Natalia's eyes lifted slowly to the board, pinky-finger nail between a set of viciously sharpened teeth, four fangs gnawing at themselves as her mind trailed to places that were near taboo for her in the eyes of society. She snarled under her breath, tearing the appendage from her lips and tapping her pencil against the desk. Nothing but her own physical perfection would be acceptable any longer. The whiteboard ahead was meaningless; it held no special interest for the Russian, her violet-blue eyes staring heatedly at the ink marks that were sprawled across the smooth surface.
His handwriting is almost like a computer font. She thought, before glancing to the peachy hand that began to scribe on the board. She examined the way it would bend at certain letters, and how he very enthusiastically crossed his t's and dotted his i's. The first letter of each sentence began with a large, curly letter that would override everything else, and draw her attention to that hand, before slipping to his wrist. After his wrist she would frown at how his arm was covered by the white button up shirt, and even that covered by the jacket to his suit. She would allow her eyes to follow the seams of the suit until the hungry orbs reached his neck, where they would linger, watching the skin move over the jugular, over the muscle until she was satisfied. Then she would manage to look from there to his chin to his lips, which she had already decided would be very worthy of kissing, before getting to look briefly at his eye, then soon forced to look back down at her notebook. She huffed; he had been a temporary teacher for her class last year- she had taken creative writing- and she learned he was going to be teaching a course on poetry. So, Natalia took that opportunity and signed up, and now he was her last class, every day, and she was signed to be his teacher's assistant. She would stay an hour after school every day and help him.
As the last period bell rang, she put her items in her binder and sat her binder in her bag, along with her pens and pencils, aside from a pretty blue pen that she used to write. As the others shuffled out of the room and through the halls, she remained in her sweet only eight feet at most form the oak desk that held all the papers he would grade while they sat in silence. It was the third month of school, and Natalia had been at her job since the second day. Her eyes looked up when she heard the click-clack of shoes, a "he's not here right now" on her lips until she noticed her very own infatuation. "Hello, Miss Arlovskaya. Wonderful day out, isn't it?" He asked, his accent hitting her ears like a punch in her chest. "Da, Mister Kirkland. It stopped raining." She agreed, watching him sit his files on the desk and sit. He smiled at her before looking down at the stack of worksheets. Natalia sighed, her eyes trailing back down to the notebook paper under her hand, the ink staining the white and sky-blue with indigo marks of poorly constructed English words.
"What're you working on, love?" She heard from over her shoulder, before a hand was on the paper. "You know only a loving sort of person could read such awful scribbles, Miss Arlovskaya." He laughed lightly, poking fun at the girl and her terrible handwriting. "I've only been here for five years. English is still hard for me to write and speak properly." She grumbled, trying to tone down her thick accent. "Say 'mister' once more for me." He whispered, lips close to her ear as he glanced at her face. Her heart was fluttering in embarrassment and desires she shouldn't have ever felt. "Mist-" When the words left her lips, she felt a warm breath against the flesh of her neck, a heated tongue pressing against the skin. A soft gasp escaped her, and she looked down at the blond working at her throat. "No worry, love, I don't bite too hard." He chuckled, glancing up at her in a bemused expression. "Miss Arlovskaya, could you sit up?"
Natalia's eyes flickered open. The class was looking at her as she stared at them in slight confusion, before realizing she'd been asleep. I seriously fucking dreamed that. She cursed herself in her head, rubbing her eyes with her hand before hearing Mr. Kirkland clear his throat to gain her attention. "Miss Arlovskaya, perhaps you should read us your poem, as obviously mine and everyone else's is so dearly boring that they lulled you to sleep." He commented, arching a hairy brow at her. She sighed before nodding her head, opening her composition notebook and giving a glare to those who stared at her in amusement. She gave a sigh, glancing up to see that cursed Brit motion for her to go on and read.
"Words only bring me so much satisfaction
Until I must force my love onto him.
We share no glances that are only trivial to me
But to him they mean so little, mean nothing.
These desires I feel, they enslave my body,
These taboo intentions that I wish to seek out
Control my dreams, even in the day.
I want to hold you in my arms,
Want to drink you in, all of you.
And when I close my eyes
I'm running away.
These walls I have built are for you to tear down,
For you to see through and topple over.
I need you so badly my body quakes in pain.
But you see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing at all.
My lips quiver, and I feel that I can say no more
Without your rejection."
She looked back up at her classmates, each one clapping when she finished her poem. Mr. Kirkland stared for a moment before offering a smile. "Well done, Miss Arlovskaya. What did you title that piece?"
"Title?" She asked, frowning at him. "I do not have a title. It is number one-hundred thirty-two in my collection for this man." She said very seriously, earning a look of confusion from her teacher. "I see."
She remained in her seat when the bell rang, writing in her book another poem for him. Natalia was considered a grand writer; she read only the greatest of novels and truly enjoyed writing poetry. She was so drawn into writing a single poem, it was near impossible to catch her attention. Mr. Kirkland knew this very well, as he was standing behind her, reading over her shoulder and trying to decipher the scribbles on her paper. He took a few minutes before becoming comfortable, and he was growing accustomed now that he graded her papers.
Shall you call me your prisoner, dearest thief?
For you've taken me hostage in those emerald eyes.
I feel the shackles of my obsession on my wrists
And the weight of my infatuation on my chest.
Your treasure, those golden locks, shall I
Be punished for touching what is not mine?
Will you lock me away for stealing your heart
The same way you've captured mine?
He hummed gently, reading until he noticed her hand stop moving. She glanced over her shoulder at him, before turning back to her paper. "Mr. Kirkland, is there anything I can help you with today?" She asked, remembering her dream earlier in class. He simply sighed and shook his head, before clearing his throat. "Miss Arlovskaya, did you know you're failing English?" He asked suddenly, gaining Natalia's attention quickly. She looked up at him in shock, her face burning. "Y-yes, I did. I don't understand English grammar.." She grumbled under her breath, looking back at her poem.
"Do you want me to tutor you? I do teach an English based class." He offered, sitting down in the chair next to her. Natalia looked up, and her brow furrowed as if she were thinking very hard on the situation.
"You'll only have to stay until five, instead of the usual four." He explained, and she though even more on the subject.
Most teachers leave when I do. So we'll practically be…
"Da, spasibo. I'd appreciate it."