"Hi, Mr. Anderson."
A familiar voice from just inside the door of his classroom made Blaine Anderson freeze, head bent over a rather dismal essay attempting to compare the people on Teen Mom to Romeo and Juliet. Only his second year teaching English literature to high school juniors and he had very few students who even bothered to try.
Sam Evans, the boy by the door, had tried. Despite struggling with dyslexia, he had worked harder than any other student in any of Blaine's classes. He always made use of office hours and any help that was offered.
Delighted by a student who showed interest in learning, Blaine had offered as much help as he could. Slowly, but surely, they begun to discuss things other than class. They shared a love of comics and movies, both to volunteer work on the weekends and adored singing and performing.
That was when Blaine realized he was in trouble. Sam with his 17-year-old student. He should not be noticing things like how green the boy's eyes were or how his broad shoulders tugged at his T-shirts.
He shouldn't want him.
The fact that Sam clearly shared his interest only made things worse.
Still, they hadn't been able to stay apart. Even this year, with Sam in another class, he came to Blaine for help with assignments or just to chat. It was torture, being so close, but Blaine refuse to become some kind of letch the took advantage of an underage student.
"Hi, Sam," he greeted the blonde. "You're here late."
At nearly 5 PM, this part of the school was deserted, which was why Blaine preferred to do his grading there. That way, if he wept in frustration (figuratively), no one would see him.
"Yeah," Sam agreed, fidgeting a bit. He was dressed in black trousers and a blue and white striped button down shirt, far more formal than his usual jeans and T-shirts. "Guess what?"
With no hint to go on, Blaine smiled and fell back on teasing. "You saw The Hobbit again and finally have it memorized?"
Sam shook his head, blonde fringe falling over his brow as he bit his lip.
No! Don't look at his lips!
"It's my birthday," Sam blurted in a rush, yanking the door closed behind him. "I'm 18."
"You're 18," Blaine repeated, mouth suddenly dry. "18."
Nodding, Sam walked slowly towards Blaine's desk. "I'm not your student."
There was intent in his eyes and Blaine scrambled to cling to his resolve. "You're still a student at this high school."
"I graduate next month."
"I'm too old for you."
"Six years isn't much," Sam countered, rounding the desk now. "Don't try to tell me you don't feel this."
Dammit. "Sam," Blaine breathed his name like a prayer and pushed himself to his feet. He wasn't nearly as tall as the boy, but he felt more evenly matched standing. "I…can't. I…."
"I know," Sam murmured, standing so close that Blaine could feel the heat of his body. He bent his head, nose brushing softly against Blaine's cheek. "You're a good man. It's one of the things I like about you."
Blaine didn't feel like a good man, not when he wanted nothing more than to haul Sam down into the deepest, most mind-numbing kiss imaginable, wanted to push the boy down onto his desk and cover his body with his own….
"I graduate in a month," Sam repeated, warm breath fanning Blaine's ear. "We've waited almost 2 years. A month won't kill us."
"A month," Blaine replied, a little dazed. "You really…?"
"More than anything," Sam assured him, drawing back and meeting Blaine's eyes. "Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?"
"I didn't get you anything."
Sam grinned, an expression filled with promise. "I'll take a rain check. Redeemable in 30 days."
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