He'd been attracted to Mr. Kirkland the moment the elder man walked into the room.
To put it in the simplest way Matthew knew how, he wanted their newest English teacher to bend him over the nearest desk and fuck him raw until he forgot his name, mewling and begging for any sort of release. He wanted to be hog-tied and licking Mr. Kirkland's boots like a pathetic, whimpering dog, and then held and kissed until his mind spun and his world collapsed.
Perhaps it wasn't so simple after all.
Oh, God, Matthew thought bitterly as he slunk into the back of the class where he usually sat. One look had sent immediate jolts straight to his cock. I have issues.
One of his best friends, Alfred, and the more well-behaved of the two, nudged him from the side. "You look sick."
"Shut your mouth, Al."
Gilbert snickered from Alfred's other side. "I saw liebling's eyes fall straight to Mr. Kirkland's ass, and then look pointedly away," he drawled in his thick accent.
These were the people with whom Matthew chose to surround himself with.
He was about to make a sharp retort (and maybe punch Gilbert in the face in the hopes that he'd bleed out) when Mr. Kirkland tapped the front desk sharply with a meter stick (a meter stick Matthew was definitely not having sick fantasies about right that moment).
"I'd like to have order, please," he said, and oh god, Matthew was already in love. Mr. Kirkland's voice was nothing less than a minor deity's lilt, complete with the most attractive British accent anyone could possibly hope to have — an accent that made Gilbert's voice sound like a goose honk.
"H-how old do you think he is?" Matthew whispered to Alfred before he could stop himself. To his credit, he managed to look relatively nonchalant while saying it, slouched in his chair and eyes focused directly not on the curve of Mr. Kirkland's spine (because that was where the small of his back was, the perfect depression of body to worship with his tongue).
"I dunno," Alfred said, thankfully not pointing out the hiccup in Matthew's words. "Thirty? Thirty-five? All these old people look the same age to me."
Matthew licked his lips and began chewing his thumbnail as Mr. Kirkland did roll call.
"Matthew Williams?" Mr. Kirkland said when he reached Matthew's name, and Matthew would forever swear to his grave that he did not just shiver.
"Here," he said in the most bored tone he could muster. I'm not interested in you, I'm not interested in you, he chanted in his head. Please don't look at me.
Of course, Mr. Kirkland did. He peered at Matthew from behind frameless glasses, the sort of glasses that gave Matthew a funny squirmy feeling inside. He didn't wear glasses, himself, (even though he had horrible vision) because he thought they make him look low-key, but glasses on another person?
Hello, hot nerd-teacher BDSM fantasies!
"Not interested in being here, lad?"
"Am I that obvious, sir?" Matthew joked lamely, causing a titter to go through the class. Am I? Am I that obvious that I want to be pinned underneath you, keening and moaning for your dick?
"Frankly, I don't care, Matthew. But I expect nothing less than your one hundred percent at all times, no matter how much you want to be doing something else."
"I'd much rather do you, sir," Matthew muttered to himself.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Mr. Kirkland gave him one last narrow-eyed look, before setting down his attendance sheet. Matthew had been the last one on the list.
It was September 2nd, the first day of school, the third period of the day. And it looked like Matthew had a long, long year ahead of him.