Sometimes, Harry found himself distracted during Defense Against the Dark Arts. It wasn't that the class was boring; it was his favorite subject by far. It wasn't that he didn't like the teacher; in fact, it was just the opposite.
Professor Lupin had been Defense teacher since Harry's third year. When it was revealed that he was a werewolf after the incident with Sirius Black, Lupin had offered to leave, but Dumbledore wouldn't hear of it. He defended the professor all throughout the next summer, and secured Remus Lupin's position for the next year. Since that incident, Harry had learned more about Lupin's history as a Marauder with Sirius and Harry's father, and his warm regard for his professor had only grown.
Unfortunately, another part of him sometimes grew when he thought about Professor Lupin. Sometime in fifth year, Harry had realized he was gay, though he had so far only come out to a few people. Coming to terms with his sexuality had cleared up a lot of confused feelings, and it left him with many more fantasies involving blokes, which wasn't always a bad thing.
It was, however, rather embarrassing when he had first found himself wanking to thoughts of his teacher. At first, it was easy to ignore; the faces in his mind might blend and mold into familiar ones, and sometimes he thought about what it would be like to shag an older man. It quickly developed into a specific desire, though, and one that was hard to ignore.
He'd imagine staying after class to ask a question, and Professor Lupin would tell him how much he resembled his father, would invite him to stay for a drink. They would talk, drink, and Harry would lean over the desk, and Lupin would pretend it was a drunken mistake the next day.
He'd imagine serving a detention with Professor Lupin, at night, in his office. He'd walk up next to Lupin leaning back in his chair, and ask for leniency on his punishment. Lupin would study his face, then sweep his eyes up and down Harry's body, "kneel, then, and earn it."
He'd sometimes reminisce on his private lessons in third year, when Professor Lupin had taught him how to produce a Patronus. At times, he wished he still had reason to meet with Lupin for practice, just for a chance to get him alone. When he was feeling cheesy, he'd imagine telling his professor that he needed a happy memory, perhaps he could help with that?
These fantasies were all well and good when he was in bed, behind curtains and a silencing charm, when he could fist his cock and finger his arse, imagining that those hands belonged to his teacher as he bent Harry over his desk… But lately, Harry had found himself jerked out of daydreams in class. When he was standing around the tank of some strange dark creature, or in line to approach one, his mind often wandered. More than once, he'd found his eyes lingering on Professor Lupin in the front of the room, explaining patiently to the other students, only to have Ron or Hermione—or, most embarrassingly, Lupin himself—interrupt him quizzically. There were only so many excuses, so many times he could brush it off as coincidence.
Merlin, he really needed a boyfriend.
