DISCLAIMER: I don't own Dead Poets Society by any stretch of the imagination. I don't own Mr Keating, or Neil, or Todd. They own me. No harm is intended. No profit is being made.

Such Kind Eyes

"I just talked to my father," Neil began, shakily. Everything in him was tense and blocked with misery, his only other confidante was god knows where. To Mr Keating was the only place he could think of to come. "He's making me quit the play at Henley Hall. Acting's everything to me. But he doesn't know!! I can see his point; we're not a rich family, like Charlie's. But he's planning the rest of my life for me, and he's never asked me what I want."

Keating looked at him, his eyes soft blue and comforting. Neil had never seen such eyes – Todd's were so different, always so full of sweet uncertainty, and Neil loved them. But at this moment, he needed something else. He needed that reassurance he could see in his teacher's eyes, that touch of authority that made it seem like everything would be all right. He couldn't shake the feeling that Mr Keating could make this all go away. It seemed strange that he could want to be near someone so much, to need them close by, just so he could feel safe a little longer.

"Have you ever told your father what you just told me?? About your passion for acting?? You ever show him that??" the Captain asked gently.

"I can't." Neil said, looking down at his knees, acutely aware of the pain in his voice, the desperation in his gestures.

"Why not??" Keating's voice was warm, like caramel, but the sting of his situation still gnawed at Neil's insides. He took a deep breath.

"I can't talk to him this way." He looked up again, swimming dark eyes meeting those kindly, twinkling blue pools, and wondered idly for a moment why he found it so easy to open up to Keating this way. It could have been frightening, but all Neil felt was overwhelming security.

"Then you're acting for him, too." Keating almost whispered. "You're playing the part of the dutiful son. I know this sounds impossible, but you have to talk to him. You have to show him who you are, where your heart is!!"

A small part of Neil had known what Keating would say – but it sounded valid and plausible coming from the Captain's lips. Still, he needed to make it clear. He wanted to hear more of that voice – just a little more assurance. It soothed him in a way he'd never known. "I know what he'll say," he continued. "He'll tell me that acting is a whim and I should forget it. They're counting on me; he'll just tell me to put it out of my mind for my own good."

"You are not an indentured servant. It's not a whim for you, and you prove it to him by your conviction and your passion!! You show that to him, and if he still doesn't believe you - well, by then, you'll be out of school and can do anything you want." Keating was leaning towards him now, open and almost loving. And it was nothing like Neil had imagined, nothing fatherly in this. He could feel the purity of the Captain's intentions – a simple need to make Neil feel better, whatever it took. And Neil knew what he said was true, but the thought of approaching his father, opening himself this way to the man he loathed most, made him feel sick.

"I don't know.." Neil muttered, realizing that he'd let the tears that had been threatening since he'd walked into Keating's office escape. Sniffling, embarrassed, he wiped them away, trying to fight down the howl of misery clawing at his throat. "What about the play? The show's tomorrow night!!"

"Then you have to talk to him before tomorrow night." Was it his imagination, or was Keating's voice getting lower, softer, with every sentence??

"I -- isn't there an easier way??" Neil asked, not wanting to leave, not wanting this to end. He wanted to stay in the warm cocoon of Keating's office, under this faint mist of protection that seemed to be drifting and swirling around them.

"No." This time, he really was whispering. Neil's heart was beating so hard it almost hurt – and it wasn't with panic any more.

"I'm trapped." He laughed bitterly.

"No you're not." The caramel of Keating's voice was dripping over Neil's skin. He glanced sideways, looking at the wall. And then, before his mind could reprimand him, he'd moved forward and Keating's arms were enfolding him. He hooked his own around the Captain's neck, suddenly delighting in the warmth of being held. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, but could only have been minutes; and then Keating pulled away slightly. Their eyes met once again, and Neil felt a twinge of hesitation – but then Keating's lips were on his and it melted away. He couldn't tell who had started the kiss, and later he would reflect that it had probably been him, because after a few delicious moments the Captain pulled away.

"Neil, this is wrong." he murmured, and Neil squeezed his eyes shut as more tears trickled from beneath his lashes, because suddenly, unexpectedly, he wanted this so much it was making his entire body ache. Keating opened his mouth again, perhaps to further forbid what was inevitably about to happen, but Neil didn't let him. He crushed his lips against the older man's and felt Keating's arms tighten around him. Something inside his teacher wanted this, perhaps as much as Neil did – and then it hit Neil just how much he wanted it. He was wrenchingly turned on, blood thrumming through his body and making him tremble in Keating's arms, could feel himself responding, growing slowly hard inside his pants. And he was terrified; he knew what this could mean for him and Keating – shame, dismissal, expulsion, but none of that seemed to matter because he was losing himself in the Captain's kiss. The warm, gentle hands around him began caressing up and down his back, smoothing the misery and tension out of Neil's body.

"We can't do this," Keating said against Neil's lips, even as he pulled him closer. It was like a drug – they both knew how wrong this was, but couldn't deny or refuse it because it felt so right, so good. The Captain's tongue caressed his, hot and wet and perfect, and Neil gasped as his clothed hardness came into contact with the older man's thigh. And then he found himself choking back whimpers of surprise, pleasure, terror as he realized that Keating was hard too. He could feel it, pressing against the juncture of his thigh. His hips squirmed in anticipation, and someone groaned. Neil couldn't tell if it had been him or the Captain. Perhaps it had been both.

Neil's mind was trying to make sense of what was happening; a small part of him wanting to stop, but most of him wanting more. Hadn't he promised this to Todd, in the quiet darkness of their shared room in the small hours where the world seemed to shrink away from them?? He wished Todd was here, could share this, could know their mentor in this way. Even if they stopped, this intimate knowledge was still his.

Both their hips were moving now, rocking slowly against each other; and Neil was moaning softly, unable to help it. This was making him forget how much he hated his father, the sick desperation of his circumstances. He felt Keating's hand move again, softly cupping his buttocks, encouraging him. Was this a sign to go further?? Steeling himself, Neil ran his hand between their bodies, towards Keating's obvious erection. He tore his lips away from the kiss, pressed them to the older man's ear. He heard his own voice, hot and intense, as he whispered,

"O Captain, my Captain.."

"Stop,"

Neil's face twisted into an expression of shock, replacing the ecstasy as he jerked away and stared at Keating in disbelief, lips forming one word.

"Why??"

Keating was looking at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world, and it was breaking Neil's heart. He placed his hands on Neil's shoulders, stared once more into his dark, shining eyes.

"Neil.. you're beautiful," he whispered, "And I don't have words to articulate how much I want to touch you, stroke you, bring you to ecstasy, but you must know that it's quite impossible."

And he did know. As much as they both wanted it, as much as Neil wanted to be sprawled across Keating's desk while the Captain took him – Neil shuddered hard at the thought – it couldn't happen. It would only make things worse. A quick fix, to heal him for the moment, perhaps heal them both, but only for the moment. There was so much danger in it – his teacher could go to jail.. and Neil found himself ever so slightly disgusted with himself that he could have let that happen for one long moment of pleasure. He took a deep breath.

"I know," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Keating reprimanded him gently. "If things were different – if I weren't your teacher and I didn't think you were doing this for the wrong reasons -- " Here he held up his hand as Neil began to protest, "Then this would be perfect. As it is.." He trailed off, and Neil realized he'd never seen Keating lost for words before.

He stepped forward; pressing his lips to the Captain's once again, this time gentle and comforting rather than heated and passionate, and whispered, "Thank you."

"No problem." Keating replied, and Neil backed away slowly, a soft smile quirking his lips, and turned towards the door.

"See you in class??" he asked, hand on the doorknob, and Keating, half-turned back to his desk, glanced over his shoulder. His expression melted Neil's soul – full of repressed desire and tenderness. He'd never seen such kind eyes. Keating nodded, smiling back. There was so much in that small space between them, and Neil would dream about what could have been for so many nights, would tremble and stutter deliciously in the presence of his teacher. And that was all right. He closed the door.

Half an hour later found him gently cradling the phone between ear and shoulder as dialed home. The encounter had left him with a kind of quiet, fierce elation, determination. He would walk onstage the following night. He wouldn't let himself be defeated. Not this time. Not now. Not over this. He took a deep breath as the ringing tone stopped abruptly.

"Father, I need to speak with you.."