Seventh hour. The final hour of the day. Only seventy-two minutes until the final bell, the bell that signaled the sweet release from school work and bitchy teachers. A sound that marked the start of the temporary freedom from the stress of finishing essays and quadratic formula review, only to have to start it all again upon reaching home to complete the hours of homework the teachers have assigned. For the teachers, it wasn't any different. There was school work to grade, papers to mark, and lessons to plan for the next few days. Obviously, anyone who was in their right mind would be dog tired and about through with the day. Then there were those extra few that weren't exactly always in their right state of mind.
The few students of Mr. Cartman's seventh hour World Literature class filed in slowly. The sophomores feet dragged across the tile and their postures were stooped underneath the weight of their heavy book bags. An occasional yawn would arise from the teenagers, which enacted more to follow in a steady chain as they plopped down at the rickety desks which they occupied. A few minutes passed, the tardy bell rang loud and shrill while jolting the class from their daze.
A shape shifted from the back, and the broad shouldered form of the teacher waltzed from his desk. A loud 'smack' emitted as he dropped a stack of graded papers on the table positioned in the front of the class. The teacher straightened back up and stared round the class with narrowed brown eyes.
"You'll be glad to know I've graded your tests for Acts 2 and 3 of J.C," he began, turning and casually began erasing some notes from the whiteboard. The students perked up, watching him do so as Mr. Cartman continued.
"I must say, I was /quite/ surprised with the results this class produced."
The teacher whirled around with a surprising amount of speed for someone of his size, pointing his green dry erase marker at one of the girls situated in front of the large table.
"Williams, tell me, what was the first vital mistake the conspirators made in the play?" Mr. Cartman barked to the girl, who shrunk back in her plastic chair.,
"Uh, th-they forgot-"
"Already, you are completely and utterly wrong," the man groaned and the teen blushed furiously.
Changing victims, he pointed to a male who was dozing off on the side.
"Chapman, wake the hell up."
The teen snorted, jolting himself awake while the others snickered. The teacher rolled his eyes and went on.
"Now that you've decided to join us," he growled with a hint of bitterness. "Give me an example of a rhetorical strategy that both Brutus and Antony used in their funeral speeches."
"Uh..."
" 'Uh' is not the answer, Nathan, but I didn't expect anything of higher intelligence to come from you anyways."
With a sigh, the teacher sat in his chair and massaged his temples with his fingers. "You all failed the test," he grunted, and the students shifted a little in shame. "My supposed 'smart class' failed the easiest fucking test that I've created so far. What the hell guys, seriously?"
The students had grown so used to their teacher cursing in class that it no longer phased them. It was the shame of failing such an easy test that caused them to cringe at his disappointed tone. They usually did good on his tests, as difficult as he usually made them. If it had been any of his other hours, it would have been expected. Mr. Cartman's class wasn't easy, especially when the teacher was the definition of all highly bigoted and egotistical assholes. But seeing as this was one of his 'favorite' classes that tended to do really well on his assignments, this was unacceptable.
"I bet none of you lazy slackers even glanced at the speeches, even though I /clearly/ stated that they'd be a big factor on the tests," he ranted on, standing and pacing the space between the table and whiteboard. "How you expect to write a two-page essay on the aforementioned soliloquies without having even so much as glanced at them is beyond me. So!"
Again, Cartman spun on his heels and faced the students. The brunette scooped up a small stack of skinny books labeled "The Tragedy of Julius Caeser" and began to deal them out amongst the class. He scribbled a curvy '87' on the whiteboard as he walked past and opened his own copy, reading out loud in a booming and powerful voice.
"Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!" he called out to the class, watching them flip to the correct page from the corner of his eye. "I come to bury Caeser, not praise him. The evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones; so let it be with Caeser."
The brunet tossed the book down on the table casually, continuing from memory to quote the play he had read many times before.
"The noble Brutus hath told you Caeser was ambitious: if it were so, it was a grievous fault, and grievously Caeser hath answered it. Here, under the leave of Brutus and the rest-" He leaned in close, as if trying to convince his students he was sincere. "for Brutus is an honorable man; so are they all, all /honorable/ men- come I to speak in Caeser's funeral. Peace, pick it up."
The teenage girl nodded, her face turning a shy red as she fumbled over the words.. "H-he was my friend, faithful and just to me: b-but Brutus says he was ambitious; and Brutus is an honorable man-"
"He hath brought many captors to Rome, whose ransoms did the general coffers fill," a voice interrupted from the side of the room, clear and loud. "Did this in Caeser seem ambitious? Honestly, Lyra. You're in Drama. At least speak up and read without stumbling over the easy words."
Eric turned to face the new intruder in his territory, narrowing his brown orbs when he saw who it was. "Broflovski, can you seriously not interrupt my class when I'm teaching? It's not kewl."
The lanky Jewish math teacher sauntered in with a smug smirk splayed on his freckled face. "I've been sent to evaluate you, fatboy," he informed, innocently peering over his glasses and leaning against the doorframe as the other fumed at the comment. He gestured back to the student, who was blushing madly while her friend giggled. "Keep reading."
"Hey, /I/ tell /my/ students when to read, Jew! Not you!" Cartman barked, huffing after a moment after the ginger entered and sat down unphased. He sighed, picking up his copy of the manuscript again. "Whatever, Peace, continue reading. Locke, pick up at the next stanza."
While the students read, Cartman stalked back to his desk and looked through his papers with slight annoyance. Even now the stupid Jew bothered him and intruded in on what he was doing. It was /he/ who was supposed to be fucking Broflovski's stuff up. And the male obviously knew this irked Eric, judging by the self-satisfied smirk playing across his lips. The man grimaced at the thought of the ginger trying to take control of his class and getting his way. Not happening.
With the mumbling of the play lines still going on in the background, The teacher stood and peered over the Williams girl's shoulder, causing a wave of red to wash over the teen's face as he did so. When she finished reading the line of the fourth citizen, he jumped in.
"But yesterday the word of Caeser might have stood against the world; now lie he there. And non so poor to do him reverence," he accused the students, casting a stray glance at Mr. Broflovski. The math teacher seemed to goad him on in his little act of showing off. Cartman walked away from the book, turning his back to his now captive audience. He was /so/ going to show that drama nerd up.
"O masters!" he cried in grief, throwing his arms up in surrender. "If I were disposed to stir your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, who you all know are /honourable/ men." He aimed the bitter barb at the end toward the math teacher, but the man was nowhere to be found. He was slightly confused, but that confusion soon vanished as a light voice picked up behind him.
"I will not do them wrong," Kyle continued from where he left off, stalking around the bookshelf from where he had lazily gone to browse, the students all turning to look at him. "I rather choose to wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, than to wrong such honorable men."
Mr. Cartman growled, annoyed the lanky man had yet again stolen his audience. He stepped forward and glared down upon the ginger, their faces mere inches apart as they continued their stare down.
"But here!" the brunette sneered, plucking a slip of folded paper from the front pocket of the Jew's shirt . "A parchment with the seal of Caeser!"
He waltzed away triumphantly, not knowing what the paper said and not really caring. The ginger growled behind him, stalking forward to reclaim the slip, which Cartman held high above his head.
"I found it in his closet, 'tis his will." He chuckled, taunting the Jew by raising it higher. Mr. Broflovski stumbled closer and continued in his struggle to get the paper; the two were so close now that if Cartman were to turn his head, his nose would brush against Kyle's cheek. If the student weren't paying attention then, they sure as hell were paying attention now.
"Let but the commons hear this testament-" the ginger grunted angrily, about ready to punch the other, school regulations or not. The taller chuckled.
"Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read," came the sly reply, and he grabbed ahold of the man's lithe hips and pulled him back down to rest upon the flats of his feet. Kyle's face grew a bright shade of red, though the teenagers couldn't decipher whether it was from anger or embarrassment at the sudden contact. Cartman looked as if he were to bust out laughing.
The brunet decided he wanted more of a rise from his fellow teacher, smirking as he leaned in close to Mr. Broflovski's ear. "And they would go and kiss dead Caeser's wounds," he whispered in a tone loud enough for the students to catch what he was saying, the math teacher's red curls tickling his face. "And dip their napkins in his sacred blood."
Kyle's face seemed to grow brighter and brighter, his skin almost matching the color of his hair. Cartman refused to remove his large hands from the Jew's hips- in fact, they seemed to travel downwards towards the hem of his jeans, fingers playing with the belt looped through them teasingly as if suddenly fueled with arousal at the sudden intimacy between them. The Williams girl jumped up with a squeak, covering her nose with a tissue that was quickly growing red.
"Y-yea, beg a hair of h-him for memory," the math major stuttered in a slightly higher octave as the man's tongue brushed along the side of his neck. "And dying, m-mention it within their wa-wills- ah!"
At this point the paper lay forgotten on the tiled floor, and stray students who were running errands were beginning to gather at the doorway to stare gaping at the scene unfolding before them because holy hell, the two teachers who hated each other the most were starting to become intimate and DAMN, it was getting hot.
"Bequeathing it as a rich legacy unto their issue," Mr. Cartman breathily growled the last line of the stanza into the nape of the Jew's neck, Lyra crying out all too eagerly the next line.
"We'll hear the will! Read it, Mark Antony!"
"The will! The will! We will hear Caeser's will!"
Oh, they'd hear something alright.
As if the words activated some kind of trigger, Mr. Broflovski spun around and pushed the larger man roughly against the wall as if fueled by some form of adrenaline filled arousal, bruising lips upon crashing harshly against each other as they kissed; grappling for each others tongues, hitched pants and hums mingling with the soft moans of pleasure emitting from the back of both teacher's throats to create a wonderful melody that echoed through the classroom- all the while hands continued to grasp and tug away that awful clothing that kept getting in the way as finger tips roamed down and down...
And as one of the students kicked the classroom door closed (much to the dismay of the gathering crowd), everyone knew there was no way in hell they'd ever forget Antony's soliloquy- especially not when taught the way it was today.