Alfred didn't like Mr Kirkland.
It wasn't because he found his English lessons boring, Alfred didn't care much for literature anyway, not even because Mr Kirkland was that certain kind of teacher that was very easy to dislike. But because Alfred just found him so incredibly irritating.
He couldn't put his finger on it, what annoyed him so much about the teacher. It wasn't his accent; Alfred actually quite liked his voice. It wasn't that Mr Kirkland was an unfair teacher; he had a reputation for being harsh but he in fact hardly ever gave detentions. It wasn't that he was a bad teacher either; he spent extra time helping his struggling students. In fact Mr Kirkland was actually incredibly nice – aside from his sarcastic quips and deadpan humour, but Alfred actually liked that.
So quite why he found the man so annoying was a total loss for Alfred. He sat there each lesson (doing his work, of course) staring at the teacher, trying to figure out just why he got so frustrated during Mr Kirkland's classes.
It wasn't until their Wednesday lesson that he figured out what it was.
They'd been set work to do after Mr Kirkland's initial introduction to the lesson topic; Portia's Mercy speech, as if Mr Kirkland hadn't droned on about that a million times over. Alfred had no trouble with it, even without Mr Kirkland's explanations he could easily analyse the monologue – just because he didn't like English didn't mean he wasn't good at it. But there was another student, diagonally ahead of him, who seemed to be struggling.
They'd raised their hand, though Alfred hadn't thought anything of it and focused on his own work, when Mr Kirkland came to help and bent down in such a way that when Alfred lifted his head he came face to face with his teacher's rear, then he thought something of it.
More specifically of an empty room on a bed with Mr Kirkland's trousers long gone and his face much much closer than that fabric allowed to make Mr Kirkland say something other than 'stop it, Jones' for once.
His eyes widened, his head turning to the other side so fast he was sure he could've given himself whiplash. He knew he was gay, though he wasn't out he was perfectly aware of how he felt about other men, so it wasn't the nature of the thought that freaked Alfred out so much. It was just the fact that it was Mr Kirkland who he imagined moaning while he ate his ass that made him tense up and have an internal panic. Particularly because he was far more turned on by the thought than he really should have been.
He spent the rest of the lesson staring very deliberately at his desk, working incredibly diligently so as to avoid accidentally looking at Mr Kirkland again and allowing those thoughts to resurface. It didn't stop the image flashing across his mind every ten minutes, though, which wasn't actually helped by his diligence as Mr Kirkland made sure to come over to Alfred and comment, and Alfred's imagination so kindly provided him the sound of Mr Kirkland moaning rather than saying his name.
Alfred left the room very quickly when the bell went, not even bothering to put his things away and just carrying them in his hand to his next lesson. He'd hoped that the thoughts of Mr Kirkland would leave his mind once he stepped into chemistry, distracted with chemicals and protons and whatever else he could fill his mind with. But instead he was just provided with images of Mr Kirkland bent over in different ways and moaning the same thing. Mr Kirkland and his annoyingly nice ass rested on Alfred's mind for the rest of the incredibly frustrating day. He went home with that thought, went to bed with that thought and most worryingly woke up with that thought staining his pyjamas.
Really short oneshot based on this ( post/102541373194)