Spanish Lullaby

Jonah/Cesca. Opens the day after the kiss at Cesca's house...

Part One: Cesca

Your fingertips across my skin,

The palm trees swaying in the wind, images,

You sang me Spanish lullabies,

The sweetest sadness in your eyes...

Cesca has a feeling that the lesson was going to be distinctly awkward. A small part of her was hoping that he wouldn't be there, that he'd taken the day off school. Of course it was a forlorn hope; he wasn't the skiving type.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass panel of the door of her classroom and gave a small shudder. She looked dreadful. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were ringed with dark circles, the legacy of a night spent tossing and turning and fearing the morning. In a way though, looking dreadful was probably a good thing today. It might put him off, convince him that she was too old and worn and haggard for him to even think about, remind him that young, pretty Jess Fisher was far more suitable girlfriend material. At the thought of him with Jess though, she felt a stab of something like jealousy.

In an effort to ignore it, she pushed open the door of the classroom. And there he was. Sitting up very straight in the middle of the front row. His eyes were deep liquid pools and the emotion in them made her gasp. He smiled when he saw her, an easy, carefree grin which lit up his whole face. Without wanting to, without intending to, Cesca felt her own face form itself into a matching smile. For a moment, the rest of the class was forgotten and the two of them existed in a world of their own. Then, sudden and unwelcome, the noise of the other boys in the room shattered their silent communion. With an almost physical effort Cesca dragged her gaze away from his.

She moved rapidly to the front of the room, keeping her eyes on anything, everything but him. She was aware of him all the time though, of his eyes caressing her back as she turned and wrote the date on the board, of him watching the movements of her hands and fingers as she opened the register and laid it on the desk in front of her. She called the names and marked off those present without looking up.

'Finn?'

'Here, Miss.' She ticked the box by his name.

'Kyle?'

'Yes, Miss.' Another tick.

'Ronan?'

'Here, Miss.' And another.

She hesitated. 'Jonah?' She tried to keep her voice neutral, but the word caught in her throat and she sounded nervous even to herself.

'Here, Miss.' She noticed with annoyance that her hand was shaking as she placed a tick next to his name. She couldn't understand why he had this effect on her. He was just a boy in her class, a boy with a crush on her, nothing more. She knew, even as she thought it, that this wasn't entirely true, couldn't help remembering the hunger with which she'd kissed him back...

Cesca mentally shook herself, pulling her attention back to the present. She quickly set the class some work and then retreated behind her desk where she kept her eyes resolutely fixed on the paperwork in front of her, doing everything she could not to think about him.

'Miss Montoya...' His voice was like warm silk.

Swallowing hard, she looked up and met those gentle, liquid eyes. 'Yes, Jonah?' No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make her voice steady.

'Could you help me with question six?'

She wanted to refuse. Moving closer to him was the last thing she wanted to do, but she didn't have much choice. She needed to show him that she was his teacher, nothing more, that their relationship was strictly professional and, as his teacher, she had to help him with his work.

'Of course.' This time she purposefully avoided saying his name in an effort to keep her tone detached.

As she walked towards him, through the rows of desks, she could feel her heart beginning to beat faster and blood start to pound in her ears. Her throat was dry suddenly, her breathing fast and shallow. 'Stop it, Cesca!' She scolded herself 'He's only a boy, he's just another boy in a class of thirty. That's all he'll ever be to you.'

'What do you need help with?' She took care to stand to the side of his desk, not in front of him or behind him, not in a position where they might accidentally touch or where she might have to look at him directly. Even as she spoke, she stared only at the book on his desk.

'I don't understand this word here.' He pointed to the page. Her eyes traced the outlines of his strong, muscled hands, his fingers, and suddenly she was assaulted by a memory, white hot and burning. Yesterday those hands had been on her face, her arms, firm and gentle, exploring, touching, stroking. His skin had been so soft...She ached to touch those hands again, just to brush her fingertips against his...

'Miss Montoya?' Jonah was looking at her with concern. He was definitely handling this better than she was.

She flashed him a quick smile and clasped her hands behind her back in an effort to resist temptation. Quickly, she explained the meaning of the word and then turned and stalked back to her desk where she remained for the rest of the lesson, trying desperately not to think about the boy in the front row.

At the end of the lesson, he was one of the crowd of students who clustered around her desk to hand her coursework. As he passed her his essay, his hand lightly touched hers and, before she could stop herself, she gasped as though stung. She wanted to pull her hand away, but something, some magnetic force, made her keep it exactly where it was. His hand was on fire. The feel of it made her throat close up, made something in her stomach turn over. She looked at him then and his eyes were filled with desire and longing. She knew that her own eyes must look exactly the same.

'Cesca...' he whispered, too low for anyone else to hear, but loud enough to startle her from her reverie.

She shook her head minutely and pulled her hand away. 'Just go.' She replied, equally softly.

With a sigh, he turned and left and she felt something inside of her shatter and crumble.