I do not own any characters from The Outsiders. All rights belong to S.E. Hinton.

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and letting the sensation take over, the effects of the smoke filling up all of his senses. He needed it, to fill him up, as he waited – for her – his lover – his drug – to come home.

He was parked on a side street, diagonally across from her house, a spot from which he could see the comings and goings of what went on there, yet not close enough to be suspicious. Not in terms of what was happening at her house, anyway.

……………………………..

It had all started so suddenly. Mr. Griffin, the Remedial English teacher, had fallen while gardening and broken his hip. The School Committee, in its desire to quickly hire a substitute, had asked Ellen Harris, wife of Tom Harris, the varsity football coach, to stand in. She wasn't a teacher, by any stretch of the imagination, but, due to the fact that she had a college degree in English, she was more than qualified, in the eyes of the board. Hell, it was only a few weeks of English classes for the kids who were just barely going to pass anyway, regardless of how skilled a teacher they were given.

The kids in her classes had no qualms about her qualifications; they liked the fact that she wore short skirts, low-cut blouses, high heels, and that her hair hung in that incredibly seductive way across her face.

Okay, so maybe not everybody appreciated it, but Steve did.

That was what had started it all. He'd been eying her the moment she stepped into the classroom, but later in the period, as she leaned over to help the girl next to him with her sentence diagram, he'd come face to face with her cleavage.

He'd caught her eye, and she'd seen him looking.

She hadn't looked away. In fact, she'd looked him in the eyes, an emotion he'd tried to read present in her eyes; the best he had been able to come up with was sadness, though the look hadn't been discouraging.

In fact, it had turned him on. A lot.

He'd squirmed in his seat the next few days, waiting for her to come offer help to Erin, his partner. And every day she did, leaning over, and meeting his gaze on the way. On Friday, after a tortured week of her leaning over him while he fought to resist the urge to touch her, she stood up to help another student, and her chest actually brushed against Steve. There was a tangible spark, a shock that ran through him as she pulled back away.

"Sorry," she said, staring at him. His eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed. She knew he was a "greaser," more interested in fixing engines than diagramming sentences. Something about him caught her eye, however, and she realized that he had always given her more than enough space when she'd leaned in over him, almost as if he'd been afraid. This boy, afraid of her. It made her feel sad, somehow, yet strangely excited, and powerful.

They'd both dismissed anything they'd felt about each other, shirking it all off as silly and impossible. Student-teacher relationships; everybody knew that they were wrong, that nothing good would ever come out of them. There was no possibility of anything more than a few illicit glances happening anyway, so that's all there was, a constant yet unacknowledged flirting between them in the classroom that managed to escape the notice of the dozen or so other students. It was fun, something they each secretly looked forward to, and they assumed that was all it would ever be. Harmless.

Until that day.

Regardless of what either of them had felt for each other, in those moments, neither could ever have predicted the circumstances of their first meeting outside of the classroom.

Steve was on his way home from school. He was hoping his dad wouldn't be home when he got there – their interactions had rarely been pleasant, lately. He was looking forward to an empty house – his dad out drinking, or who knows where – and the whole house to himself.

He was coming up to the intersection of Chikasaw and East Main, when he saw her. She was pulled over, her car on the curb, standing on the sidewalk with a frown. He hit his signal and pulled over on the sidewalk behind her car.

He got out and walked over, thinking that when she first saw him, she'd had that same seductive look that had just about set him on fire every day during class, but convincing himself that it was nothing.

"Car trouble?" he asked.

"Steven," she said. "It's so nice of you to stop. It just gave out on me."

"I know a bit about cars," he said, meeting her eyes. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Go right ahead," she said, following around to the hood. He popped it and peered inside.

"Looks like you need a new drive belt," he said, realizing she was leaning in to see for herself, her body tantalizingly close to his.

"Can you fix that?" she asked.

"Not right now," he said, "I'd have to order the part, but I can have it towed to my station and have it ready by tomorrow afternoon." Steve secretly thanked God that he had the night off. "I can drive you home, if you want."

"Okay," she answered, with a smile.

There was a palpable feeling of anticipation that ran through Steve as she sat down in the car next to him. He glanced over and saw that her shirt was riding low along her breasts, her cleavage clearly defined. As she sat on the passenger seat, her skirt rode up and her lower thighs were revealed.

"Okay, so… where are we going?" Steve asked, a bit unnerved by the expanse of uncovered skin next to him in the passenger seat.

She directed him to her house, staring at him as he drove. He could feel her gaze on him the whole way, but he stared straight ahead, eyes on the road, thoughts about her chest and hair and body running through his head at a mile a minute.

He pulled up outside a house as she pointed to it. Nice, nothing too fancy. A ranch, with a good sized yard. She didn't move, and he looked over at her.

"Can I offer you a soda?" she asked, staring at him. "For your troubles?"

"I really shouldn't," Steve answered, trying to keep his eyes from focusing on what he really wanted to get a good look at, but knew he shouldn't.

"It's just a drink," she said, touching his leg. "A thank you, for your help."

And before he knew it, he was following her inside, knowing exactly what was going to happen, and how very wrong it was, but wanting it more than he'd wanted anything in a very long time.

Once they were inside, there was no beating around the bush. He called the station to tell them where to get the car, while she poured them each a good sized shot of whiskey. They both sat down on the couch.

"I've seen how you look at me in class," she said.

Steve hung his head, wondering how old she was. Twenty-five, maybe? He did the math in his head. Eight years. Eight years older. He tried to convince himself that maybe this wasn't as wrong as he'd been thinking it was. But, then he remembered, she was married. He tried, but couldn't think of any good justification to get past that detail, so he tried to just forget it.

"I like it," she added, and his head jerked back up, looking at her. She held out the shot to him.

"Drink it," she said. "I love the smell of whiskey on a man."

Hell, then, you'd love my Dad, he thought, as he downed the shot in one swallow. But he didn't say it.

He didn't say anything. She'd just called him a man.

He just closed his eyes and felt the warmth as the whiskey burned its way down his throat, dulling his senses. He closed his eyes for a moment, and was not at all surprised to feel her body move across his and her lips meet his, crashing against him in a rough and unbelievably arousing kiss.

He wanted to stop it, he knew he should stop it – hell, she was married, his teacher, for God's sake – and who knew where Coach Harris was - he could walk in at any minute. But suddenly he wanted this, he needed this so badly that he knew right then and there that now that it had started, there would be no stopping it.

He kissed her back, hungrily, greedily. She nipped at him, sucking on his neck and ears, driving him wild. There was none of the struggle to hold himself back that he'd always had to fight with Evie and the other girls he'd been with. She wanted him, all of him, as much as he could give her. He concentrated on her lips, afraid of leaving marks on what he knew full well to be somebody else's property. He pulled her up, gasping for breath, picking her up and finding his breath to whisper one word, deep and throaty.

"Where?"

She pointed to a door off the hallway, and he brought her into the room – a guest bedroom, it appeared to be. He set her down on the bed, and immediately she pulled him down on top of her, pressing herself up against him.

"Oh God," Steve moaned, as her hands slid under his shirt and tugged at the button on his jeans.

Clothing was ripped off, tossed to the ground, and they threw themselves together, resembling some sort of beast, made up of nothing but intertwined legs and arms, moaning and crying out, begging and cursing. It was like nothing Steve had ever experienced before.

When it was all over, he was spent. But she wanted more.

He couldn't believe it; she wanted more. So he gave it to her, the second time as terrifyingly good as the first. When it was all over, he needed a smoke so badly his whole body was shaking.

"You probably should get going," she said, biting at his chest in a way that made him feel like he just might start believing that there was a God, and a good one, at that. "My husband will be home from the game in an hour or so."

Reality came rushing back, and Steve stood up, hastily pulling on his clothes. Jesus Christ, he thought, what the hell was he doing? She's married, for Christ's sake. To the fucking football coach, no less, a guy who could kick his ass into the next century with one hand tied his back. Yet no matter how hard he tried, Steve just couldn't seem to locate and embrace any semblance of regret in his mind.

She had wanted him; needed him, he was sure of it. And he had just helped her out, given her what she needed. He convinced himself of that as he drove home.

………………..

The next day after class she called him over.

"Steven, can you stay back for a minute? I need to see you about something." The guys he usually walked to the next class with turned, wondering if they should wait.

"I'll catch up," he told them.

Ellen went to the door and closed it.

"About yesterday," Steve started, assuming some sort of an apology was in order.

"Actually, it's about today," she said, in a low voice. "My husband doesn't have a game today, just practice, but he doesn't usually get home until after six."

"Oh," Steve said, incapable of any other intelligent answer.

"I just thought you might like to know that," she said, reaching out and running her hand up his leg, slowly, starting at his knee and stopping just short of the promised land.

"You have a good afternoon," she said, nearly whispering.

"I will," he barely squeaked.

……………………………

And so it had been, for nearly a month. It had gotten to the point where weekends were torture for Steve, knowing that if there was no football game, he'd have to wait until Monday to have her again, to hear her begging him for more, urging him on in ways that he couldn't ever imagine Evie doing. Then there was the way she touched him, after - admiring him, staring at him in that way that made him feel her desire, her need. He'd never had that feeling before, of somebody needing him. It both terrified him and thrilled him at the same time, and as much as he knew he shouldn't, he kept going back for more of it.

He didn't allow himself to think of her with her husband, because he knew that would lead him into dangerous territory- anger, and jealousy, traits that could destroy even the purest of men.

Steve was a far cry from pure, and he knew it.

She'd started to take over his life, occupying his thoughts while he should have been doing other things. English class was torture, trying to look like he was just listening to what she was saying, while in fact, in his mind he was mentally undressing her, pressing her against the wall, taking her. Soda knew something was up, the way Steve had been rearranging his schedule, asking Soda to cover for him more than ever before, but he didn't offer it up, and Soda didn't ask. He'd been out with Evie on weekends, just like always, and it had been fine; nice, even, but his mind always went back to her. To Ellen. Evie had called him out on it, calling him "distracted," but he had dismissed it, telling her he was just tired. The truth was, he was getting tired.

Tired of lying. Tired of knowing he was doing something wrong, something selfish - and hurting other people, regardless of whether or not they knew it.

As good as it felt to be with her – and it felt damned good – he knew that eventually it would have to stop. So far they had been lucky, and nobody had found out, but it seemed inevitable that they would get caught. And Steve had no misconceptions about how badly that would go.

What he had come to realize was that he wasn't liking himself a whole lot lately. And that was something he wasn't used to feeling. He'd always been cocky, self-confident. Suddenly he was depressed, and, he realized, dependent.

He needed her, and he didn't want to need anybody, ever.

He knew he had to end it; what he didn't know was how to do it.

………………………..

"What the hell?" he muttered, glancing at his watch. If she didn't get home soon, they'd have less than two hours together. And lord knew they'd been making good use of every minute they had. He'd just lit up another butt and taken a swig from the flask he'd hidden below the passenger seat when he saw her car round the corner. His body reacted physically, his senses heightening as he stepped out of the car and walked around the block, coming through her backyard.

She met him at the door, forcing him against the inside as he closed it behind them. Her attack was even more urgent than usual, causing Steve to become so aroused that within mere minutes, and still fully clothed, he feared that he might lose it.

They stumbled into the bedroom, groaned cries and moans issuing forth from both of them. She whispered his name as he took her, both of them gasping for air afterward, unable to separate themselves from each other at first.

"Holy shit," Steve whispered, nibbling at her lower lip.

Suddenly, she pulled away from him. This had never happened before. She sat up, staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face.

"What?" he asked, fear rising in his chest.

"Steven… I have to tell you something."

Oh dear God, don't let her be pregnant, he prayed. She had assured him, that first time, that she was on the pill, and he'd believed it. Holy shit, how would he explain it to Evie, to anyone… they'd have to just pretend it wasn't his.

"I thought you said that you couldn't get pregnant." He tried not to sound as terrified as he was.

"No… it's not that. I'm not."

Steve breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"I'm moving."

"What?"

"Tommy… he got a job, doing scouting for the University of Texas. We're moving."

"What? When?"

"This weekend."

"You just found out?"

"No," she said, hesitantly. "I knew, I just didn't want to.." she trailed off, and he interrupted.

"Didn't want to what? Miss out on another roll in the hay with me? You knew you were leaving, and you didn't tell me?"

"I just told you," she said, taking his hand. He pulled it back, sliding his entire body away from her.

"So that was it? You were just using me, for one last time?"

"Steven, no. It isn't like that…" she was starting to cry, but he didn't care.

"Was it better for you?" he asked, "knowing that it was the last time, while I didn't? Did you get off on that?"

"Steven…"

"No, don't. Don't try to tell me you give a shit, then leave me." He rolled off the bed, standing up, pulling on his clothes.

"Steve…"

"No." He dressed and walked out the door, hearing her calling after him, but never turning around. He wouldn't go to class the next day, he wouldn't see her in school, he wouldn't see her again. Ever. All of a sudden it occurred to him that he had a choice. He could leave, and never come back. He wasn't sure why this had never occurred to him before, how somewhere along the way he had given up his power to decide what happened in his own life. And he was angry about ever letting himself get in so deep that he completely lost sight of the way out.

Suddenly he remembered himself as a kid, his mom talking to him about taking off a band-aid. She'd urged him to rip it off quick, because although the pain was great, it was short-lived. Taking it off slowly, she reasoned, just drew out the pain.

Steve felt the quick tear, of bandage from skin, as he walked away.

He drove home, pulling up to his house to find nobody home. He took a shower, washing any trace of her from his body, though he still didn't feel clean after a good ten minutes of scrubbing. He got dressed and grabbed a beer and sucked it down, tossing it into the bushes as he started over to the Curtis' house.

He walked in to find Soda and Sandy tangled up in each other on the couch.

"Hey, buddy," Soda said. Steve felt the guilt of a month's worth of lying sitting on his shoulders, right then. "Long time, no see."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, eyeing Soda and Sandy, and wondering if what he'd just done was a big mistake.

"Evie's been looking for you," Soda said, "You wanna go out tonight?"

"Yeah," he said. "I do."

Soda offered up one of his trademark grins and Steve managed to crack a smile, a feeling almost foreign to him, it'd been so long. Soda was a good friend, a true friend. And Evie was a good girl, a nice girl.

Steve thought that maybe he might be able to start liking himself again, just a little bit.

Maybe someday he'd tell Soda about what went on with Ellen. But probably not.

He never believed in confession as a means to redemption, anyway.

Hell, he wasn't even sure there was such a thing as redemption.

But, he decided, as Evie gently traced kisses along his neck later that night, he was gonna give it a shot.