A/N: *cautiously peeks around corner* Hey guys. Sorry I've been MIA for so long. Things here have been super crazy, and my muse has vanished... I'm trying to get everything back on track, but I'm having trouble writing some scenes for the "Models and Jocks" verse. Bear with me guys, and I'll complete it... eventually! And the Snapple Facts fic should have an update soon, I've picked my next fact, and have started writing, but I'm waiting on SammieRie to get to hers too! Well, anways, this is a fill from the Glee-Kink-Meme, but I can't remember where from. (I'll go back and Find it later, when I have more time). Basically, it was inspired by a super hot GIF (also, I can't Find it right now... Gah) and well, this baby popped out. I hope you enjoy it!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Darren Criss, and/or Chris Colfer. I'm just playing with their characters. I am also not making any money or profit from this (unless you count feedback)
Warnings: The beginning chapters will be pretty bland rating wise, but will increase as the story progresses. Warnings for sex will precede their corresponding chapters.
1.) The first encounter.
I was in my third year of fashion design school in New York, and I was happy to say I was almost done with my general education classes. I had taken math and science courses first, followed by the required history classes. Now, I was able to take a class I had been looking forward to for two years: Creative Writing.
Most of my classmates told me that it was used as a "catch all" course, but I had always loved writing and was looking forward to increasing my skills. Walking into class the first day, I was pleased to find that the classroom was warm, and that I wouldn't be needing the completely unfashionable, but oh so warm sweatshirt rolled up in my bag, allowing me to show off my favorite shirt from my summer designing. It's a powder blue, gauzy tank top paired with a pair of tan shorts (Marc Jacobs, of course) and some sandals. Mercedes had dubbed my look "chic islander."
The classroom's setup was pretty regular, chairs in a block six seats across and five back, the teacher's desk in the front. Smiling at the relatively empty classroom, I strutted into the room like I owned it and sat down in my usual seat: fourth chair from the door in the second row. I was close enough to the front that I'd pay attention, but far enough that I wouldn't strain my neck. I watched the door, looking at the other students as they walked through the doorway, waving to the few that I knew, and smiling at the ones I didn't. Two minutes before class was slotted to start, everyone was seated and we were waiting for our teacher: Mr. Anderson.
He walked through the doorway just a moment later, a nice briefcase clasped in his left hand, a cup of coffee in his right. His dark hair was gelled off to the side, a few curls breaking free of the style, dropping down into pools of jaded honey. His skin was nicely tanned- the kind you get from spending a lot of time in the sun. He stood a few inches shorter than me, approximately 5'8" to my 5'11", and was lean and slightly muscled. If that wasn't enough, the man was wearing black slacks, a light green button down, and a bowtie. He was beautiful and masculine, and oh did I want to run my tongue along those rosy, full lips…
"Good morning, class. My name is Mr. Anderson, and I'll be your teacher this semester. You can all call me Blaine though," he said, introducing himself.
Oh sweet GaGa, his voice. It sounded as if someone had captured the sound of smoke, velvet, and had blended them together with molasses. It was rich and curled around me, almost eliciting a small groan. He seemed young for a college professor, his smile bright, causing crinkles around his eyes that disappeared as he asked a question. Oh, right, our names and majors.
One by one, we introduced ourselves to our professor, a few of the girls blushing and tripping over their words at Blaine's intense gaze. Before I knew it, Shane was finishing up with a shrug of his shoulders, and those eyes- so alight with excitement- were fixed on me.
I couldn't breathe or speak around the insane lump in my throat. It diminished slightly after I forced myself to swallow dryly. I introduced myself in a slightly squeaky voice, giving Blaine my name and my major. Blaine repeated my name to himself once, smiling brightly at me before moving on to the next person. After he'd learned all our names, he told us a little bit about himself. How he boxed and fenced in high school and was a member of the glee club, how he graduated two years ago from Harvard (making him only four years older than me) and started teaching last year. Oh God, I was starting to fall for this man, my teacher, and I knew it.
At the end of class, we all received our syllabus and our first homework assignment along with it. "Enjoy your first day of classes, and I can't wait to read what you've written," Blaine said, waving slightly as we filed out of class. I felt a blush heat up my cheeks as his intense gaze followed me out, raking up and down my form. Damn. My name is Kurt Hummel, and I'm crushing on my English Teacher, who just checked me out.
