastian tasted so good, his lips and tongue and the skin down his neck. He unbuckled Sebastian's belt and unzipped his pants, reaching a hand inside.
Sebastian was already hard for him.
"I'm gonna fuck you tonight," he said. "Is that okay?"
Sebastian licked his lips and nodded.
The sound of his name spilling freely from Sebastian's lips undoes him, his hips snap forward one time before he loses himself, his loins quivering, tip of his cock twitching inside Sebastian's ass and he comes so intensely his vision blackens for seconds. He cries out, too loud probably, thrusts becoming more shallow as he rides through his orgasm, small convulsions rattling through him.
Sebastian practically wails when he fists his cock, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair and legs tightening around his waist and he knows, he just knows Sebastian's done this before.
He strokes slowly down Sebastian's length, appreciating the way Sebastian's abdomen tighten with every stunted breath, his green eyes shining and drowning in his, and he could kiss Sebastian, but then he would miss it, the first trickle of semen smearing his fingers, and then Sebastian's coming undone, fucking himself in his hand that he tightens to prolong the pleasure, ropes of come staining his immaculate skin all over.
Sebastian comes down slow, melting down into the mattress, eyes drooping, and it's only then that he becomes aware of his own fatigue. He settles down on his side and drags Sebastian with him, licking at his lips, coaxing his mouth open while his fingers trail marks down Sebastian's back.
.
.
The next thing he knows he's waking up in his own bed, sheets tousled all around him, and Sebastian's asleep next to him. His breath hitches in his throat, panic making his heart race too fast this early in the morning as he struggles to remember if Sebastian's one of the students who got a double or a single room.
A single. Definitely a single. He'd drawn up the schedule himself. No one missed him coming to bed last night.
He sits up, too fast, because the room spins and a painful throb runs up the back of his skull, his stomach stirring with nausea–he had way too much to drink last night.
"Fuck," he breathes, running a hand over his face.
"Something wrong?" a sleep-filled voice sounds behind him, fingertips at the small of his back.
He glances back at the naked boy in the bed with him, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded with sleep and Sebastian looks beautiful, beauty spots he'd neglected to appreciate last night blotted down his neck, his chest and God he remembers it all, why did he have to remember it all? His skin tingles with excitement, the thought that he'd taken this boy to bed, off limits, illegal, but it fills him with a rush he's so rarely experienced before.
"I–" He sighs and turns again. "What have I done?"
He feels Sebastian's fingers trail up his spine, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin, it feels so simple and good and he wants to bathe in this. And then the bed dips, Sebastian sits up and puts his lips against his shoulder.
"We didn't do anything wrong." Sebastian's voice sounds low, delicious, and it's ridiculous how badly he wants to lick his way up his throat again, suck on his lips, lose himself in an illicit affair. It was easier to resist before, now he'd know what he was missing.
"Don't kid yourself, Sebastian," he says, voice breaking, there's a weight on his chest keeping him from breathing properly, and his stomach turns. "You're a minor. If anyone found out–" He closes his eyes, releases a shuddery breath, tears threatening to overtake him, head pounding.
Sebastian's fingertips stroke down his arm. "No one has to know," he says, a kiss on his shoulder. He turns his head, arms on his raised knees, Sebastian's lips at his temple. It's so intimate it warms him to the tips of his toes. He misses this, this kind of closeness with someone, but his budding teaching career had made a social life virtually impossible.
"It's just you and me," Sebastian whispers.
Isn't that how everyone justifies these kinds of things?
His stomach turns again and he has to run for it, stumbling headfirst into the tiny bathroom, bile rising in his throat fast and he only just makes it in time before he's throwing up, his throat burning and his headache relentless.
It shouldn't have happened, he shouldn't have gotten drunk and put himself in a situation that was impossible to resist–this wasn't Sebastian's fault at all, tease or not, he should be the responsible adult in this–whatever it is. He's the teacher.
He finds some sweatpants to cover himself up, washes his face and brushes his teeth, but when he looks into the mirror he feels half the man he was before last night; a part of him battles with what he did and another part doesn't care, he likes Sebastian and he's always wanted to know the teen on a more personal level. But this was too much too soon. This could cost him so much, not just Sebastian, but his career, his entire life.
Sebastian's fully dressed when he enters the room again, tying his shoelaces. Guilt rips through him thinking about what he put Sebastian through, could potentially put him through should this ever come out. He doesn't think Sebastian would ever tell anyone, but he'll never be able to look at him the same way. Someone would notice.
"Look, Sebastian," he starts, none too sure how he's going to put this to his student. "I had a great time last night."
Sebastian stands up. "I never assumed you didn't," he says, cocky as ever and he can't help a chuckle. There's always been such a surprising ease between them.
Sebastian walks over. "And I understand that it can't happen again."
The maturity in Sebastian's words takes him by surprise–he wasn't the adult in this thing-they-did, all he did was take something he wanted in a moment of weakness; Sebastian had given himself because he wanted the same thing, not because he had any delusions about what they were doing.
Sebastian leans forward and brushes his lips over his, one hand on his cheek, the other tracing down his chest. He raises himself on his toes and captures Sebastian's lips in a kiss, the slide of his tongue against his dizzying, lips working against each other vigorously, the kiss somehow better than last night because now he had all his faculties about him.
He likes Sebastian, he really does.
Sebastian pulls away, taking a step back. "Not until I'm eighteen anyway," he adds.
The words are filled with a gravity only these kinds of situations have–this means something.
Of course. He forgot Sebastian was held back a year after spending a few years in Paris. He's a minor, but not for much longer. He hates how his heart jumps at the realization, his lips part, but words fail him. He's not sure if he wants this to go any further, if he should even entertain the notion at this point because he's already crossed a line. If he crossed this one what's to stop him from starting something serious with Sebastian right now, without waiting for his eighteenth birthday.
"Three months," Sebastian says, the challenge landing between them, a distance not unbridgeable at all.
He could wait. And Sebastian would wait.
"I have to go," Sebastian says. "Before someone misses me." He walks right up to the door, curls a hand around the doorknob, and looks up at him one last time, winking. "See you at breakfast, Mr Anderson."
"Y–Yeah." He blinks, sagging against the doorframe.
Sebastian smiles, and it's that boyish smile that opens up his entire face; he really thinks he shouldn't be able to tell the difference already. And then Sebastian's gone, leaving him behind in an empty room, duvet bunched up at the end of the bed, condom on the floor, all the evidence of their forbidden night together for anyone to see.
He should clean up before heading down for breakfast with the rest of the staff.
He's just flushed the condom when he feels the words pull at him.
"Three months," he vocalizes, and smiles to himself. He could wait three months.
#
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