Disclaimer: I do not own VA.
Mr. Castellani, US Cult III teacher: ...The Battle of the Bulge was...
Gracie: That'd make a great fanfic title.
DPOV:
He stared at her, her long flowing hair swept to one side, revealing a smooth, tanned neck. She was biting her lips softly, her brows furrowed deep in though. A pen tapped her lip as she tried to think of what to write.
He clenched his fists, his thigh muscles tightening in an attempt to gain control of himself as her hand reached underneath her shirt to scratch her arm, revealing a glimpse of her cleavage, creamy white against her tanned skin. He felt himself harden, despite his efforts.
"Mr. Belikov?" The voice brought him out of his revery.
"Yes?" he looked around, trying to locate the voice.
"I have a question." Of course, the soft voice just had to come from her best friend – who was sitting next to her.
He stood up stiffly, trying to hide his bulge, but it clearly wanted to be seen as not even his casually cupped hands could keep it from twitching as he neared her.
"Yes?" he murmured, leaning close to his student.
At the same time she shifted, the fan blowing her scent toward him. He gripped the desk tightly as her sweet smell threatened to break his control.
"Mr. Belikov?"
"I'm sorry, what was that?" he turned his attention hack to the stood, while internally snarling at his bulge to go away. The bulge didn't comply.
Damn dress pants, not hiding anything, he cursed to himself as he helped the girl in front of him.
Just as he was nearing escape, sweet escape in the form of hiding behind his desk, she spoke.
"Mr. Belikov, I also have a question," her wonderfully warm voice spoke, the warmest hot chocolate on the coldest winter night.
He very nearly lost the battle right then. Slowly he turned, his bulge fighting to show even as he fought to keep it back.
"Y-yes, Miss Hathaway?" his voice was slightly breathless from the sudden attack. He oh, so carefully lowered his eyes, knowing that he needed to take her one inch at a time, lest his bulge burst all over his pants. Wouldn't that be the talk of the school for weeks to come?
First the top of her head, her hair slightly frizzing in the summer heat. The fan, making its dutiful round, blew her hair back periodically, sending flashes of black-brown in his vision. Next came her forehead, smooth with a hair curling on it. Then her eyes, oh, her eyes. They started wars and won them on the daily basis. Deep pools of dark chocolate, they seemed to have a direct connection to his bulge, the smoldering heat within them sending surges of flames to feed the fires within.
"Could you tell me if this sentence is structured correctly?" she asked, her innocent voice reminding him of why he must not lose the battle.
Forced to lean close, he did his damnedest to not allow his eyes to slide over just a few inches to the scoop of her neckline, a battle quickly lost.
He took a steadying breath, reminding himself that they were in the middle of class.
He focused his eyes onto the paper, the sentence slowly becoming clear.
Your bulge seems very painful; would you like me to help you?
He bit his lips harshly to keep from answering inappropriately. "Miss Hathaway," he said, voice strained. "That is a perfectly structured sentence. Please do continue."
He hobbled back to his desk, knowing that battle was long lost. He glanced at the clock. Now, if only the battle against the slow clock would hurry up...
A/N: Whilst sitting in history class, my teacher told us of the Battle of the Ardennes, aka, 'Battle of the Bulge.' A fellow fanfic author and friend of mine mentioned how this would make a great story title. I decided to take her up on her word. This is dedicated to
