Yes. Yes, I put my fics on hiatus so I could write this. Yes, I also put my fucking novel on hiatus so I could write this. Can you blame me?
This fic happened because both me and Jinx suffer from lack of Teacher/Student AUs in this fandom.
Also this fic is dedicated to my wonderful friends – Jinx and Keisha, who I hope like what I've done there with our barricade boys :)
CHAPTER ONE: Obsession, it takes control
Grantaire always considered himself a sensible man.
Of course he has had his ups and downs, with battling depression it was to be expected, he supposed. After all no one wins with depression forever. There was also his drinking, though he mostly controlled it now. But beside this, he was sensible, he could take care of himself and he thought of himself as immune to the majority of stupid ideas. He had an apartment he was comfortable in, he had his painting, though it never become more than a hobby. He couldn't afford a career as unpredictable as beingan artist, not without any support from his family. He managed to graduate from university, though it took him longer than his friends and he couldn't really say he worked hard. But now he was living on his own and he has steady job as an art teacher in nerby high school, and couldn't really complain.
Everything was well. Everything, but...
Well, everything but the fact that he somehow managed to develop a crush on one of his students.
That was kinda a problem.
It wouldn't be that bad, if it was only him, only his 'innocent' – well, not exactly innocent granting he was turning 28 next month – crush he could try to overcome and forget.
But it wasn't just some regular student he had crush on, no. It was Enjolras. Unbelievably beautiful, unbelievably smart, golden god, Apollo Enjolras, who smiled at him with his brillinat, insolent smile, who argued with him during every lesson, who provoked him all the time.
Enjolras with his unruly locks looking as if they were made of the finest silk, with his dreamy eyes full of fire and his pale, creamy skin.
And, if it wasn't bad enough, Enjolras seemed to reciprocate his feelings. Actually, no. "Seemed" was an understatement. Who showed Grantaire at every minute that he wants a place not only in his bed, but also in his heart.
Who stayed after lesson and helped him clean up, set easels in order, washed brushes, cleaned the paint stains, and who dropped not-even-slightly subtle hints all the time. Who crossed any and every boundary, brushing his hands over Grantaire's arms or staring him straight in the eyes.
But it was just plain wrong, okay?
Grantaire was 28. For God's sake, he was almost thirty. And he was teaching there! It was his job, and he fucking needed that job. He couldn't afford getting fired for seducing some kid.
Because that's Enjolras was. A kid.
He certainly shouldn't have fantasies about him spread naked on his bed.
The thing was, that Enjolras wasn't just somekid. That was whole problem. He could refuse some random kid. But he couldn't say no to Enjolras.
So, you see, Grantaire was so, so fucked.
There he was, lying on his bed, the same bed he imagined Enjolras spread on; with hands under his head, dressed in too big black shirt and jeans who was gradually becoming tighter in certain places.
It was 7am and his first class started at 9. He should be getting ready, and instead he was lying there; daydreaming and sinking into a pit self-hatred.
He really should do something with it. With his feelings. He was losing control dangerously fast. He couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything, and, what was worse, the most embarassing, couldn't concentrate while in lessons with Enjolras' class.
Other classes wasn't that bad. He set the topic and sat at* his desk, sketching, or even painting sometimes, taking breaks and helping his students, giving them advice and correcting mistakes. Most of students loved him, being the cool teacher, with his tattoos and piercings – luckily the dress code at his school was almost nonexistent – and with his witty sense of humor. He was always nice to his students; he generally liked his job and actualy loved working with teenagers.
What was surprising was that he was the teacher students were came to with personal problems, looking for understanding. And R has been through too much shit in his life to not understand. He tried to help those kids as much as he could, and when he couldn't he tried at least to listen to them.
So usually his job was okay. Even better than okay.
And then there were lessons with Enjolras' class.
They were in their final year of high school, most of them had turned 18 already and were legally adults. A couple of them wanted to apply for art schools, and were really good artist. He really enjoyed working with them, helping them with their final projects.
Enjolras was one of the youngest in his class, still 17, but he sure as hell didn't act it. He was so confident, sitting cross legged over at his easel, golden locks tied in a bun, his red shirt a bright spot over the background of the white canvas. Grantaire could imagine him right now, his cheeky smile, piercing eyes, the way he looked at him over his lashes, teasingly licking his lips. There was nothing modest about it, all his behaviour screamed pure seduction.
Grantaire groaned and got up off the bed, knocking down his sketchbook. Sketchbook filled with rough sketches and painstakingly detailed portraits of Enjolras.
He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. There was no point in lying, he was trying to look his best. He wasn't actually vain, but knew he handsome; for God's sake he had worked as a model briefly during his uni years. He knew what his advantages were, so now he tamed his locks a bit, so they wasn't so unruly, and framed his eyes in black eyeliner.
He put on his worn leather jacket and went out.
He was screwed anyway.
Maybe it was time to search for another job.
